“Got one!” Bones called. “Three crosses around an angel dude. Just a headstone, though.”
“Same here.” Avery sounded disheartened.
“Wall, that was a fail,” Bones said. “What now?”
Dane considered the situation. Like the crosses, the headstones formed an equilateral triangle, and at the center of that triangle stood…
“Alexander Hamilton’s tomb,” Dane whispered.
The tomb of Alexander Hamilton was perhaps the most impressive of all the structures in the churchyard. Square at the bottom, with columns at each corner surmounted by urns, the tomb was topped by a weathered obelisk.
Dane knelt down behind Bradford’s headstone and followed the cherub’s line of sight. Sure enough, it pointed directly at the obelisk. He instructed Bones and Avery to do the same with the headstones they had found and, moments later, they confirmed his theory.
Dane made his way over to the tomb and circled it, looking for any indication that this was what they were looking for. An epitaph to the famed patriot was engraved on one side, but he saw no Templar symbols. He let his eyes drift upward to the top of the obelisk where he thought he saw the faint outline of a circle engraved on the weathered top.
“You two, keep a lookout,” he said to Bones and Avery, and climbed onto the tomb. The obelisk was short enough that he could easily see the four sides of the capstone.
“They’re here!” he exclaimed. “A templar cross on three sides of the point. This is it.”
“But Hamilton wasn’t a Freemason. Why would that symbol be carved onto his tomb?” Avery looked puzzled.
“It shouldn’t be here. Someone put that mark here for a reason.” Dane had no doubt he was on the right track.
“What do we do now? Say open sesame?” Bones asked.
Dane looked down at the symbols and two details immediately caught his attention: a groove ran around the capstone, as if it were a separate piece; and on the fourth side, instead of a cross, a small arrow was carved. It was so tiny he almost missed it, but it was there.
“What’s that thing you’re always saying, Bones? Righty tightie, lefty loosie?” With that, he took hold of the capstone and gave it a deft twist. It didn’t budge.
“Impressive.” Avery smirked, then turned and gave Bones a wink.
“Thanks for the support.” Dane got a better grip this time and poured all of his strength into the effort. Slowly, inch by inch, the capstone began to rotate, and rose as it turned. After a quarter turn, Dane heard a loud thunk and the capstone froze. “Anything?”
“Nothing,” Avery said.
“There are three crosses,” Bones said. “How about three turns?”
“Or maybe three quarter-turns,” Avery added.
“You’re already correcting me, woman?” Bones asked. “We hardly know each other.”
Dane tuned them out and gave the capstone another twist. He felt the strain in every muscle of his shoulders, arms, and back as he turned the stone another quarter-turn, and then another. When he’d completed the third turn, the tomb vibrated beneath his feet and a hollow, grating sound rose up from down below.
“Yahtzee!” Bones exclaimed.
“You did it, Maddock,” Avery whispered.
Dane leapt down and looked down at the base of the tomb on the side facing away from the street. The entire side of the tomb had sunk into the ground, revealing an empty space below. They had found it!
Chapter 24
Corey sighed and opened the last sub-folder. His search had been utterly fruitless, and now it was closing time. He wondered if Willis had fared any better. Considering how long he’d spent in the museum, he’d better have found something. If Willis had been browsing museum displays while Corey worked his butt off, they would have a talk later.
This folder contained footage from the security camera in the delivery area. He quickly scrolled through the clips, as the museum apparently didn’t get many deliveries. One clip after another, all showing an empty loading bay, rolled by. He was ready to give up, but figured he might as well keep going, at least until Willis showed up, which ought to be any minute now.
The most recent clip was from this afternoon, and ended shortly before they’d arrived. For no particular reason, he skipped down to it and double-clicked. This clip began the same as the others, footage of an empty room, but it soon grew interesting.
On the screen, a heavy-set man with a pistol on his hip opened the bay door and a black sedan with tinted windows rolled in. Another man, short and dark, also armed, stepped out. The two spoke for a minute, then moved off screen. Two minutes later, they returned, supporting a figure in jeans and a t-shirt.
It was Angel.
She could barely stand, as if she was under the influence of some sort of drug. She also might have been injured, and unable to walk on her own, but he didn’t want to consider that. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and ankles shackled. They weren’t taking any chances with her.
They put her into the back seat and the big guy got in after her, while the dark-skinned man took the wheel. A minute later, a lean, tawny-haired man climbed into the passenger seat and they drove away. Corey scrolled through the rest of the clip, but the car did not return.
Angel was gone. They had missed her by a matter of minutes.
Corey reached for his cell phone, then thought the better of it. They had agreed Corey would not call Willis, in case his phone should ring at an inopportune time, but Willis would call Corey if he needed help.
When they weren’t certain anything was amiss at the museum, he hadn’t been too concerned about Willis, but now things had changed. What if the guys he’d seen leaving in the car weren’t the only armed, dangerous men on the premises? Willis should know that Angel was gone and there was nothing more he could do in there, but how could Corey let him know? He supposed he could go in after him, but the very thought made his stomach threaten to heave up. He was a computer guy, not a soldier. Besides, what if he walked into a trap and they both wound up…
He dismissed the line of thought with a shake of his head. Willis had been in worse situations than this plenty of times. He’d be okay.
Willis checked his watch. Thirty minutes since he’d heard so much as a footstep down below. Hoping Shears and the rest of the museum staff had gone, he crawled to the bow of the pirate ship and peered over the edge.
Down below him, the museum was empty. He watched for another five minutes before deciding it was safe to come out. But how to get down? He scanned the deck and his eyes fell on a coil of rope in the stern. Unlike most of the ship, which was constructed from new materials, this appeared to be an authentic rope from an old sailing ship. It looked dry and brittle, but he had no choice.
He lashed the rope to the stern and tossed it over the edge. It was too short, ending about ten feet above the floor, but it would have to do. Not willing to waste time fretting over something beyond his control, he took hold of the rope, climbed over the rail, and shimmied down.
The coarse rope scoured his already scraped hands, but he worked his way down in a controlled slide.
Halfway to the floor, he heard a snap and the rope gave an inch.
“Oh hell.” He dared a look down. Twenty feet was too far to fall.
Another snap as strands of the aged rope began to break under the strain of his weight. And another.
He slid a little faster, bracing himself for the fall that now seemed inevitable as, far above him, the rope frayed and, fiber by fiber, fell apart. He was twelve feet up when it finally gave way.
He hit the ground hard, landing skydiver style, but the impact on the hard floor jolted him all the way up his spine. He grimaced as pain lanced through his knees, and he wondered if he’d torn something. It didn’t matter, though. He had a job to do.