He focused on thoughts of her as a way to avoid the obvious discomfort around him. How she painted her bread with butter in short, even strokes covering every square inch until the knife was shiny clean. Salt was always poured into her open palm before being dispensed. Never did she eat ice cream in a cone—too much pressure to perform before it melted. She hated apple juice, but loved apples, green ones especially. And potato chips. She loved them with only spicy mustard.
Everyone had their quirks.
God knew he had a long list of them.
He’d have to come clean about all that had happened this week, and she wouldn’t be happy to have been left out. But she’d understand, like always. That was their way. They both tended to find trouble. And they both always tried to handle it—by themselves. Admitting they needed help seemed a weakness.
But he trusted no one more than Cassiopeia.
She’d never let him down.
Nor would he disappoint her.
The tunnel drained into a chamber.
Several shadows, large and fast, detached themselves from the darkness and assumed form in their lights. Two weathered statues, whose florid features had fallen into a portrait of despair. They framed the entrance to a nave cut into the far wall through the salt.
“St. Peter of Alcantara on the left. St. Casimir on the right,” Patrycja said. “Not in good shape, as you can see. Leached by humidity and water leaks. Everything on this level has succumbed to some degree.”
With his headlamp he studied the rest of the chamber.
“The chapels were strategically placed,” Patrycja said. “Near wells and shafts, where new salt deposits were found, so prayers could be conducted. They were also landmarks. Lamps burning inside them were source points for workers, a place where they could safely congregate and reignite their own when it extinguished.”
Stephanie stayed quiet and he saw the concern on her face. Here they were. Underground. One gun between them. Were they alone? So far, so good. He found her gaze and said with his eyes, Why don’t you stay here? Let me finish this.
She shook her head.
My problem. My fix.
“St. Bobola is that way,” Patrycja said, pointing to an exit off to the right.
He gestured for Stephanie to go first.
Something echoed in the distance.
A clattering sound.
Far off, like a stone down a deep well.
And the hair on the back of his neck bristled.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Czajkowski wore coveralls, as did Sonia. They helped with anonymity, all provided by the mine manager. They were back in the security office with the video screens.
“I’m told,” the mine manager said, “that Malone and Ms. Nelle, along with the Russian you identified and two others, are now all on Level IX.”
“Are they aware of each other?” Sonia asked.
The man shook his head. “Unlikely. The trackers on the guides show them far apart, but heading in the same direction.”
“We need to get down there,” he said.
Sonia shook her head. “I’ve been thinking on that.”
He was curious. “What do you suggest?”
“At some point, they have to get out,” Sonia said. “So let’s keep them underground and force them to the upper levels, where there are lights, cameras, and people. We can take them down there.”
He saw the wisdom in the move.
She faced the mine manager. “Can you shut down the elevators that go all the way to the bottom and leave only the one up from Level IX to Level III working?”
The man nodded.
“Then all we have to do is wait at Level III,” she said. “They’ll come to us.”
He really wanted to head for Level IX. No telling what was going to happen. But there was nothing to be gained by rushing into the unknown, especially when nobody knew they were even here.
They had the advantage.
So wait.
He nodded.
“The tours are winding down for the day,” the manager said. “Fewer people will be on the upper levels, as they head for the surface. Most of the people there will be in line, waiting for an open elevator up. Those lines are long this time of day.”
“Can you stop the tours for the day?” he asked. “Close early.”
“It’s most unusual.”
“This whole thing is unusual.”
And he saw the manager understood.
“I’ll do it.”
“Then,” Sonia asked, “can you get us to Level III unnoticed?”
* * *
They descended a wooden staircase.
Strong and sturdy.
Built to last from solid timbers.
Tourists could choose walking down to Levels I and II, or take the elevators. Most rode. He and Sonia walked. He noticed that few were making the climb up, and no one was heading down. Surprisingly, after nearly four hundred steps, he wasn’t all that winded. He just hoped he didn’t have to use them to get back up. The manager had stayed above to keep an eye on what was happening on Level IX, saying he would meet them below shortly.
They came to the bottom and stepped off onto a salt floor. No cold, dark, damp passages awaited. Instead everything was well lit, with an arid but comfortable temperature and a steady breeze of fresh air. He assumed the mine had to be kept as dry as possible to prevent humidity from dissolving the salt. The manager had told them to head for the Copernicus Chamber, which was not far away. They followed the signs and passed within sight of the elevators up, spotting lines of people waiting to leave.
“Let’s keep going,” Sonia said to him.
They followed a corridor into a spacious chamber that housed a larger-than-life-sized statue of the famous astronomer. Timber frames supported masonry blocks along three walls. Logs stood at attention, one after the other forming a fourth wall behind the statue. A simple, almost modernistic representation, the arms outstretched, the open palms holding a celestial sphere. A handful of people loitered about, snapping a few final pictures before leaving.
“He studied in Kraków and lived in Frombork,” he said, pointing at the salt carving. “What courage it took to say that the earth was not the center of the universe. That simple idea fundamentally changed humanity forever.”
“You’re an admirer?”
“Absolutely. He was an astronomer, with a doctorate in canon law. He was self-taught as a physician, polyglot, translator, diplomat, and economist. He spoke five languages. He’s the father of the scientific revolution. And most important, he was a Pole.”
A placard near the statue stated that, in 1493, while a student in Kraków, Copernicus visited the mine. Perhaps the first tourist ever to do so, the text suggested. The statue was carved in 1973 to commemorate the genius’ 500th birthday.
“I don’t like being helpless,” he whispered.
“You’re not. We have the situation under control. Let Malone and the Russians fight it out below. Whoever emerges we will deal with. They have no idea we’re here, and there’s only one way out.”
The others left the chamber.
The manager appeared at the far side and walked their way.
“We have everything contained. All of the tour groups that were in the lower levels are now topside. Level IX is empty except for the two groups we’re watching. We have all the exits guarded, with the only way out through here.”