Timeline - Michael Crichton [110]
The Professor said quietly, “Do you still have a marker?”
“Yes,” Marek said. “I do. Do you have yours?”
“No, I lost it. About three minutes after I got here.”
The Professor had landed, he said, in the forested flatlands near the monastery and the river. ITC had assured him this would be a deserted spot, but ideally situated. Without going far from the machine, he could see all the principal sites of his dig.
What happened was pure bad luck: the Professor landed just as a party of woodcutters was heading into the forest to work for the day, their axes over their shoulders.
“They saw the flashes of light, and then they saw me, and they all fell to their knees, praying. They thought they had seen a miracle. Then they decided they hadn’t, and the axes came off their shoulders,” the Professor said. “I thought they were going to kill me, but fortunately I knew Occitan. I convinced them to take me to the monastery. Let the monks settle it.”
The monks took him away from the woodcutters, stripped him, and searched his body for stigmata. “They were looking in rather unusual places,” the Professor said. “That’s when I demanded to see the Abbot. The Abbot wanted to know the location of the passage in La Roque. I suspect he’s promised it to Arnaut. Anyway, I suggested it might be in the monastic documents.” The Professor grinned. “I was willing to go through his parchments for him.”
“Yes?”
“And I think I have found it.”
“The passage?”
“I think so. It follows an underground river, so it is probably quite extensive. It starts in a place called the green chapel. And there is a key to finding the entrance.”
“A key?”
The guard snarled something, and Marek broke off speaking for a moment. Chris got up, brushing the damp off his hose. He said, “We have to get out of here. Where is Kate?”
Marek shook his head. Kate was still free, unless the shouts from the guards he’d heard down the hallway meant that she’d been captured. But he didn’t think they’d caught her. So if he could make contact with her, she might be able to help get them out.
That meant somehow overpowering the guard. The problem was that there were at least twenty yards from the bend in the corridor to where the guard was sitting on his stool. There was no way to take him by surprise. But if Kate was within range of their earpieces, then he could—
Chris was banging on the bars of the cell and shouting, “Hey! Guard! Hey, you!”
Before Marek could speak, the guard stepped into view, looking curiously at Chris, who had reached one hand through the bars and was beckoning him. “Hey, come here! Hey! Over here!”
The guard walked up to him, swatted Chris’s hand, which extended through the bar, and then broke into a sudden fit of coughing as Chris sprayed him with the gas canister. The guard wobbled on his feet. Chris reached through the bars again, grabbed the guard by the collar, and sprayed a second time right in his face.
The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped like a rock. Still holding on, Chris’s arm banged against the crossbars; he yelled in pain, then released the guard, who fell away from the bars and collapsed in the middle of the floor.
Far out of reach.
“Nice work,” Marek said. “What’s next?”
“You know, you might help me,” Chris said. “You’re very negative.” He was down on his knees, reaching through the bars to his armpit, his hand grasping outside. His outstretched fingers could almost reach the guard’s foot. Almost, but not quite. Six inches from the sole of his foot. Chris stretched, grunting. “If we just had something—a stick, or a hook—something to pull him. . ..”
“It won’t do any good,” the Professor said from the other cell.
“Why not?”
He came forward into the light and looked through the bars. “Because he doesn’t have the key.”
“Doesn’t have the key? Where is it?”
“Hanging on the wall,” Johnston said, pointing down the corridor.
“Oh shit,” Chris said.
On the floor, the guard’s hand twitched.