It was accomplished quickly—now that they knew what to look for.
Christopher called him over. “See here!”
Tucker and Bukolov joined him beside a thigh-high boulder not far from the torrent. Excess water sluiced through a four-inch crack under it and vanished away.
“I believe the stone is covering a larger hole,” Christopher said.
“I think you’re right.”
With both Christopher and Tucker putting their shoulders to it, they were able to dislodge and roll the boulder aside.
The hole was small, only two feet wide. All three of them leaned over the opening, shining their lights down into the depths. A cavern opened below, its floor about seven feet below them.
Tucker squinted, noting the protrusions sticking up from the floor.
For a few moments, he thought he was staring at a cluster of stalagmites, but they were too uniform, and the beam of his headlamp glinted off a hint of brass beneath a greenish patina.
“What the hell are those?” Bukolov said.
“Those are artillery shells.”
39
March 21, 11:34 P.M.
Groot Karas Mountains, Namibia
Tucker lowered himself to his belly and hung his head through the opening. He panned his lamp around the space. The spread of upright shells looked like some giant’s bed of nails. Turning, he faced the others.
“There’re at least two dozen shells down there.”
“What type of artillery are they?” Christopher asked.
“Can’t be sure. Judging by the size, I’d guess twelve-pounders. British Royal Horse Artillery units used them in their cannons during the wars.”
“Are they live?” said Bukolov.
“More than likely.”
“Why are they here?” Christopher pressed.
Tucker considered it a moment. “I’m guessing because of the black powder inside them. The Boers were probably using the powder in the shells to reload bullets.”
“The Boers had to be resourceful to survive,” Bukolov commented.
So do we.
Tucker shifted around, swinging his legs toward the hole. Somewhere down below must be De Klerk’s dark garden. “Doc, tell me again what to look for. Anything I should be watching for.”
Bukolov shook his head. “I don’t have the time to give you a crash course in botany. Nor have you read all of De Klerk’s notes. I should go with you. Besides, why should you have all the fun?”
Christopher looked unconvinced. “Doctor Bukolov, perhaps you didn’t hear Mr. Tucker correctly. Those shells are live and likely very unstable by now.”
“I heard him, but how difficult can it be? I must simply avoid bumping into one of those things, correct?”
“That about covers it,” Tucker said. “But it’s tight down there. You’ll have to crawl. It’s going to be hard work.”
“And I’m saving my stamina for what?” Bukolov asked. “I can do this. I have not come all this way to find LUCA only to blow myself up. God will guide my hand.”
“I didn’t know you believed in God.”
“It’s a recent development. Considering everything you’ve put me through.”
“All right, Doc, let’s do this.”
“I’ll need to gather a few things first. Tools, sample dishes, collection bags.”
“Go get them.”
As Bukolov hurried away, Tucker returned his attention to the array of shells down below. He told Christopher, “There’s at least a couple of hundred pounds of black powder down there. It might just solve our explosives problem.”
“Will it be enough to collapse this cavern system?”
“No, but it’ll definitely take out this immediate set of caves.”
Bukolov returned quickly, with everything collected into a brown leather kit with his initials on it. He eyed the hole.
“Gentlemen, I believe I could use some assistance getting down. It’s not a far drop but now is not the time for a misstep.”
Tucker agreed. He went first, using his arms to slowly lower himself, keeping well away from the first row of shells. Once down, he turned and helped ease Bukolov through the opening. Christopher held his arms, while Tucker guided his legs, planting the doctor’s boots on firm footing.
“That should do, gentlemen.” Bukolov ducked low, equipped now with his own headlamp. “Shall we proceed?”
Tucker crouched next to him. From here, there was only about four feet of clearance between the floor and the roof. The chamber extended in a gentle downward slope. The water, streaming down from above, trickled in small rivulets across the floor, carving the soft sandstone into tiny channels, like the scribblings of a mad god. The rows of shells were standing upright in the flatter and drier sections.
“We should follow the water,” Bukolov said, pointing down the slope. “It’s what we’ve been doing since we got here.”
“I’ll go first.”
Dropping low, Tucker set the best course through the field of shells. He followed the trickles, wondering if he’d ever be dry again. The last pass through the deadly gauntlet required him to lie on his right hip and scoot through sideways. An inopportune thrust of an elbow set one tall brass round to rocking on its base. He was afraid even to touch it to stabilize it.
Both men held their breath.
But the shell steadied and went still.
Tucker helped Bukolov past this squeeze.
“I can do it,” the doctor complained. “I may have gray hair, but I’m not an invalid.”
Free of the artillery, they were able to slide next to each other and crawl onward. Slowly a soft light glowed out of the darkness ahead.
“Do you see that?” Bukolov asked. “Or are my eyes tired?”
Tucker shaded his headlamp with his hand. Bukolov followed his example. As the darkness ahead grew blacker, the glow brightened before their eyes.
Definitely something over there.
As Tucker set out again, the roof slowly dropped down on top of them, forcing them to their bellies. They slid alongside each other across the wet, sandy floor. Finally, the slope dumped them into a pool of water about a foot deep. It lay inside a domed chamber about the size of a compact car’s cabin, with enough room to kneel up, but little more.
“Amazing,” Bukolov said, craning his neck to stare around.
The arched roof glowed with a soft silvery azure, like moonlight, but there were no cracks in the roof. The light suffused from a frilly carpet of glowing moss.
“It’s lichen,” Bukolov said.