Blind Alley

SIXTEEN

Darkness. Only the beam of Trevor's flashlight illuminated the blackness of the tunnel.

The chill and damp seemed to ooze into her every pore and Jane found she was having trouble getting her breath.

Night without air.

Imagination. If she couldn't breathe, it was because she was hurrying after Trevor. “Are we going to the vomitorium first?”

“No, I thought we'd do that on our way back. I have a hunch that wasn't your first priority. You wanted to see the theater.”

She didn't argue with him. She was filled with eagerness. “Are there rats down here?”

“Probably. When there isn't any human habitation, nature tends to take back its own.” His voice drifted back to her. “Stay close. I don't want to lose you.”

“But you wouldn't mind giving me a scare.”

He laughed. “I admit I'd like to shake you up a little to see if I could do it.”

“Well, you won't do it with the threat of rats. I got used to them in some of the foster homes where I lived when I was a kid. I was just curious.”

“There were rats at the orphanage where I grew up, too.”

“In Johannesburg?”

“That's right, Quinn dug deep into my murky past.”

“It wasn't that murky. At least, what he could uncover.”

“It wasn't pristine clean. Watch your step. There's a puddle ahead.”

“Why is it so damp down here?”

“Cracks, fissures.” He paused. “You said you dreamed about tunnels. Was it like this?”

She didn't answer for a moment. She'd told herself that there was no way she'd confide in him about those dreams but the isolation and darkness made her feel strangely close to him. And what real difference did it make what he thought of her? “No, it wasn't like this. It wasn't damp. And it was hot and smoky. I— She couldn't breathe.”

“The eruption?”

“How do I know? It was a dream. She was running. She was afraid.” She waited for a moment, and then said, “You said you dreamed of Cira.”

“Oh, yes. From the time we found the scrolls. At first, it was every night. Now it's not so often.”

“What do you dream about her? Tunnels? Eruptions?”

“No.”

“What?”

He laughed. “Jane, I'm a man. What do you think I dream about?”

“Oh, for God's sake.”

“You asked me. I'd like to tell you some mystic, romantic story but I know you'd prefer the truth.”

“She doesn't deserve that.”

“What can I say? It's sex. I don't really think she'd mind me having a few fantasies about her. Cira understood sex. She used it to survive. And she probably would have enjoyed the thought that she had that much power over me two thousand years after she died.”

“I don't believe you're— Maybe you're right, but she was more than a sex object.” She had a sudden thought. “And I don't think that's all she was to you. You spent a fortune for that bust of her you bought from that collector. Why would you do that?”

“It's a wonderful piece of art.” He was silent a moment. “And maybe I'm a little obsessed with her personality as well as her body. She was larger than life.”

“Then why the devil didn't you say that in the beginning?”

“I wouldn't want you to think I'm sensitive. It would ruin my image.”

She made a rude sound. “I don't think you need to worry about your—”

“This is where the Via Spagnola tunnel ends and joins with the network around the theater,” he interrupted. “It should be a little brighter because of the electric lights though it's still pretty dim. I'll keep the flashlight on. These tunnels meander around but it's the only way to view the theater since it's still buried.”

“Why haven't they worked harder at excavating it?”

“Money. Difficulty. Interest. They've been doing better lately. Though it's an uphill battle since parts of it are buried beneath more than ninety feet of volcanic rock. It's a shame because this theater is a jewel. It sat between two thousand five hundred and three thousand people and it had all the bells and whistles. Bronze drums for making thunder, cranes for flying the gods across the stage, seat cushions, trays of sweets and nuts, saffron water to spray the patrons. Amazing.”

“And exciting. It must have seemed magical to them.”

“Good theater still seems magical to us.”

“And you found out all of this from that newspaper reporter?”

“No, I did a little research. You said you wanted information. I didn't dare disobey.”

“Bull. You were interested yourself.”

“Busted.”

“It's surprising that the theater wasn't destroyed by the lava flow.”

“It's one of the freaky things that happened that day. The flow picked up enough mud to encase and protect it. It might have been excavated intact except for the greed of the people who came after it. At one point King Ferdinand was melting down priceless bronze fragments to make candlesticks.”

“I thought you had no respect for the preservation of antiquities.”

“I respect the artifacts themselves. And I don't like stupidity or destruction.”

“Could Cira have been here at the theater when the volcano blew?”

“Yes, it's believed the cast was rehearsing for an afternoon performance.”

“What play?”

“No one knows. Maybe as the excavations progress, we'll find out.”

“And they might find Cira buried here.”

“You mean, fact following fiction? It's possible. Who knows? The archaeologists are discovering new things all the time.”

“New things from a dead world. But somehow it doesn't seem dead, does it? I was thinking while we were driving here from the Naples airport that if you closed your eyes, you might be able to imagine what life was like before the eruption. I wonder what it was like for them that day. . . .”

“I was wondering, too. Shall I tell you?”

“Your research again?”

“It started out that way but it's hard to keep a clinical attitude when you're this close to the source.” His soft voice came out of the darkness. “It was a normal day, the sun was shining. There had been earth tremors but nothing to worry about. Vesuvius was always rumbling. The wells in the country had dried up but it was August. Again, not unexpected.

“It was a hot day but it was cooler here in Herculaneum because the city was on a promontory over the sea. It was the birthday of an emperor, a holiday, and people were in town to see the sights and celebrate. The forum was crowded with hawkers, acrobats, jugglers. Ladies were carried on litters by slaves. The public baths were open and men were undressing and preparing to be bathed by attendants. There were athletic events at the palaestra and the victors were about to receive their olive wreath crowns. They were only boys, naked and suntanned and proud of their feats. Mosaicists were cutting their polished stones and glass, bakers were making their breads and tarts, and Cira's friends and fellow actors, maybe Cira herself, were rehearsing their play at the finest theater in the Roman world.” He paused. “I can tell you more. Do you want to hear it?”

“No.” Her throat felt tight and she could almost see and taste the bittersweetness of that morning. “Not now.”

“You said you wanted the flavor of her time.”

“You certainly gave it to me,” she said unevenly. “It seems impossible that it all disappeared in the blink of an eye.”

“No, not impossible. We manage to destroy pretty efficiently without the help of nature. Look at Hiroshima. And it was more like a bellow than the blink of an eye. Reports said that great bull-like bellows seemed to come from the earth itself. Acrid sulphuric smoke was everywhere and a mushroom cloud shot up from the mountain.”

“And everyone dropped everything that made their lives worth living and ran.”

“Those who could do it. There wasn't much time.”

No air.

No time.

She was suddenly having trouble breathing. “I want out of here. How close are we to the tunnel where this anteroom is supposed to be located?”

“Just ahead.” He shone the flashlight on her face. “You don't look too well. Do you want to go back?”

“No, let's go. Show me. That's why we're here.”

“No, it's not. We're here because you had to see this theater. It's been bugging you.”

“It's natural that I'd want to see this place when the woman who looks like me—”

“You don't have to make excuses to me. You wanted to be here. I brought you. Now you want to go home. I'll take you home. But you haven't really seen the main excavation. I can get you closer to the stage by accessing the next tunnel.”

She shook her head. “I'm ready to go back after I see where you and Sontag have put the coffin.”

He shook his head. “Stubborn.” He shone the beam on the ground and took her hand. “Come on. We'll take a quick peek and get you out of here. There's nothing much to see. We've walled off the entrance to the robbers' tunnel so that no one stumbles into it before we're ready.” He led her forward. “I'm not sure your hot, smoky dream tunnel isn't preferable to this one. It's oozing slime and filth.”

“But you know where you're going. You're not lost and continually going down blind alleys.”

“No, I know where I'm going. You're safe with me.”

She felt safe, she realized suddenly. His voice was as sure as his grasp around her hand, and the darkness was no longer suffocating but . . . intimate. She felt strange. She wanted to pull away. No, she wanted to move closer. She did neither. She let him lead her into the darkness.

Do what she'd set out to do. See the tunnel where Trevor had set up his big con, check out the vomitorium, and then get back to the villa on Via Spagnola.

Are you sure you still want to visit the vomitorium?” Trevor asked as he moved ahead of her through the tunnel toward the villa. “I think you've had enough for one night.”

“Stop treating me like I'm some kind of invalid. Of course I want to go. It's not as if being down here has been particularly traumatic. You were right, we couldn't get that close to the anteroom tunnel.”

“And there's nothing major to see in the vomitorium. So let's skip it for now.”

“No, I have to know what's waiting for me.” Lord, she was tired of this overpowering darkness. What a horror it must have been for the thieves who had dug their way into the bowels of the earth, not knowing what they were going to find around the next bend. “You said some of these tunnels collapsed over the years. Did it happen here?”

“I ran into a couple dead ends while I was exploring. Don't worry, the walls seem pretty sturdy around the vomitorium. I wouldn't let you down here if they weren't safe.” He stopped. “We turn here. If you're sure you want to go.”

She didn't want to go. She wanted to run straight back to the villa and go to bed. She wanted out into the light, dammit. She felt as if she'd been buried alive.

As Cira had been buried alive by those falling rocks?

“Jane?”

“I'm going.” She moved past him down the turnoff for the tunnel. “You said it's not that far off the main tunnel. It shouldn't take long. Right?”

He moved ahead of her. “It depends on what you consider long. I have an idea time's moving a little slow for you right now.”

She tried to think of something else besides this blasted darkness. “Cira probably knew about that vomitorium. This was her town, her place. I can see her walking around, talking, laughing, playing her games with the men of the town.”

“So can I. That's not hard to imagine.”

“Not for someone like you who definitely thinks about Cira in a physical sense. She did what she had to do to survive.”

“She was no martyr. She enjoyed life. According to Julius's scrolls she had an unseemly sense of humor, but he forgave her because in bed she was a true goddess.”

“How patronizing. She probably had to have a sense of humor if she was forced to go to bed with him.”

“No force. Choice. She made the choice, Jane.”

“Her birth and circumstances made the choice. What else did the scrolls say about her?”

“That she was kind to her friends, ruthless to her enemies, and it wasn't wise to cross her.”

“Who were her friends?”

“The actors in the theater. She didn't trust anyone else.”

“No family?”

“No. She took a street boy into her home and was said to have been very kind to him.”

“No mention of anyone else?”

“Not as far as I remember. Most of Julius's scrolls concerned her beauty and sexual prowess, not her maternal attributes.”

“Chauvinist pig.”

He chuckled. “Me or Julius?”

“Both of you.”

“Chauvinist or not, he was ready to kill for her. In one scroll he was contemplating murdering his rival who was stealing her away from him.”

“Who was it?”

“He didn't name him. He referred to him as a young actor who had recently come to Herculaneum and taken the town by storm. Evidently he had also taken Cira by storm and it threw Julius into a rage.”

“Did he kill him?”

“I don't know.”

“He's far more likely to have tried to kill Cira if he couldn't change her mind about leaving him.”

“You think so? Interesting.”

Not interesting. Horrible. And only a small example of the life Cira had lived.

Trevor suddenly stopped. “Here's the passage Joe will take to get to the ledge overlooking the vomitorium.” He shone the light on the rocky wall to the left and she saw a shallow dark cavity close to the tunnel floor. “It's barely crawl space and he'll have to wriggle through the opening, but two yards into the passage he can stand and walk upright until he gets to the ledge.”

“I would never have noticed it if you hadn't pointed it out.”

“And neither will Aldo.” He started down the tunnel again. “There are too many offshoot branches in this tunnel for him to notice a small hole in the wall. He's going to have a plethora of choices.”

“Aren't we close to the vomitorium yet?”

“Yes, a few minutes' walk from here.”

“Then let's hurry. I want out of here.”

It seemed longer than the few minutes Trevor had stipulated when he stepped aside and shone his flashlight into the blackness ahead. “Here we are. Not exactly the most elegant example of Cira's time. Though those six marble bases that are scattered around the area probably held statues of gods and goddesses and maybe the current emperor on the throne.”

But the bases were now jagged, broken remnants that guarded the darkness of the three tunnels leading off the vomitorium like sentinels with bared teeth. There were three photography can lights and a battery generator next to the bases but she paid no attention to them. She took a step forward, her gaze on the center of the room. A long red velvet cloth lay on the rocky ground.

“What's that?”

“Part of my prep work. I wanted to make sure Aldo knew he'd reached pay dirt.”

“I'd think that the lights would tip him off.”

“Okay, it's a little dramatic touch. So I'm a ham.”

The velvet looked like a splotch of blood in the oozing darkness and she couldn't take her gaze off it. “That's where you're going to put the coffin?”

“Eventually. But we want Aldo to know what's coming. We can lead him so far and then we turn him loose to search for himself. After he spots this place, he'll start setting up his plans.” He pointed to the walls. “I've already placed the torches.” He indicated a wall to the left facing the vomitorium. “Do you see that small opening in the face of the rock about thirty feet up? That opens to the passage I showed you. Joe will be lying on his ledge and able to point his rifle directly down into this area. And, as a matter of fact, the video camera I mentioned is filming us right now.” He pointed to a large flat rock close to the ground. “I'll be right there and able to roll that rock aside to get out and help you if something goes wrong.”

Her gaze shifted to the right. “Two tunnels lead off this area?”

“Three including the one you'll be using.”

“And Aldo will be in one of them?” She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the yawning darkness. She could imagine him there now, watching them. “Isn't there any way we could go after him and try to hunt him down once we're sure he's there? You said he won't be familiar with these tunnels.”

“Joe and I talked about the possibility.” He shook his head. “It could be a nightmare to try to track someone. These tunnels are like a maze and there are at least two exits besides the one at Via Spagnola. He could stumble on one of them and then we'd lose him.” He paused. “But if you're having second thoughts about drawing him into the open, tell me. It's your choice, Jane.”

“I was only asking. I'm not having second thoughts.”

His lips twisted. “I believe I was hoping you were.”

“How strange.” She took another step toward the velvet cloth. “It looks . . .”

Blood. Pain. Aldo standing looking down at the velvet in triumph.

Imagination.

Crush the fear. She swallowed. “It looks very theatrical.” She turned away and started back toward the tunnel. “I'm sure Cira would have approved.”

“Only if it was a comedy. Tragedy wasn't her forte.”

“Not mine either.”

His hand was on her elbow, supporting, comforting. “And I intend to keep it that way. Let's get out of here.”

I'll go ahead.” Trevor climbed the ladder and opened the trapdoor to the kitchen. “If Quinn is awake and stirring, then I'll be the one to face his wrath first.” He glanced around the room, and whispered, “All clear.”

She hadn't realized how relieved she'd be to know she wouldn't have to confront Joe and Eve. She was shaken enough without having to deal with any other emotion.

“Get to bed,” Trevor said as he pulled her up into the kitchen and shut the trapdoor. “Tomorrow's a big day.”

“For Eve,” Jane said. “Not me. As far as the media is concerned, I'm only here because I'm Eve's kid and she wanted to expose me to European culture.”

“But since she's not too accessible, they may try to get at her through you. And anyone who read the Archaeology Journal article might see the resemblance with the statue.”

“It was too blurred. Sam did a good job.”

He stiffened. “Sam? You're on first-name terms?”

“He's that kind of man. And we hit it off.”

“I'm sure you did. I'd bet you had him wound around your finger before you'd been in his office fifteen minutes.”

She frowned. “It wasn't like that.”

“Really? What was it like?”

“I told you how difficult it—” She broke off. “I don't have to make explanations. What's wrong with you?”

“Not a damn thing. I was just wondering what you did to get—” He stopped and turned away. “You're right, I'm out of line. Sorry.”

“Apology not accepted. If you mean what I think you mean.”

“It was a mistake, okay?”

“No, it's not okay. Are you some kind of sex maniac? First, that stupidity about Cira and now this. I don't sleep with people to get my way. I have a mind and I use it.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Anger was searing through her. “It's no wonder you have those disgusting dreams about Cira. You believe all women are prostitutes.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “It's my face. Because I look like her, you think I'd behave the same way.”

“I know you wouldn't.”

“No? In some part of that pea-sized, chauvinistic brain the thought must have been there or you wouldn't have acted like such an asshole.”

“I don't think you're like Cira.”

“No, I'm not. But I'd be proud to have her strength and her determination, and I resent you intimating that she was less than she was.”

“May I point out I've never admitted comparing the two of you? You're the one who's so sure that I—”

She turned to leave the room.

“No.” His hand was on her shoulder, spinning her around. “Don't turn your back on me. I've stood here and listened to you condemning me for a sex crazy son of a bitch, but I won't let you run away until I have my say.”

“Let me go.”

“When I've finished.” His eyes were glittering in his taut face. “First, you may be right. I've lived with the image of Cira for so long that I could be unconsciously comparing you. Not consciously. I realize the differences. One of which sticks in my throat and nearly chokes me every time I look at you. Second, just because I've got my share of healthy lust doesn't mean I think less of her . . . or you. I told you that I thought she was bigger than life. Sex is part of the package, but only a part. Third, if you were older and had a little more experience I wouldn't have to tell you all this. I could show you.”

She stared up at him, anger ebbing away, replaced by that odd breathlessness she'd experienced once before.

“Don't look at me like that,” he said thickly. His hand left her shoulder and moved up to cup her cheek. “God, you're beautiful. You have so many expressions. . . .”

Her skin was tingling beneath his touch yet she couldn't seem to move away. “Everyone has expressions.”

“Not like you. You light up, you cloud, you sparkle. . . . I could watch you for the next millennium and not get tired of—” He drew a deep breath and his hand slowly dropped away from her. “Go to bed. I'm not behaving well and it could get worse.”

She didn't move.

“Go to bed.”

She took a step closer and tentatively touched his chest.

“Oh, shit.” He closed his eyes. “Now you've done it.”

His heart was beating so hard beneath her palm. . . .

His eyes opened and he stared down at her. “No.”

“Why not?” She took another step. “I think I want—”

“I know you do.” He drew a deep shaky breath and took a step back. “And it's killing me.” He turned and headed for the door. “Sex maniacs are like that.”

She barely remembered calling him that. “Where are you going?”

“To get some air. I need it.”

“You're running away from me.”

“You're damn right.”

“Why?”

He stopped at the door to look back at her. “Because I don't screw schoolgirls, Jane.”

She could feel the heat flush her cheeks. “I didn't say I wanted to screw you. And that's not a very pleasant way of—”

“I didn't want to make it pretty. I'm trying to discourage you.”

“You act as if I attacked you. I only touched you.”

“That was enough. When it's you.”

She lifted her chin. “Why? After all, I'm only a schoolgirl. Not important enough to be of any account.”

“No more than the black plague was during the Dark Ages.”

“Now you're comparing me to a plague?”

“Only the devastation factor.” He studied her expression. “Have I hurt you? Christ, I keep forgetting you're more fragile than you pretend.”

“You couldn't hurt me.” She stared at him defiantly. “I wouldn't let you. Even though you tried your best. Let's see, you called me a plague, a schoolgirl, Cira.”

“I did hurt you.” He didn't speak for a moment and when he did the harshness was gone from his voice. “Look, I never want to hurt you. I want to be your friend.” He shook his head. “No, that's not true. We may be friends someday but there's too much in the way right now.”

“I can't imagine being friends with you.”

“Ditto. That's the problem. Oh, what the hell. I'm just digging myself deeper.” He slammed the door behind him as he left the house.

“I never want to hurt you.”

But he had hurt her. She felt rejected and uncertain and lonely. She had acted instinctively, compulsively, and he'd refused her.

It was only her pride, she told herself. She was far from ignorant, but she didn't know anything about sex on a personal level. He obviously wanted to have nothing to do with a novice.

Well, she wasn't to blame. He was attractive and she'd responded to him. And it wasn't as if she'd been alone in that attraction. He'd touched her and made her feel—

And then the bastard had treated her as if she were a teenage Lolita.

Screw him.

She turned on her heel and went down the hall to her bedroom. Wash up and go to sleep and forget about Trevor. Look upon tonight as a learning experience. Didn't most teenage girls have a fixation on older men at one time or another?

She wasn't most girls. She didn't feel any younger than Trevor and he hadn't been fair. She had a right to make a choice, not be sent away with a pat on the head. It wasn't as if she didn't have friends her own age who already had sexual experience. One of her classmates had even gotten married last quarter and was going to have a baby in August.

And the only reason she didn't have experience was that she hadn't been tempted. The boys at school were . . . boys. She'd felt like their older sister. She had more in common with Joe and the guys at the precinct than she had with her peers.

But not with Mark Trevor. She had nothing in common with Trevor and there was no reason she should feel this closeness to him.

She opened the bedroom door and started to get undressed as quietly as possible. Her face and hands were smudged from the tunnel but she wasn't about to go down to the bathroom to clean up. She'd been lucky Eve and Joe had slept through their excursion in the tunnels and wasn't going to risk waking them. She'd get up early and shower before they got out of bed.

She moved over to the window to look out at the winding street. Was Aldo standing somewhere in the shadow of one of those shops? Down in the theater tunnel she'd been overwhelmed by death but not the death that Aldo represented. Trevor had made her see that ancient Herculaneum far too clearly. Young suntanned athletes, languid women on litters, actors rehearsing their lines. All cut off in the prime of their lives. She'd been deluged, chilled, and crushed by the realization of the scope of those deaths.

Yet she'd never felt more alive than that moment when Trevor had touched her cheek. Perhaps that was why she'd been so affected and caught off-balance.

But now she was back to the real world.

Aldo's world.

It was truly like a funeral procession, Aldo thought. The metal coffin was being carried by four of Sontag's students and the mourners were Joe Quinn, Eve Duncan, and the reporters and soldiers following the procession.

The coffin.

He stared with feverish intensity at the box that contained Cira's remains. He'd seen specially constructed coffins like that as a boy when he'd played around his father's archaeology sites. Sontag had obviously done everything possible to preserve that skeleton from disintegration.

It would do him no good. He would smash those bones, grind them to dust. He would defile and—

Jane MacGuire and Mark Trevor had come around the corner, trailing behind the crowd around the coffin. She looked pale and composed beneath the dim electric lights illuminating the sepulchral darkness. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, not on the coffin. What are you feeling? Anticipation? Triumph? Or is it too painful, bitch? You don't know pain yet.

Do you feel me looking at you? Does it frighten you? But then you like to have men stare at you, don't you? Trevor is watching you now, devouring you with his eyes. How long did it take you to lure him into your bed, whore?

He could feel the fury explode inside him. It shouldn't have happened. Trevor had no business coming between them. It should have been him. It would be him. Before he took her face, he'd take her body. He'd spend himself, cleanse away the evil that was Cira.

But it might not be enough. What if he had only a few moments to enjoy that final victory? He needed more. He needed contact again, her voice, her words.

The procession had passed out of sight down the tunnel and he had to catch up before he lost them. He moved quickly down the robbers' tunnel that ran parallel with the theater tunnel. He wasn't really worried. He'd be able to follow them. He knew these tunnels well and the darkness was his friend. The blood was singing through his veins with a rhythmic refrain that repeated over and over.

It was his time.