The Emperor's Revenge

FORTY-EIGHT

At eight a.m. the full-sized Metanas Energija van crossed the bridge over the Neris River, Robertas Kulpa in the driver’s seat and Sergey Golov sitting next to him. Sirkal, O’Connor, and the two other men — Jablonski and Monroe — were nearly finished changing into uniforms in the back. Thick clouds portended the heavy rain that was forecast for later in the day. Two more blocks and they reached their destination.

“There it is,” Kulpa said, nodding at an imposing white neoclassical church.

The Vilnius Cathedral, built over the remains of a pagan temple, was fronted by a row of six huge columns, an homage to ancient Greek architecture. The dominant feature of the vast plaza outside the church was a freestanding bell tower. It seemed to be leaning, like the famous tower in Pisa, but Golov couldn’t decide whether it was an optical illusion or not.

“I’ve seen the church already,” he said. “We came here yesterday to take the tour.”

Kulpa gaped at him. “Are you crazy? Then they will recognize you!”

“Relax. The guide was the only one who saw us, and the tours don’t start until eleven. She won’t be here.”

Kulpa shook his head but kept driving. He slowed to a stop in front of the entrance next to two white and green police cars.

“I called ahead to get the evacuation started,” he said.

The few tourists visiting the cathedral at this early hour were being ushered out of the building calmly but urgently. The cover story given to the church leaders was that a gas line running under the church had ruptured, detected by a drop in pressure at the central monitoring facility. Kulpa and his “workers” were there to determine if there really was a leak and where it was coming from inside the structure.

“Did the archbishop have any objections?” Golov asked.

Kulpa shook his head. “Once I explained the danger of a possible explosion, he seemed happy to have us come for the inspection, even if it takes a few days.”

The cathedral had been rebuilt several times over the centuries due to wars and fires. It had been turned into a warehouse by the Soviets after World War II and returned to its role as a fully functional cathedral only in 1989. It was understandable that the archbishop should not want to see it destroyed yet again.

They unloaded the van, each carrying a bag of equipment. O’Connor stacked several boxes onto a handcart and they all headed to the main door. There they met the policeman in charge of the evacuation as he escorted a couple out through the main entrance.

“Is the building clear?” Kulpa asked in Russian. Although Lithuanian was the official language, most residents were also fluent in their neighboring country’s tongue.

The uniformed officer nodded. “We have made a thorough sweep of the building. No one else is left inside. The archbishop has confirmed it and returned home. Two officers will remain outside to ensure that no one else goes in. All of the other doors have been locked.”

“Good. Make sure your men stay out here as well. I don’t want them causing an explosion by striking a careless spark. Absolutely no smoking.”

“I’ll inform the men.”

Kulpa turned to Golov. “Masks on from here.”

They all donned gas masks purely for show. When they were kitted up, they entered the church.

The central nave was lined with square pillars and painted a pristine white. Elaborate designs adorned the arched ceiling. Large oil paintings were the only other decorations. Row upon row of wooden pews stretched to the altar at the far end, which was buttressed by green marble columns.

“This way,” Golov said, who was more familiar with the cathedral’s interior than Kulpa was thanks to the tour the previous day.

They made their way to the far end of the room and went through a door that led to a set of descending stairs.

Golov nodded, and they all removed their masks.

He pointed at Kulpa. “You wait here. Make sure we are left alone. I’ll station a man up here with you to keep you company.”

Kulpa’s eyes wandered to the staircase. Golov could tell that the utility foreman desperately wanted to know what they were up to, but he was either smart enough or scared enough not to ask.

“Of course,” Kulpa said. He looked around and, seeing no chairs, plopped down on the floor.

“Stay with him,” Golov said to Monroe, who nodded and took up a post standing next to the door.

The rest of them went down the stairs, carrying the boxes that had been on the handcart. As they entered the lower part of the church, the walls changed to exposed brick held in place by crude mortar. A musty smell pervaded the air.

They were in the cathedral’s age-old catacombs. For the benefit of tourists, the ancient floor had been covered over by modern material, and soft lights at the base of the vaulted walls cast a moody glow. Although there was a maze of passages, clues Napoleon left in the diary pages would allow them to narrow down the search area considerably.

“Where do we start?” O’Connor asked as he set his box down.

Golov oriented himself so that he was facing north. “The pages from Napoleon’s Diary indicated the treasure would be somewhere in that direction.”

Finding valuables hidden away inside the cathedral wouldn’t be unprecedented. Twenty years ago in the same cathedral, workers installing electrical cables discovered a cache of pre — World War II antiques secreted behind a wall. They had been sealed up as the Nazi invasion began, and then remained there after those who’d hidden the treasure were killed in the war, taking the knowledge of the secret stash with them.

Golov was certain Napoleon’s men had similarly hid the treasure from Moscow. They had stowed it in a large chamber and then sealed it up so that the barrier looked like any of the other walls in the catacombs. After the men who did the work succumbed to the bitter cold during the remainder of the retreat, the emperor was left as the sole remaining person who knew exactly where the treasure was hidden. That information had died with him. Given the thickness of the walls, attempting to penetrate them with any type of sensing device would be useless. Brute force was the only way the riches would be unearthed.

Golov nodded to Sirkal, who unzipped his bag. He took out a handheld electric demolition hammer and a loop of heavy-duty extension cord.

“Find somewhere to plug that in,” Golov said. “Let’s start digging.”