The Midnight Watch: A Sigma Force Short Story by James Rollins Page B

between a few boulders, hinting at the possibility of a cavern system below.”
    “And you believe the recent earthquake cracked this system open?” Lena asked.
    “Indeed.” Wrightson waved an arm. “Not a particularly surprising outcome. This whole range is made up mostly of karst, a form of limestone. All the rainfall and abundant springs have made this region a geological playground, full of marvels. Underground rivers, sinkholes, caves—you name it.”
    Roland stared at Arnaud. “But it was more than just an old cave you found here.”
    Wrightson glanced back, his eyes glinting with amused excitement. “Best we don’t ruin the surprise. Isn’t that right, Dr. Arnaud?”
    The paleontologist grumbled sourly, a match to the scowl that seemed permanently etched on his features. While Wrightson was gregarious and outgoing, the Frenchman was his dark shadow, ever grim and meanspirited. The researcher was only a few years older than Roland, who was thirty-two, but Arnaud’s attitude made him seem far older. Roland suspected much of Arnaud’s attitude rose from his annoyance at both his and the American’s inclusion here today. Roland knew how some scientists could become very territorial about their work.
    “Ah, here we are!” Wrightson declared, stepping forward to the top of a ladder that protruded from a nondescript hole in the ground.
    Focused on the goal, Roland missed the figure standing in the shadow of a boulder until the large man stepped into the sunlight. He had a rifle resting on his shoulder. Though the guard was dressed in civilian clothes, his stiff stance, the sharp creases in his clothes, and the steely glint in his eyes all suggested a military background. Even his black hair was shaved to stubble, looking more like a peaked skullcap.
    He spoke rapidly to Arnaud in French.
    Roland didn’t speak the language, but from the attitude, the guard plainly was not subservient to the paleontologist, more a colleague on equal footing. The guard pointed toward the darkening skies, seeming to be arguing about whether to allow them to go below. Finally he cursed, stepped to a generator, and yanked on a cord, setting the engine to rumbling.
    “That would be Commandant Henri Gerard,” Wrightson introduced. “He’s with the Chasseurs Alpins, the elite French mountain infantry. He and his men have been keeping anyone from trespassing here.”
    Roland glanced around, trying to spot any other soldiers, but he failed.
    “A sad but necessary precaution, I’m afraid,” Wrightson continued. “After the birder discovered this possible entrance, he contacted a caving club to investigate. Lucky for us, the club’s members adhere to a strict and secretive code of conduct. When they discovered the importance of what lay below, they preserved what they found and reached out to their French comrades, those who oversaw the preservation of such famous caves as Chauvet and Lascaux.”
    With a background in art history, Roland understood the significance of mentioning those two caves. The sites were famous for their Paleolithic cave art, paintings done by the oldest ancestors of modern man.
    He stared toward the opening, suspecting now what must lie below.
    Lena also understood. “Did you find cave artwork down there?”
    Wrightson lifted one eyebrow. “Oh, we found so much more.” His gaze settled on Roland. “It’s why we contacted the Vatican, Father Novak . . . why you were summoned from the Croatian Catholic University in Zagreb to join us.”
    Roland peered down into the tunnel. As thunder rumbled in the distance, dread drew him to touch the white Roman collar at his neck.
    Arnaud spoke in his heavily accented voice, his disdain ringing clear. “Father Novak, you are here to witness and verify the miracle we’ve found.”
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    Copyright
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used