Algorithm - Book 1 - The Medallion

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Herman Borman adjusted a knob below the green screen to widen the view. His wizened hands moved deftly over the controls as the limo grumbled onwards.

"Steven, do not be too fast. Let us be careful this time." 

Borman wiped his chin of a thin line of spittle and resumed staring at the screen. The driver silently replied with an emphatic nod, and a quick sideways glance at Paul, sitting next to him. Wearing a police uniform that served its purpose at the Schill incident, Borman could tell that Paul was decidedly unhappy. His preference to wear it again plainly gave away their arrival at the museum. That did not sit well with Borman, and things that didn't sit well with him eventually had a way of disappearing. Paul shot a nervous look over his shoulder and saw the old man huddled over his tracking device, face outlined in goblin green and seemingly indifferent to the world. He exhaled, trying not to make it too obvious, and did not notice Mr. Borman's sneer. Feigning an ignorance of Paul's backward glance, Borman knew that Paul was nervous.

Borman spoke to the driver. "They are at the mine office. We do not want to spook them, so move ahead as quietly as you can. When we reach the office you and Paul will check the area. By this, I mean keep out of sight, and keep in touch with me. There may be more people involved. Once you have ascertained the situation, I will tell you what to do," 

And then, as if to himself, he continued in a whisper, which gradually increased in volume. "I want that medallion and I want the object Hedda has. I want both artifacts, and I do not care what it takes. Verstehen Sie mir?  Are you understanding me?"

Steven and Paul nodded enthusiastically in an odd unison that could be comical under other circumstances. Borman had a habit of reverting to German when he became excited. They had been involved in similar activities for some time now. Tracking, hunting, retrieving. He had explained to them that he was a collector of rare artifacts, with plenty of money to finance retrieval operations. For this job, he was a bit more animated than usual, breaking with tradition to actively join in the hunt. They reached the outer gate.

***

Linda was the first to see it and tugged at Adam's arm. Just ahead, beyond a stand of overgrown forsythias, she made out the curved stone edges of a mine entrance at the base of a mound which blocked the view of the river beyond. The two approached, moving off the main trail and with an unspoken understanding more typical of a coordinated assault, adopted a flanking maneuver using the overgrowth as a cover. The remains of rusty iron rails protruded from the muddy trail and wound through the foliage into the bottom of a faded wooden wall inset a few feet into the mine entrance. Centered on the wall was a boarded up door announcing that the mine was closed, that there were dangers within and for any wayward trespassers to 'KEEP OUT'. As they neared the blockaded entrance, Adam pointed at the base of the door. "Check out the footprints."

Between two nearly buried rails leading into the mine entrance, shoeprints in the dirt led to the door. Although such signs could be due a variety of curiosity seekers, one such print had a feature of singular interest. Its heel was visible while its toe disappeared under the wooden boards. This anomaly drew the two closer in for a more careful inspection. Adam gave the doorknob a twist and a pull, to no effect. While Linda felt around the edges of the door, Adam took a step back to take in a broader view. The wall consisted of unpainted planks, gray with years of oxidation. The coloring was uniform from top to bottom, except for a couple of small, nearly circular patches near the door. As Adam reached forward to press down on one of the marks, the board beneath gave in just a little. Linda joined him, pushing down on the other. A faint click sounded and the door swung outward along with its collage of warning placards. A plume of damp, cold air rolled over them. Instead of darkness within, they saw a string of light bulbs glaring along the roof of the tunnel and disappearing into the distance as they curved downward. Glistening walls and puddles caught between rails and rock debris scattered along the passageway completed the scene. They pulled the door closed behind them, careful to avoid making too much noise.  Once inside the tunnel, they heard the sound of dripping, water seeping into the mine from countless cracks and crevices.