THEY DECIDED TO HURRY, as it was quite possible that The Widow's Sons were following their footsteps. Their plan was to recover Iacobus's diary as quickly as possible and disappear for a while.
That same Monday morning, they went to one of the city's large stores for supplies. They bought nylon ropes, carabiners, flashlights, and other equipment suitable for spectacle loggers and climbers. They also had radio transmitters— they believed it would be better to maintain communication with Monroe— and a video camera to capture their descent and entry into the crypt. They had everything ready. All that was left was to wait for the right moment.
The city fell silent the moment the cathedral clock struck four in the morning. Only the muffled echo of footsteps could be heard in the vicinity of the Plaza de los Apóstolos. The spotlights illuminating the cathedral magnified the shadows cast on the carved stone of the Vélez chapel.
Silently and with extreme caution, the three ran for refuge beneath the intricate network of metal scaffolding surrounding the back of the temple, their best allies being the night and the renovation work itself. They remained crouched for a few seconds, making no noise or movement, but still panting like out-of-control horses from the race. The sound of their breathing grew louder in their ears, becoming unbearable in their brains.
Gregory Evans gestured to Geovanna, suggesting she help him— he wanted to lift some wooden fences that were resting on the end of the scaffolding. Together, they placed them in front of them, serving as a parapet. This way, they guaranteed their privacy should anyone pass by.
Meanwhile, Umbert hurried to grab one of those tools used by glaziers that he had hidden in his backpack.
— You're the one who should do it — he said to Evans in a low voice, implying that the boy had more strength in his arms.
He nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. He turned to whisper to Geovanna that she should give her uncle a hand. They both stood together in complete silence.
Hidden behind the wooden planks and scaffolding beams, they began the second part of the plan. The architect and his niece removed the ropes, rigging, and carabiners from the backpacks they carried.
Greg, in turn, inserted the iron bar into the seam of the fence and pressed upward. It gave way after several seconds, rising a few inches from the ground. He was preparing to grab it with his left hand when it slipped, returning to its original position. As it fell, the fence created a metallic echo that resounded in the night like a gunshot.
For a moment they stood transfixed, staring at each other in complete silence. They expected the windows of the surrounding buildings to be opened by neighbors alerted by the roar, but all they heard was the barking of a dog wandering alone through Cardinal Belluga Square.
Despite his shaky legs and a deep desire to be a thousand miles away, Gregory picked up the joint loosening tool again and made a lever, this time with the help of Geovanna, who took charge of holding the grate tightly so it wouldn't fall again.
Monroe turned on a flashlight so her niece could act more accurately, helping her with her free hand.
— Carefully... — whispered the architect.
Geovanna lifted the rectangle of rusted bars, slowly lowering them to the ground. A damp, putrid smell immediately wafted to their nostrils. Umbert shone the light into the hole, where the three huddled, driven by curiosity.
Beyond the buttresses at the base, an unfathomable abyss of shadows and cabalistic signs carved into the walls loomed. Not only were the initials of Iacobus of Carthage repeated, but also the marks of a cross over a triangle and various glyphs used by builders of the time. Monroe focused on a certain relief jutting out from the background, which he thought was a door. Upon closer inspection, he discovered they were rusty bars embedded in the wall. They protected the entrance to a corridor.
— Did you guys see that? — Geovanna asked.
— If I'm not mistaken, we'll find what we're looking for inside — said Gregory Evans, without taking his eyes off the hole they would have to climb down.
— It must be ten or twelve meters deep — the architect calculated. — I just ask that you be careful.
— Don't worry — Geovanna rested her hand on her uncle's arm, winking at him. — I had a good teacher.
Soon after, they donned their harnesses and protective gloves. Then they tied the nylon ropes to a pallet of cement bags that could certainly support over 500 kilos. Evans took a video camera and radio transmitters from his backpack, equipment he divided among his companions.
— With that, if something happens to us down there, there will be a chance that someone can save us — he commented seriously.
— I hope I don't end up in the awkward situation of having to ask the police for help — Monroe joked.
— Everything will be fine. Don't worry.