Chapter VIII

“Listen to this infernal thing!” Altamont raged. “‘Wielding a gold-plated spade handled with oak from an original rafter of the Congressional Library, at three-fifteen one afternoon last week--’ One afternoon last week!” He cursed luridly. “Why couldn’t that blasted magazine say what afternoon? I’ve gone over a lot of twentieth century copies of that magazine and that expression was a regular cliche with them.”

Loudons looked over his shoulder at the photostated magazine page.

“Well, we know it was between June thirteen and nineteen, inclusive,” he said. “And there’s a picture of the university president, complete with gold-plated spade, breaking ground. Call it Wednesday, the sixteenth. Over there’s the tip of the shadow of the old Cathedral of Learning, about a hundred yards away. There are so many inexactitudes, that one’ll probably cancel out the other.”

“That’s so, and it’s also pretty futile getting angry at somebody who’s been dead two hundred years, but why couldn’t they say Wednesday, or Monday, or Saturday, or whatever?”

Monty checked back in the astronomical handbook, and the photostated pages of the old almanac, then looked over his calculations. “All right, here is the angle of the shadow, and the compass-bearing.

“I had a look, yesterday, when I was taking the local citizenry on that junket. The old baseball diamond at Forbes Field is plainly visible, and I located the ruins of the Cathedral of Learning from that.

“Here’s the above-sea-level altitude of the top of the tower. After you’ve landed us, go up to this altitude--use the barometric altimeter, not the radar--and hold position.”

Loudons leaned forward from the desk to the contraption Altamont had rigged up in the nose of the helicopter; one of the telescope-sighted hunting rifles clamped in a vise, with a compass and a spirit-level under it.

“Rifle’s pointing downward at the correct angle now?” he asked. “Good. Then all I have to do is to hold the helicopter steady, keep it at the right altitude, level and pointed in the right direction, and watch through the sight while you move the flag around, and direct you by radio.”

“Simple, if I had been born quintuplets!”

“Mr. Altamont! Doctor Loudons!” a voice outside the helicopter called. “Are you ready for us now?”

Altamont went to the open door and looked out. The old Toon Leader, the Reader, Toon Sarge Hughes, his son and four young men in buckskins with slung rifles were standing outside.

“I have decided,” the Tenant said, “that Mr. Rawson and Sarge Hughes and I would be of more help than an equal number of young men. We may not be as active, but we do know the old ruins better, especially the paths and hiding places of the Scowrers. These four young men you probably met last evening, but it will do no harm to introduce them again.

“Birdy Edwards; Sholto Jiminez; Jefferson Burns; Murdo Olsen.”

“Very pleased, Tenant, gentlemen. I met all of you young men last evening and I remember you,” Altamont said. “Now, if you’ll crowd in here, I’ll explain what we’re going to try to do.”

He showed them the old picture. “You see where the shadow of a tall building falls?” he asked. “We know the height and location of this building. Doctor Loudons will hold this helicopter at exactly the position of the top of the building and aim through the sights of the rifle, there. One of you will have this flag in his hand, and will move it back and forth. Doctor Loudons will tell us when the flag is in sight of the rifle.”

“He’ll need a good pair of lungs to do that,” Verner Hughes commented.

“We’ll use the radio. A portable set on the ground, and the helicopter’s radio set,” Altamont said.

To his surprise, he was met with looks of incomprehension. He had not supposed that these people would have lost all memory of radio communication.

“Why, that’s wonderful!” the Reader exclaimed, when the explanation was concluded. “You can talk directly. How much better than just sending a telegram!”

“But, finding the crypt by the shadow, that’s exactly like the--” Murray Hughes began, then stopped short. Immediately, he began talking about the rifle that was to be used as a surveying transit, comparing it with the ones in the big first-floor room at the Aitch-Cue House.

Locating the point where the shadow of the old Cathedral of Learning had fallen proved easier than either Altamont or Loudons had expected. The towering building was now a tumbled mass of slagged rubble, but it was quite possible to determine its original center, and with the old data from the excellent reference library at Fort Ridgeway, its height above sea level was known. After a little jockeying, the helicopter came to a hovering stop, and the slanting barrel of the rifle in the vise pointed downward along the line of the shadow that had been cast on that afternoon in June, 1993.

The cross-hairs of the scope sight centered almost exactly on the spot Altamont had estimated on the map.

Guiding himself by peering through the rifle-sight, Loudons brought the helicopter slanting down to land on the sheet of fused glass that had once been a grassy campus.

“Well, this is probably it,” Altamont said. “We didn’t have to bother fussing around with that flag after all. That hump over there looks as though it had been a small building, and there’s nothing corresponding to it on the city map. That may be the bunker over the stair-head to the crypt.”

They began unloading equipment--a small, portable nuclear-electric conversion unit, a powerful solenoid-hammer, crowbars and intrenching tools, tins of blasting plastic. They took out the two hunting rifles and the auto-carbines, and Altamont showed the young men of Murray Hughes’ detail how to use them.

“If you will pardon me, sir,” the Tenant said to Altamont, “I think it would be a good idea if your companion went up in the flying machine and circled over us, to keep watch for the Scowrers. There are quite a few of them, particularly farther up the rivers, to the east, where the damage was not so great and they can find cellars and shelters and buildings to live in.”

“Good idea. That way, we won’t have to put out guards,” Altamont said. “From the looks of this, we’ll need every body to help dig into that thing. Hand out one of the portable radios, Jim and go up to about a thousand feet. If you see anything suspicious, give us a yell, then spray it with bullets, and find out what it is afterward.”

They waited until the helicopter had climbed to position and was circling above, and then turned their attention to the place where the sheet of fused earth and stone bulged upward. It must have been almost ground-zero of one of the hydrogen-bombs: the wreckage of the Cathedral of Learning had fallen predominantly to the north, and the Carnegie Library was tumbled to the east.

“I think the entrance would be on this side, toward the Library,” Altamont said. “Let’s try it, to begin with.”

He used the solenoid-hammer, slowly pounding a hole in the glaze, and placed a small charge of the plastic explosive. Chunks of the lava-like stuff pelted down between the little mound and the huge one of the old library, blowing a hole six feet in diameter and the two and a half feet deep, revealing concrete bonded with crushed steel-mill slag.

“We missed the door,” Altamont said. “That means we’ll have to tunnel in through who knows how much concrete. Well...”

He used a second and larger charge, after digging a hole a foot deep. When he and his helpers came up to look, they found a large mass of concrete blown out, and solid steel behind it. Altamont cut two more holes, one on either side of the blown-out place, and fired a charge in each of them, bringing down more concrete.

He found he hadn’t missed the door after all. It had merely been concreted over.

A few more shots cleared it, and after some work, they got it open. There was a room inside, concrete-floored and entirely empty. Altamont stood in the doorway and inspected the interior with his flashlight; he heard somebody behind him say something about a most peculiar sort of dark-lantern.

Across the small room, on the opposite wall, was a bronze plaque.

The plaque carried quite a lengthy inscription, including the names of all the persons and institutions participating in the microfilm project. The History Department at the Fort would be interested in that, but the only thing that interested Altamont was the statement that the floor had been laid over the trapdoor leading to the vault where the microfilms were stored. He went outside to the radio.