A sardonic voice, made hollow by echoes, came drifting out of the cleft. “You took your time.”

“Hello, mate. How did you get yourself in there?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t easy,” he said gnomically.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving the future.”

“We can’t get him out,” Rosa said to me. “The cleft is too narrow. We haven’t been able to find the way he got in—presumably from above. We might get one or two people in from the front, but they could never get behind him to bring him out. And besides, we’re afraid he might harm them.”

I frowned. “Harm them? Harm them how? You think he’s sitting in there with a revolver?”

Rosa said heavily, “Remember San Jose.”

“Look, Rosa, I don’t know why he’s got himself stuck in a hole in the rock. But I can’t see what harm he can do you in there. I mean, all you have to do is wait a few hours, or days even, and you’ll starve him out. In fact you might have to if you want him to get through that gap.”

“This isn’t funny, George.”

“Isn’t it?” I felt a little light-headed.

“Talk to him. You say he’s your friend. Fine. Find out what he’s doing here, what he wants, what he intends. And then find a way to resolve this situation. Because if you don’t, I will.”

I tried to read her. “Will you call the police? . . . You won’t, will you? Or the FBI, or Interpol. You don’t want to bring them here into the Crypt, despite the danger you perceive. What are you planning, Rosa?”

She said evenly, “I’m responsible for the safety of the Crypt. As is every member of the Order. I will do whatever it takes, at whatever cost, to ensure that safety. I suggest you make sure it doesn’t come to that.” In the gloom her face was hard, set—almost fanatical—I thought she had never looked less like me, or my parents.

I nodded, chilled. “I believe you.”

I approached Peter’s wall again.

“Don’t listen to her,” he said. “Don’t let her whisper in your ear.”

“Or overwhelm me with chimp pant-hoots or pheromones? . . .”

“George, just get out of here.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t concern you. Just get away—”

“Of course it concerns me. That’s my sister, standing over there. But that’s not why I’m staying, Peter.”

“Then why?”

“For you, you arsehole.”

He laughed, sardonic. “I didn’t see you once in twenty years.”

“But you were a good friend to my dad. Even if I didn’t know about it until too late.”

Silence for a while. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “Okay, then. Do what you like. Arsehole yourself.”

“Yes . . . Peter, we need to talk.”

“About—”

“About San Jose.”

He hesitated. “So you know about that.”