“It’s just a bruise.”
Sam knelt beside Remi. He lifted the bandanna on her thigh. The bleeding had slowing to a trickle. He whispered, “Rivera’s bleeding internally.”
Through clenched teeth Remi asked, “How bad?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Stall until he keels over dead.” “I’ll try.”
“Stop your whispering!” Rivera barked. “Move away from her.” Sam complied. “Tell me your theory about the entrance.”
Sam hesitated.
Rivera pointed the gun at Remi.
“It’s based on the illustrations,” Sam said. “Chicomoztoc is always a cavern with seven smaller caves around it . . . like a flower. The cavern is beneath a mountain. The drawings vary, but the big details are the same-including the location of the entrance.”“At the bottom,” Rivera said.
“Right. But if I’m right and this is the place, it means the exterior shape of the island was as important to them as the interior.”
“How could they have gotten an overhead view of it?”
“They didn’t. They sailed around it and mapped it. As small as this island is, it would have been easy to do it accurately.”
“Go on.”
“If you’re looking at the illustration face on as a two-dimensional image, the entrance to Chicomoztoc is down. If you look at it from overhead-and they oriented themselves on the four cardinal directions like most cultures do-then the entrance lies to the south.”Rivera considered this, then nodded slowly. “Good. Now go find it. You’ve got four hours. If you don’t find it by then, I’ll kill you both.”
RIVERA MADE THE GROUND RULES clear: Sam would search for the entrance while he, Rivera, guarded Remi. Rivera would call Sam’s name at random intervals. If Sam didn’t answer within ten seconds, Rivera would shoot Remi again.
AS HE AND REMI HAD DONE on Pulau Legundi, Sam made do with what was at hand: a sturdy six-foot-long stick and patience. Facing what he thought was due south, he started up the caldera’s slope, prodding ahead of him with the stick.
The first pass to the top took him twenty minutes. On the rim he sidestepped to the right and started back down the slope. He felt ridiculous. Though his method was sound and still used in certain cases, the gravity of where he was, what he searching for, and the clock that was ticking on Remi’s life blended together, giving him a nagging sense of helplessness.The afternoon wore on. In twenty-minute intervals he hiked up the slope, then down the slope. Up, down, repeating until he’d made six passes, then eight, then ten.
Shortly before five o’clock, with the sun dropping toward the western horizon, he was picking his way through a particularly dense cluster of trees when he stopped to catch his breath.Initially, the sound was just a faint hiss. Sam held his breath and strained to pin down the location. It seemed to be all around him.
“Fargo!” Rivera hollered.
“Here!” Sam called back.
“You have thirty more minutes.”
Sam picked his way ten feet farther down the slope. He paused. The hissing had faded slightly. He stepped ten feet to the left, listened again. Louder now. He repeated his test, box-stepping up and down the hillside, until he found himself standing before a bulge in the slope. He poked the bulge with his stick; the tip disappeared.His heart thumped in his chest.
He dropped to his knees and shoved his head into the opening.
The hissing doubled in volume.
“Waves,” he whispered.
He pulled back, dug into his pocket, found his penlight. He clicked it but nothing happened. “Come on . . .” He unscrewed the bottom and dumped the batteries on the ground and used his shirt to dry each one in turn. He reassembled the flashlight and clicked the button. He was rewarded with a bright beam.
He stuck his head back into the opening and shined the light around. A three-foot-wide, smooth-walled shaft descended diagonally into the slope. At the edge of Sam’s flashlight beam the tunnel curved right into darkness.“Fargo!” Sam pulled his head out. “Here!”
“Twenty-five minutes left.”
He had a decision to make. With no idea where this tunnel led and without proper gear, he could easily find himself beyond earshot of Rivera or, worse still, he would hear Rivera’s check-in call but be unable to answer it within the allotted ten seconds. He had no doubt that either of these circumstances would lead to Remi being shot again.“He’s going to kill us anyway,” Sam said to himself. “Roll the dice.”
Feet first, Sam wriggled into the opening and started downward.
HE HADN’T GOTTEN ten feet when Rivera shouted: “Fargo!”
Sam scrambled back up the chute and stuck his head into the light. “Here!” He checked his watch: nineteen minutes.
He backed into the chute and let himself slide, braking with his toes and palms until he reached the bend, where he had to curl his body to navigate the angle. The chute steepened, continued for ten feet, then suddenly widened out. Sam felt his legs dangling free. He clawed at the walls, trying to arrest his slide, but gravity took over. He slipped from the chute and started falling.CHAPTER 49
HIS PLUNGE LASTED LESS THAN A SECOND.
He landed feetfirst in a pile of something soft, rolled backward in a reverse somersault, and came to rest on his knees. His flashlight lay a few feet away. He crawled over, grabbed it, and cast the beam about.
The pile into which he’d fallen was almost pure white. His first thought was sand, but then he smelled it: the distinctive tang of salt. The rush of the waves echoed around him, bouncing off the walls, fading and multiplying as though he were caught inside a fun-house auditorium.Sam checked his watch: sixteen minutes.
He looked up. The chute from which he’d fallen was ten feet above his head. He turned around, panned his flashlight. The wall nearest to him sparkled as though encrusted in tiny mirrors. He stepped up to it. “Salt,” he murmured.
Beneath the faceted white veneer he could make out a darker streak. It was green-translucent green. The stripe rose up the wall, widened into a foot-thick band, then turned again, forking into dozens more veins. The branching continued until it was a giant latticework beneath the white salt veneer.
The cavern itself was roughly oval and no wider than forty feet in diameter. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, he started across the cavern. He felt a jet of air blow up his leg. He stopped and crouched down.
The four-foot-wide hole in the floor was perfectly disguised by a crust of salt, punctuated by pencil holes through which the air was being forced. Sam stood up, looked around. Now knowing what to look for, he could see dozens of holes within the beam of his flashlight.
He reached the center of the cavern. Spaced at regular intervals around him were what looked like salt-encrusted stalagmites, each one approximately five feet high. There were seven of them. These were ceremonial cairns, he realized. Each cairn a metaphor, perhaps.“The Place of the Seven Caves,” Sam murmured. “Chicomoztoc.”
Careful of his footing, he strode over to the nearest cairn, knelt down, and pressed the head of his flashlight against the surface. Beneath the crystallized salt he saw a dull green glow. He used the butt of the flashlight to lightly hammer the surface. On the third blow, a scab of salt fell away, followed by a Ping-Pong-ball-sized rock. He picked it up. It was a translucent green, the same as the maleo statuette. The stone absorbed the beam of his flashlight, swirling the light until the interior seemed to glow and sparkle of its own accord. Sam pocketed the stone.“. . . argo!” Rivera’s faint voice called.
“Damn!” Sam muttered. He whirled around, casting his light wildly about. He needed a plan. He needed something . . . His beam fell on the salt pile. The kernel of an idea formed. It was sketchy at best, but it was all he had.
Dodging holes, he sprinted back to the salt pile. He grabbed a handful of it and stuffed it into his pocket. He scanned the flashlight along the wall beside him. It curved to the right. He followed it. The floor sloped down, then up, then left. The hiss of waves faded behind him. To the right he glimpsed a faint light source. He ran toward it. The walls closed in, and the ceiling descended until he was running hunched over.He stumbled through a wall of foliage and fell forward.