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.
“. . . argo!”
Sam rolled onto his back, caught his breath. “Here!”
“Eleven minutes.”
Sam lay still for thirty seconds, picking at his plan until satisfied it could work. But, then again, could was a far cry from would. He had no choice, no other options, and virtually no more time.
He picked his way to the bottom of the bowl, then made his way back to the clearing. “I found something.”
“Are you lying to me?” Rivera replied.
“No.”
Rivera stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Give me a minute.”
Sam walked over to Remi and sat down beside her. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Hi.”
“Hi. Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s dull throbbing. I’ve been counting my heartbeats to pass the time.”
Sam chuckled. “Never bored, are you?”
“Never.”
“I found something. I’m taking Rivera there now.”
“Is it—”
“I think so. I think we found it.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to take him in there,” he whispered. “With any luck, I’ll be coming out alone.”
“Then I’ll see you when you get back.”
Sam stood up and turned to Rivera. “Ready.”
“Lead the way.”
SAM TOOK RIVERA to the exit, then handed him the flashlight and stood to one side as Rivera ducked his head into the entrance. Rivera tossed the flashlight back to Sam.