CHAPTER FOUR
Sa Calobra, Mallorca
November 25
This was certainly not the Mallorca of British royals and German billionaires.
Evangeline Cole released a contented sigh as she took in her surroundings. The cave dripped and breathed, a living thing growing and changing over millennia. Stalactites lined the walls like a picket fence of human femur bones, warding off trespassers far more effectively than the signs on the narrow strip of beach.
Evangeline glanced back at her Zodiac, the November rain pelting the rubber boat in a steady stream. Then she turned to the mouth of the cave and ventured into the belly of the beast. Mindful of the calciferous rock formations biting from above and below, she switched on the flashlight and followed her remembered path.
This particular network of caves ran for approximately forty kilometers along the north-central coast. The Mallorcan government had done an exceptional job preserving ancient sites, and this area was doubly fortunate due to its inaccessibility. Cliffs above provided scenic overlooks for hikers and sightseers, and neighboring towns with larger beachfronts snagged tourists. The appeal of adjacent locales and the stern warnings to keep out of this area had combined to keep her little cove relatively unnoticed.
Evangeline, “Evan” to her friends, scanned the walls and cave floor as the dark space grew more confined. She shook off the feeling of foreboding. She was supposed to be here. Well, not supposed, but she was allowed to be here. Maybe not technically here, but she could undoubtedly talk her way out of a confrontation by explaining that she was part of the team excavating the newly discovered ancient Talaiotic burial site nearby. Fifteen kilometers qualified as “nearby.” Right?
When Evan had taken a break from excavation to kick a soccer ball around with a group of local kids, they had informed her of their discovery. Like young boys everywhere—although on Mallorca, it was certainly more of a possibility than most places—they dreamed of finding buried treasure and routinely poked around in the labyrinth of caves that wove beneath the island. They had found something that had the hairs on Evan's arms tingling—small rock formations deep within the system. The boys had pointed to a short stack of stones at the official dig site and explained in their native Mallorcan Catalan that they had seen similar rock piles in two small interior caves.
Without explanation to her colleagues, Evan had piled the boys into an ATV and driven them to the location. They had taken her as far as the first opening and explained the route. Then she dutifully drove them back and gathered a few supplies. Evan had returned in her Zodiac for purposes of convenience and efficiency, not, she silently insisted, secrecy. So here she stood once again, staring at the small opening the boys had cleared, one of three she would need to crawl through to get to the location they had described. Pushing irrational images of blind beetles feasting on her flesh and phantom hands pulling her into the abyss, she dropped to her knees and crawled through.
While not unexplored, this smaller space was certainly not in any guidebook. The confined entrance allowed almost no light into the interior chamber. Deep puddles on the floor indicated that the incoming tides were still a threat. Evan scanned the area with her flashlight, the beam chasing an elusive whisper. She took tentative steps avoiding the irrational urge to jump at every errant sound.
The next, even smaller opening appeared man-made and led to a hallway-like cavern, long and narrow. The rock formations closed in like prison bars, and Evan had to turn to the side at points to avoid disturbing them. Beyond the beam of her flashlight lay stygian darkness. Between the wind and the water, the cave almost seemed to moan. She imagined the walls expanding and contracting like lungs on a breath. Evan took a moment to gather herself as the eerie setting rattled her sensibilities. Great. Next, the bulb in the flashlight will flicker like I’m in some old-school horror movie.
The passage hooked to the left, and, as the boys had indicated, a small knee-high passthrough was located near the end on the right—beside it, a small pile of stones the boys had wisely left untouched.
It was indeed some sort of marker. It was not, however, Talaiotic. The ancient people who had lived on Mallorca during the second millennium B.C. had used surface rocks to form small pyramids to mark places of significance: burial and ceremonial sites. These rocks were calciferous, from the cave itself, as if someone had knocked out pieces of the cave wall to create an indicator. The rocks had eroded, nearly melted into each other as years of water had melded them into an ice cream cone of an object. Despite the clear evidence of time, Evan estimated these markers had been there merely hundreds, not thousands, of years.
Evan sent a prayer of gratitude that the boys had not only noticed the little formation but left it alone. How many boys exploring a cave would have simply kicked a pile of rocks aside in their excitement to investigate? The boy she spoke with was a budding archaeologist; his parents worked as mappers at their dig site. He had sensed the significance of the marker, but his mother and father had dismissed it when he had shared his discovery. They were not the least interested in crawling around in a dark, wet cave to investigate something they correctly assumed was not relevant to their project. Evan, however, was an ambitious graduate student hungry to do precisely that.
She had a theory. One she had yet to share with her doctoral advisor. Evan had joined the team a year ago. Prior to that, she had pored over the research and discoveries from the Talaiotic population center and wrote her Master's Thesis on the original 2013 excavation in Valldemossa. The dig now extended to four other sites along the northern coast of Mallorca. Evan hypothesized that the ancient civilization's coastal homesites were not only strategic for defense against Sea Peoples and Phoenician invaders but also because the Talaiotic men were seafarers themselves. She wasn’t alone in her theory—a sword discovered several years ago made from metals not readily available on Mallorca had spawned a cadre of archaeologists who pursued the possibility. In the absence of evidence supporting seafaring, the number had dwindled. Evan wasn’t so quick to dismiss the idea. She planned to use her downtime on the excavation to examine areas of note and find the evidence she sought. She didn’t need to unearth the maidenhead of a ship; the slightest thing—a foreign coin, a reference in an etching—could be of monumental significance.
Hence her current predicament.
Apparently, she did not have the proportions of a twelve-year-old boy. She twisted her shoulders and forced herself through the small opening—flashing only briefly to the impossible-to-suppress image of a baby being born—tumbling into the lower chamber and landing on her backside in a puddle. She frantically reoriented herself and scanned the small space with the light. The Mallorcan cave systems had dozens of underground lakes, some of them quite large. She needed to make sure her next step didn’t plunge her into a watery void. Regaining her footing, she was relieved to confirm the water was merely a shallow pool.
Evan wasn’t prone to drama. She never looked at a mole or a freckle and planned her funeral, never panicked about upcoming exams. If, however, she were to ever stray to the neurotic, this would certainly be a worthy situation. The chamber was low and cramped, about the size of a small root cellar, and the rock formations were slowly encroaching on the space. Across the short distance, she spied another of the mysterious markers. This one had sprouted a small stalagmite. Evan did a rough calculation. Stalagmites grew at approximately half a millimeter per year. This little fellow was just shy of a foot, putting the marker upon which it grew at approximately six hundred years old. Definitely not Talaiotic, but unquestionably noteworthy.
She made her way the six or so paces to the far side and knelt to examine the next marker, her flashlight creating a tunnel of light in the pitch. This grouping was also composed of rocks from the cave wall and stacked in three. She cast the light around. The wall of stalactites at the back originated from the cave ceiling. A rock shelf jutted out in one part, causing the stalactites to form about a foot away from the back wall and creating a sort of natural cage. She peeked through the curtain of rock and discovered a section of the rear wall had been caked with gravel and silt, sealing off a passage in a manner that appeared to be man-made. Slipping behind the stone balusters, she ran her hand over the area, only to find the earth had hardened over the centuries. Despite an overwhelming urge to kick at the homemade clay, she remembered her role. As an archaeologist, she couldn’t merely karate kick a wall; there were procedures to follow. She needed her tools, better lighting, and a game plan.
Evan was slowly backing out of the narrow space between the stalactites and the back of the cave when a thunderous clanking from the other side of the wall had her shrieking and careering into the rocks. She spun and fell to the hard ground, banging her head on the limestone.
Sprawled out on the damp ground, she groped for a handhold to right herself. Once she regained her presence of mind, she paused. The clamor, the unmistakable sound of metal colliding with metal, had come from the other side of the rear wall she had been inspecting. She tossed a beam of light that way. The noise had ceased. Perhaps this small chamber abutted a more frequented cave. There were entire tours of Mallorca dedicated to spelunkers and sightseers. Some caves were cathedral-like spaces, upwards of fifty meters high.
Climbing to her hands and knees, Evan focused on the task at hand: extricating herself from this rock formation and making a plan. As she brought her feet beneath her, something near the wall caught her eye. She realized she had fallen into the marker, upending the stack of rocks. The stalagmite that had sprouted from it now lay broken on the cave floor. She pushed away some damp earth from the base rock and saw two small metal objects. They appeared to be links from a chain, just two substantial, rectangular gold links that sat resting on the limestone, which would have been concealed by the rocks set atop them. In the absence of an evidence flag, she grabbed a small paper bag from the side pocket of her pants—like a grandmother with butterscotch candy, she always had them—filled it with dirt to weigh it down, and set it next to the chain links.
She carefully retraced her steps back through the labyrinth until she emerged into the large primary cave. Despite her (nearly) unwavering sense of calm, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief, only to gasp the air back into her lungs when she spotted a hulking man with a large black umbrella inspecting her little Zodiac.
Evan weighed her options. While she had no intention of hiding her discovery, she wasn’t yet ready to show her cards. Moreover, while indeed an authoritarian presence, there was no indication that this man was, in fact, an official of any sort. So she ducked out of the cave and hurried up the beach out of his line of sight. About forty yards away, Evan turned back to the man and waved both hands over her head to signal him.
“Hey! That's my boat!” She ran toward him, making sure to obliterate the footprints she had left coming out. Still, she maintained a safe distance; Evan didn’t like to be touched, a condition that was doubly true in this instance. She skidded to a stop ten yards from the menacing figure. She could have probably gotten away explaining she was part of Dr. Omar Emberton's archaeological contingent, but she was hesitant to reveal that information. So, she played the ditz.
“Restricted area,” the man boomed above the rain patter in broken English.
“I’m sorry, okay? I was trying to go meet some friends for a hike, and the stupid thing started sputtering and making all kinds of noise.” Evan gestured to the Zodiac.
His only response was an icy stare and a clipped, “You. Go.”
She had a director's-cut version of her sorority-girl-beach-breakdown story, but the man was giving her an out. On top of that, he clearly wasn’t with the Mallorcan authorities or Spanish military from the naval base on the northeastern tip of the island—time to go.
The man continued to examine the Zodiac. It was a military-grade vessel and stocked with supplies. Rather than attempt to explain her definitely not-ditzy cargo, she hopped in the boat, started the motor, and pulled out of the cove.
His cell phone rang as he watched her depart.
“Sí.”
Evan spied him over her shoulder as the man turned his back to continue the conversation. When he tossed his hand to the side in a careless gesture, she assumed she had succeeded in convincing him she was a lost tourist and quickly made her escape. In addition to the commotion she had heard in the adjacent cave, the strange markers, and the little piece of chain hidden within, this man's presence on the beach was yet another question in a remarkably confounding expedition.