The Dig (The Blackwell Files Book 9)

by Steven F Freeman

  Performing the motion, Vasquez noticed the flickering light. Her mask couldn’t conceal the relief that flooded her countenance.

  But what exactly lay beyond the crack? Only one way to find out.

  Vasquez approached the opening. She turned her body sideways to avoid damaging her scuba equipment as she shimmied across the crack’s rough surfaces. Within seconds, she popped through, and the last of her respirator’s bubbles floated into the inky blackness above.

  Imitating the lieutenant’s technique, Alton wiggled through the opening. Good thing he hadn’t let married life bulk him up, or he might have spent the rest of eternity wedged between these rock walls.

  Thankful his equipment had survived unscathed, Alton emerged on the other side and kicked towards Vasquez’s lamp.

  But closing their gap proved to be a challenge. A forest of mineral columns—stalactites and stalagmites that had met up to form unbroken stacks—formed a thicket around which Alton had to navigate.

  At last, he reached Vasquez. The pair pushed forward, towards a flicker of light ahead.

  The tangle of columns thinned. The floor fell away, and a broad expanse of crystal-clear water opened up. Above, the water took on an odd quality. Alton needed a moment to realize he was observing the water’s surface from below.

  For there to be a surface…

  There must be light—and air!

  Both divers kicked upwards.

  An indescribable surge of relief coursed through Alton as he broke through the water’s surface and found himself inside a huge cave. He yanked out his respirator and flipped back his mask, breathing in lungfuls of glorious, natural oxygen.

  “You’re lucky, amigo,” said Vasquez, bobbing next to him. “We both are. This cavern could have contained deadly gasses.

  Alton nodded. The cave’s atmosphere carried a musty scent but otherwise seemed harmless.

  They swam to a broad expanse of rock that descended into the water at a shallow angle. Pulling themselves onto the smooth surface, they yanked off their scuba gear and flung it into a pile.

  They dropped to the ground for a moment to catch their breath.

  Alton shook his head in disbelief. This had to be Cruz’s cavern. The discovery of this place reeked of irony. Had a perpetrator not cut their guide wire, they never would’ve stopped long enough to notice the opening that led here.

  “Good thing you noticed that squeeze,” said Vasquez.

  “Huh?”

  “The tight spot we just came through—cave divers call it a squeeze.”

  Nodding, Alton rose to his feet. The cave’s enormous dimensions took his breath away. Moss and lichen clung to the ancient ceiling. Throughout the space, pale mineral columns as thick as a man’s body at the base stretched upwards to meet their lofty counterparts. It seemed nature had designed its own cathedrals long before man.

  Who could have imagined a cavern so large hidden mere yards away from the watery maze from which they had just emerged?

  Shielding his eyes, he searched for the source of light. The cave’s pockmarked ceiling contained gaps of various sizes through which dappled sunlight poured. A few crannies escaped the rays, but for the most part, the sun’s light bathed the cavern in an otherworldly glow.

  Vasquez must have followed his gaze. “Those holes were probably created during the collapse that formed the cenotes.”

  “Lucky for us,” said Alton, “or we’d have been fish food in a few more minutes.”

  The policewoman grunted assent.

  But were they any better off? Had they escaped the proverbial frying pan of their underwater tomb only to land in the metaphorical fire: a cave with no escape? How were they to leave this place? At last glance, the air in their tanks had fallen to thirty percent, too low to attempt a water escape. And both investigators had left their phones back in Vasquez’s cruiser. Who would have expected them to need cellphones during an underwater journey?

  No, if they were to find a way out, it would have to originate from this cavern—on their own.

  Alton examined the cave’s walls for an escape route, limping towards the distant end as he did so. So far, every surface looked too vertical to climb, especially considering the slick layer of moss and slime that coated most surfaces.

  He took two more steps before halting in surprise.

  “Look at this,” Alton called to Vasquez, who had begun searching the cave’s opposite side.

  She joined him. “What is…? Oh.”

  Before them, a long case fashioned from ribbed metal rested beside a moss-covered rock.

  Alton stepped forward and moved the case on top of a flat-topped boulder. He popped twin locks and opened it. The contents formed an eclectic mixture: receipts, a few photocopied pages of a book in Spanish, four business cards from restaurants, a pistol, and a faded, half-crumpled map.

  He spread out the map so they could both study it. A network of blue and black lines intersected several geometric shapes. The lines formed a strange pattern, too asymmetrical to be called a grid. What did the map show? At first, the cluster of lines seemed too disjointed to represent roads. Then Alton considered the haphazard pattern of Atlanta’s downtown streets and reconsidered his conclusion. Perhaps the map did represent a city as old as his former hometown. But which one?

  Vasquez studied one of the receipts. “This is dated from last month. This case hasn’t been down here for long.” She chewed her lip. “But why was it left down here?”

  “This must be Cruz’s hidden cavern,” said Alton. “There’s no way he and someone else stumbled across such a well-hidden spot within a few months of each other.”

  “I agree. That means some artifacts could be down here—maybe even the undertaker’s spear itself.”

  “Yep,” said Alton. “First priority is finding a way out of here. But in the meantime, let’s keep our eyes peeled for anything stolen from Cornick’s dig sites.”

  They spread out again. Alton wound his way through a field of enormous boulders littering the cave’s floor.

  For a quarter hour, the pair searched in silence. Alton’s unease grew as each passing minute failed to reveal a means of escape.

  The field of boulders gave way to the cavern’s furthermost wall. Behind an outcropping of rounded stalagmites, a horizontal gap of roughly ten feet revealed a steep rock face that disappeared behind another vertical wall of rock. Sunlight flickered onto the angled surface.

  “Come check this out!” he called.

  Vasquez double-timed back to Alton’s position. They crawled through the gash in the rock and craned their heads around the second wall to take a look. Sunlight reflected off minerals in a slab of angled rock that led to the surface, where thick foliage had overgrown the hole. The grade was steep but manageable.

  Alton shook his head in disbelief and gratitude. It looked like Mallory would be stuck with him a while longer.

  “I think we just found our ticket out of here,” said Vasquez.

  “Yep. Before we leave…did you find any artifacts?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “Nope. Not the undertaker’s spear or anything else.”

  Vasquez eyeballed the slope. “I’d like to bring that metal case, but I don’t want to risk trying to carry it out of here. We’ll have a hard enough time climbing up that rock with our hands free.”

  “Yeah. Let’s just get the receipts and the map. My swimsuit is pretty dry now. I can put them in my cargo pocket.”

  Ten minutes later, Vasquez returned with the potential evidence. The two crawled through the crack and advanced to the base of the angled rock.

  Vasquez squinted. “Look—climber’s rope and crampons. Whoever left that case also left behind their ladder.”

  “Works for me,” said Alton, beginning his ascent.

  They climbed in silence for a minute or two.

  “I’ve been thinking,” puffed Alton, trying to avoid using his bad leg as he pulled himself up the makeshift escape ladder. “This must be Cru
z’s drop point.”

  “Yes, that is my assumption, too,” replied Vasquez, herself somewhat out of breath.

  “We know from Veronica Garcia that Cruz entered the same way we just came—through the water caves. He dropped off his case and returned. But this shaft we’re in now could have been how the buyers entered. Using this rope ladder would be a lot easier than navigating the cenote.”

  “It makes sense. But if the case held artifacts, why leave it behind?”

  “Cruz probably figured no one would ever find it and didn’t want to lug it back. He probably put the money in something smaller.”

  “Yes, but it’s strange the buyer didn’t want to leave artifacts in the case—especially if it contained the spear, considering how valuable it is.”

  “Yeah, that’s a head scratcher. Maybe the buyer brought a different container with him, one Garcia wouldn’t recognize if they ran into her as they were leaving LabnaHa.”

  Their heads broke the plane of the ground. Alton couldn’t help but grin, but his partner’s expression remained somber.

  “If what you say is true,” said the lieutenant, “it feels like we’ve hit a dead end on tracking down Cruz.”

  “Maybe,” said Alton. His lips turned up in a smile as an idea entered his mind. “And maybe not.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Daniel O’Neil leaned back in a poolside lounge chair, willing his body to relax despite the torrent of thoughts whirling around his mind.

  Hoping to avoid the mid-afternoon’s blazing sun, he and Jess had taken shelter under the shade of the top deck, a spot affording more privacy than poolside seats.

  O’Neil scanned the faces of those lounging on this deck as well as those meandering past. Any one of them could be a black-market seller, even one of these older folks who comprised the majority of the ship’s passengers. In fact, that kind of demographic would blend right in. He couldn’t take anyone off the list of potential suspects.

  His cellphone chimed.

  “About time,” murmured O’Neil as he answered the call.

  “It’s Alton Blackwell,” said the caller. “Had any luck on your end?”

  “Sort of. We got a note a couple of hours ago. It said to meet someone at a particular spot tonight to see more ‘merchandise.’ I figure we passed the first test.”

  “Perfect,” said Alton.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Vasquez and I went to what looks to be a drop point in one of the cenotes. Found a waterproof case Gustavo Cruz left behind but no artifacts inside it.”

  “So you figure someone bought them from Cruz? And now maybe they’re on this ship?” asked O’Neil.

  “Exactly. And that’s probably the exact kind of person who’d be fencing it.” Alton paused for a moment. “Does your ship spend much time stopped in port?”

  “Yeah, most of the time, actually. It’s the only reason it takes nine days to sail a one-day passage.”

  “That means there’d be plenty of opportunity for someone to smuggle the undertaker’s spear on board if they wanted to,” said Alton.

  “Yep. Or anything else Cruz sold them. There’s cargo loaded at most stops. With the kind of money trading hands here for legit artifacts, it’d be easy to bribe a dock worker to sneak on stolen merchandise.”

  Alton paused again. “When you go to your meeting tonight, be sure to express interest in Aztec artifacts in general and Mictlantecuhtli, that underworld god, in particular. But don’t ask specifically about the undertaker’s spear.”

  “Why?”

  “The fact that it’s missing hasn’t hit the press. The seller would sniff you out as a cop if you asked about it.”

  “Got it,” said O’Neil. “Anything else?”

  “Make sure they know finances aren’t an issue for you.”

  “In other words, we’re loaded.”

  “Yep.”

  O’Neil snorted. “That will take some acting. It’d be nice if it was true.”

  They ended the call.

  O’Neil turned to Jess. “You catch all that?”

  “I think so.” She pursed her lips in the way O’Neil found so irresistible. “No wonder our mystery seller told us to be careful.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Two, maybe three, of Cornick’s team are already dead. If the undertaker’s spear really is on this ship, we’re dealing with people who don’t have a problem killing someone to get what they want.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Mallory fidgeted in her seat. Not trusting Gustavo Pineda’s motive for asking to see her, she had rejected his request for a private meeting, insisting instead he rendezvous with her entire team in the Zapopan Basilica. Besides David, who munched contentedly on an empanada from a cart down the block, the others looked as bored as Mallory herself felt.

  Dr. Cornick emerged from the ladder leading into the dig site’s passage. A veneer of dust coated his face. “Ah, Agent Blackwell. Here again?”

  “Yes. Sergeant Pineda said he had an update. He should be here any time now. Care to join us?”

  “You bet.” Before dropping into an empty seat, the archeologist arched his back into a long stretch.

  “Sore?” asked Mallory with a smile.

  Cornick grinned. “A bit. Thirty-plus years of this kind of work takes its toll.”

  “Wow! That long?”

  “Yes. Once I wrap up this dig, I’ll finally take the retirement I’ve be talking about for the past decade.” Placing a brown paper bag on the table, he rummaged through it and extracted a vast sandwich. “And maybe improve my lunch menu, too.”

  A quarter hour late, Pineda sauntered down the church’s aisle. Avoiding Mallory’s gaze, he eyed the others and dropped into a seat.

  Mallory folded her hands behind her head and remained silent. Pineda had called this meeting, not her.

  At last, the police sergeant spoke. “I check on Adriana Mura, like I said I would.”

  “And…?” asked Mallory.

  “Is interesting. Her background checks out the way Dr. Cornick described. She leads the team digging at the downtown cathedral.”

  “What’s the interesting part?” asked Mallory.

  “I check with the phone company. They used their network of cellphone towers to track her movements around the city. She comes here, to this site, after work three or four days a week.”

  Cornick looked up from his sandwich. “Adriana comes here?”

  “Ah, you didn’t know that, did you?” said Pineda. “And here’s another interesting thing. She used to come here, but she stopped after Dr. Salazar died.”

  “Let’s think about this,” said Mallory, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “Salazar was Mura’s leader and mentor. He led the downtown dig until this site was discovered. Mura was inexperienced, still a student, when she was thrust into a leadership role at the downtown site. Maybe she was simply reporting in to him and getting advice for next steps.”

  Cornick shook his head. “Everything you just said makes sense, but surely Oscar would have said something to me about it.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t know Mura was coming over here?”

  “No, not at all. And I doubt Oscar—Dr. Salazar—knew either. If he did, he would have mentioned it to me at some point.”

  “I hate to bust up the conspiracy theory,” said David, “but it’s not illegal to go back and forth between dig sites. Hell, you just said she’s leading one of them. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You’re right,” said Mallory. She turned to the policeman. “I’d like to know a little more about this before we confront her. Can you keep digging into her background? It looks like there’s more than meets the eye with Ms. Mura.”

  “Sí,” replied Pineda.

  Mallory turned back to David. “Something’s not right. Why would she come over here but not tell anyone? Why would she just hang out?”

  “It’s funny you said that,” mused Cornick

  “Why?” asked Mallory.


  “When you said ‘hang out,’ it reminded me of something. Now, take this with a grain of salt, because I can’t be positive. But several times, I’m pretty sure I recall seeing a guy lingering in the plaza at the time Eden Grey left work.”

  “The same guy each time?”

  “Yes. I only saw him three or four times,” Cornick hastened to add. He thumbed towards the ladder. “Most of the time, when Eden left I was still down there, doing my thing. But a few times, I left when she did, around five o’clock. And I want to say it was the same guy out there. I probably wouldn’t have noticed except he wasn’t like the rest of the tourists, the ones always coming and going. He just sat out there, waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?” asked Mallory.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Eden, perhaps?”

  “Have you seen this man since she died?”

  “Why, yes. He’s the host at the restaurant you visited a few nights ago. I see him almost every time I go there for dinner.”

  “Did you tell the police about this already?”

  “I didn’t…I mean.” Flustered, Cornick hesitated. “In retrospect, I guess I should have, but it didn’t stand out at the time. I only remembered it just now.”

  Mallory sighed. “It’s okay. The important thing is now we know. Sounds like it’s time to pay another visit to El Escondite.”

  While David remained behind at the basilica to review the site’s security measures, Mallory and Mastana traveled to the restaurant and approached its host stand.

  The man standing there matched Cornick’s description: muscular build, above-average height, and a shock of coal-black hair spilling over intense eyes.

  “Table for two?” he asked.

  “Actually,” replied Mallory, “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

  “Mallory Blackwell, an investigator from the U.S. You showed me and my friends up to Julio Diaz’s office the other day.”