CHAPTER FIFTEEN

September 25, 3:00 A.M.

Bimini, Bahamas

PETE DESCENDED QUICKLY and made his way toward the shore until he reached the outer edge of the mangrove where he had detected the cooler water. The hum from the engines of at least two Jet Skis silenced. He halted, scanned the cloudy waters for his enemy, and spied the machines bobbing on the surface not far away, their undersides resembling the bellies of giant sea turtles.

Surveying his surroundings, he spotted several sharks circling just beyond the murky water. With each pass, their bodies grew nearer, their actions bolder. Pete keyed his mike and whispered to Ian. As expected, he received no reply, which reinforced his fear Ian was probably already dead and he was on his own. He peered over his shoulder at the thick tangle of roots. Above him, three machines dipped and rose on the waves, and his audience of sharks had grown to five. An inspection of his gauge confirmed that even his air was about to abandon him.

Pete removed his fins and crouched on the seabed to stay as far below the shallow waterline as possible in order to avoid detection by whoever rode the Jet Skis. He wedged the discarded fins between roots to keep them from floating to the surface, and then held his body inert, willing the riders to move on and the sharks to look for a meal elsewhere. As he crouched, knife clenched in his fist, fish pooled at his feet. The two-foot long swimmers showed no fear. He tried to block out the bumping and nibbling at his legs and concentrate on the predators stalking him, but as he watched the largest fish glide back and forth, an idea formed. He glanced again at the mangrove to his back and scouted for the least dense spot. Returning his focus to the uninvited guests, he prayed he wouldn’t have to test his plan. The scheme was risky, with little chance for success, but nothing better popped into his mind.

He fought to control his breathing, eyes darting from the Jet Skis, to the sharks, to the harmless swimmers swirling around his feet. He remained motionless with his blade poised. As the first diver hit the water, Pete struck with precision quickness he didn’t know he possessed. He gathered the skewered struggling fish in his hands and kicked hard for the mangrove, trailing a streamer of blood behind him as he swam. He pulled the knife from the corpse and sawed frantically at a root.

One glimpse over his shoulder verified that time had run out. The root finally gave way, exposing a cavern just big enough for his lean frame to fit through, but too small for the large sharks to enter. He turned back toward the three divers closing in on him and sliced the fish in half, shaking the body violently, turning the water in front of him red with blood. He waved the fish halves until the predators gathered in a feeding frenzy, forcing his pursuers to halt and hang back. Pete dropped the bait and took off his tank, knowing it would just be a hindrance in the maze of vegetation.

He squeezed his body between the gaps. Grasping his knife, he continued to cut through thinner roots, allowing him to progress further into the dense mass and work his way up toward the surface and air. He trusted the sharks were still holding the divers at bay, but he had no time to check. His lungs already ached.

Sawing at another root, he pushed at a floating mat of vegetation. It gave way and he thrust up through the tight gap, gasping for air. As his head cleared from its lack of oxygen, Pete scanned his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. He held onto a branch in the middle of the narrowest section of mangrove, where the vegetation grew tall, but spaced fairly wide apart. He was thankful for the older trees, since new growth would be small, twisted, tangled, and impossible to penetrate. He wondered if the presence of cooler, fresher water had altered the usual density, making the section less daunting.

Even though he surfaced in a narrow strip of mangrove, he was still a good jaunt from shore. As he contemplated the possibility of trying to crawl over the stubby vegetation, poking up between the taller trees to work toward land, a bullet whizzed over his head. He took a deep gulp of air, secured his mask, and ducked back below the water’s surface.

He couldn’t hold his breath long enough to weigh his options, so continued on the route which had kept him alive. He sawed at the small roots, weaving through the maze, keeping as close as possible to the flow of the cooler water, where the root gaps seemed to be the largest. When he ran out of air, he forced his way to the surface, filled his lungs, and dropped below the water before the shooter got a bead on him. So far, he managed to be on his way down each time the bullets grazed overhead. He hoped his luck would hold out and the sea would remain deep enough to hide him from view.

Pete figured he must be nearing shore as he struggled to stay concealed in the shallows. The current increased slightly, and he tasted a hint of sulfur on his lips. The root mass thinned until he finally pushed free and surfaced in a small deep pool about twenty feet across.

He popped his head out near the edge and took in a much-needed breath. Since he no longer had to force through the tangled vegetation, he was able to breach the surface without attracting gunfire. As he regarded the area, he spied the shoreline. Across and to the right from where he treaded water, a faint path led from the beach through the dense mangrove vegetation to the pool’s edge. Along the trail, a light bobbed, nearing his position, eliminating a shore escape as a possibility.

With a quick oath and a gulp of air, he sank below the water and eased toward the opposite edge of the pool. He examined the roots dangling on the shoreward side. Something seemed unusual about their density and arrangement. Sliding his flashlight, which still dangled from his wrist, into the gap, he pointed slightly downward to avoid detection from above and flipped the switch. Though difficult to verify through the darkness and mass of vegetation, Pete detected a channel or tunnel feeding the pool. He flipped off his light and floated in suspended silence for several moments, contemplating his options and the pond’s significance.

Have I found the Healing Hole and the channels feeding it?

Pete quickly sliced through the roots and squeezed his body through. Once past nature’s barricade, he was able to stand up with his head just breaching the water’s surface, yet undetectable from above, finding himself in a cavern or tunnel laced with a faint odor of fuel.

Turning on his light, he pushed forward until the water pulsing through the channel was only thigh-deep. The current was weak, yet moving presented a challenge as sharp hidden objects sliced at his bare feet, the slippery bottom threatened to topple him, and complete incapacitating exhaustion closed in. He had only gone about twenty yards when he came to a fork in the underground route.

Pete ran his fingers over the glistening wall. He couldn’t decide if the walls were part of an ancient manmade tunnel, or if the natural action of water had sculpted the surface over time to resemble something purposely hewn. As his wrinkled and numb fingers searched the wall of the right opening for a clue, he detected an anomaly. He crept closer with his flashlight until the worn image of a somewhat human-like head came into focus. He inspected the left tunnel and the same symbol appeared. They were similar to the renderings he viewed of the heads used in the Mayan numerical system. As he peered from one to the other, trying to ascertain any differences, a feature caught his eye. The left drawing appeared to be missing a jaw, but a hand covered the mouth on the right engraving, making it impossible to tell if the right figure possessed a jaw or not.

Wishing he had spent more energy listening to Olivia and less time fantasizing about running his fingers through her long, dark silky hair, he struggled to remember what she told them about heads with detachable jaws. She was way out of his league, and he had just started dating a woman from work, but he doubted there was a man on earth who wouldn’t kill to drown in her deep brown eyes, or who had the willpower to avoid becoming entranced by her smooth hypnotic voice. Whatever the elusive “it” is, Olivia definitely possessed that mysterious quality.

He shut his eyes and ran his hand over the engravings, trying to force Olivia’s image out of his mind and focus only on her words. The sound of three loud splashes, one after the other, sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, jolting his memory. A symbol of a head with a detachable jaw represented some number and the nothingness of death. If the figure on the left possessed a jaw at one time, it was now detached, which was a close enough connection to mortality for his rushed logic, so he chose the opposite direction.

Pete quickly made his way into the right-hand feed, leaving behind the symbol of death. The shaft narrowed and shortened until he had to lie on his stomach and crawl. On the upside, the water now only trickled through the tunnel several inches deep. The confinement made him feel trapped, which was likely the case, but backtracking clearly wasn’t an option, so he pressed on.

His thin arms ached and his strength waned as he finally emerged into a small cavern. Unable to completely unfold his 6’4” frame, he stood hunched over to give his knees a rest. He scanned the tiny cavity with his light. No exit. He had reached a dead end. Pete shuddered as the words repeated over and over in his head, but he was too stunned by the vision before him to allow a panic attack.

The walls appeared to be divided into a grid, each square about three feet by three feet and carved with shallow symbols. Many figures bore a Mayan resemblance, but most were like none he had ever seen. In the center of the small grotto, a pedestal with a golden box atop shimmered in his light beam. Gold towers embedded with holes stood in equal intervals around the cavern. Pete guessed the stands might have once held flaming torches to illuminate the room. He tried to pick one up, but the column wouldn’t budge. He pushed with his shoulder, and the base slipped a fraction, so it wasn’t secured to the floor—just heavy. By the object’s weight, he doubted the stands were simply gilded, but rather, solid gold.

His gaze returned to the box in the center of the room. Pete slid the weighty lid off and studied the image on the underside. Mythical-looking heads of different shapes and sizes arranged in a line from largest to smallest and descending into a cavern decorated the surface. The first and biggest rested at the mouth of the cave and shimmered from what resembled rays of the sun hitting the back of the head. The last image appeared submerged in a subterranean pool. But the most stunning feature was the way each head’s eyes seemed to bore into his soul. The collective gaze held him, and his hands began to tremble.

Pete set the lid face down on the pedestal next to the box, pushing the uncomfortable sensation out of his mind. “Holy mother of…” His words trailed off as scraping sounds in the tunnel seized his attention. Flipping his flashlight off, he retreated, pressing his back against the far wall of the chamber. He pulled out his now-dull dive knife, doubting he could defend himself against three people, especially if these were the same professionals who’d retrieved the other relics, eliminating an entire village.

“I’m a scientist, not ex-military like Cash or Ian. What in the heck am I doing in a dead-end tunnel underneath an island in the Bahamas all alone?” he whispered into the darkness.

Light filled the grotto, temporarily blinding Pete. A thin woman stood, staring at him with haunting green eyes and a confident smirk. Ebony hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, she wore a black thigh-length diving suit that clung to her ample breasts and accentuated the gentle curve of her hips and trim waist. In her hand, she clutched a glistening dagger. But, what kept Pete transfixed were her eyes. The unique and beautiful shade of green didn’t exist in nature. Their almond-shape held ice and evil, and the soulless chill in her stare made him shudder.

Pete detected another figure filling the tunnel behind the woman. The person remained hidden from his view as he continued to contemplate his odds of surviving. He observed her graceful and confident movements with morbid fascination as he visualized his pending death at her slender fingers, making his pulse race. Despite squeaking through all of his CIA training, nothing had prepared him for an encounter with a creature so enchanting and deadly.

The woman said nothing as she snatched a cloth sack from the hand of the hidden person without a backward glance. Her eyes never wavered from Pete’s face, nor did her amused expression change. She quickly transferred the object from the gold box into the bag, pulled the drawstring, and took several steps back. She handed the package to her colleague crouched in the shadows, and finally spoke.

“I’m disappointed. I hoped to have the opportunity to test my new fillet knife on Cash,” she said as she turned the dagger’s hilt in her hand. “Men, should I gut this thin man and feed him to the sharks, as he tried to do with us, or let him live long enough to tell that egotistical traitor how he lost the prize and was beaten by a ghost?”

Silence filled the room. Pete felt powerless to pull his gaze from the green-eyed devil. A sliver of hope trickled through him, mixed with a lot of confusion. She knew Cash. Though Pete heard nothing, the woman responded as if she had received an answer to her question from the person behind her.

“Yes. We might as well kill him. I would rather see the expression on my old friend’s face when our paths eventually cross than to have him forewarned. Heinrich, hold this for me. I doubt I need both hands to kill this pest, but he did give us a reasonable chase for a while.”

Pete watched as the huge muscular man named Heinrich slithered farther into the room and took the light from the woman. She strode toward Pete, the distance closing rapidly. He raised his knife in an attempt to defend himself, but something in her eyes told him it was pointless to fight.

Only several strides separated them. Pete started to say a final prayer, even though he had never been a particularly religious man, when the wall behind him collapsed and he fell backward and down, landing on his back, knocking the breath out of his lungs. The dull thud of a heavy object contacting with an unmovable force vibrated through the chamber, sealing out all other noises and sucking the air from the black space. Blindness engulfed him.