The Columbus Affair: A Novel (46 page)

Had she heard right? Never had he spoken to her in such a way, and never had he struck her. She still held her flashlight, which Zachariah yanked from her grip.

“I never wanted my father killed,” she said.

“Why do you think we are here? Your father and Rowe threaten all that we do. Millions of Jews have been slaughtered through time. Do you have any idea how many died defending the First and Second Temples? What are two more deaths? They mean nothing. Your father is in our way.”

In the wash of her light she saw fury on his face.

“You’re insane,” she said.

He lunged for her. “Since you feel the need to protect your father, then be with him.”

She tried to shrink back and avoid his grasp, but he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head downward, tripping her legs out from under her. She hit the swift-moving water and tried to stand. But he helped her along with a kick, the flow too fast, her body too close to the end.

She screamed.

And dropped over the edge.

———

T
OM HAD AVOIDED THE SHOT FROM ABOVE THANKS TO A LIGHT
that blinded the shooter momentarily, the fired round ricocheting off the cavern walls. By the time the shooter recovered, he’d pushed himself through the rushing water, light off, back toward the cavern wall. He kept his focus above, eyes mated to the darkness, but the man had disappeared.

A stab of light suddenly appeared, bouncing across the roof.

He could hear shouting but couldn’t make out what was being said, the words lost in the trills and gurgles of the falling water.

More movement above.

Then a scream jolted his nerves.

Female.

Could it be?

A body came over the edge and splashed into the waist-high water. Whoever it was came up, gasped for breath, and tried to stand.

“Dad.”

The word tore at his heart.

Alle.

He lunged toward her, wrapping his arms around her body, intent on stabilizing them both. Then he saw two forms above, one holding a flashlight aimed down.

“It is all over,” Simon called out.

The other man raised a weapon.

With Alle in his grip, one hand still holding his unlit flashlight, he dropped them into the water, out of the beam’s glare.

Simon adjusted, trying to relocate the targets.

But the current sent them over the side.

———

Z
ACHARIAH STARED DOWN, AMAZED
.

“He took them both over,” he said to Rócha.

But he wondered. What did Tom Sagan know now that he didn’t? Water raced past his legs. He used the light and scanned the cavern wall.

And saw niches. Leading down.

Rócha saw them, too, and moved closer with his light.

“So let us see what it is you know,” he whispered.

B
ÉNE HAD WILLINGLY LEAPED OVER THE SIDE, KNOWING THAT
the next level was less than three meters below. His impact was broken by more water about a meter deep. He’d heard a gunshot, the sound within the rocky confines like an explosion. Had Zachariah Simon arrived? Or was it the same person who’d destroyed the dam?

The
abeng
he’d first heard was the question, the return wail the answer. But why had the Maroons staked out this cave?

And why flood it?

He wondered about the extra depth of water on this level, much more than above, and the answer to his question came as he sloshed his way ahead. The rock angled upward, transforming this step into a rough bowl that first had to fill before any liquid continued its downward assault.

Thank goodness.

The deeper the better.

He switched on his light, which he still held, and saw that the ledge was about ten meters wide. He glanced over its end and saw that the next one below was close, maybe two meters down, shorter and thinner, too, water quickly disappearing over its edge into more blackness.

He heard a scream from behind.

He whirled and saw lights reflecting off the ceiling in a chaotic dance. A splash, then a dark clump spilled from above and plopped into the pool two meters away.

He aimed his light and saw Sagan holding a woman.

“You can stand,” he yelled.

Sagan released his grip and steadied himself. The woman—young,
small-boned, maybe in her twenties with long dark hair—swiped water from her eyes. Both of them grabbed breaths.

He kept his light angled away so as not to blind them. “You okay?”

Sagan nodded his head, sucking deep breaths of the dank air. “Simon is here.”

His nerves came alert and his head stared up. What happened to his men at the airport? Nothing good, he assumed. He caught the faint glow of light on the far cavern wall.

And knew what was happening.

Simon was climbing down.

Sagan stood. “He’s not alone.”

“His name is Rócha,” the woman said.

“Béne, this is my daughter, Alle.”

“The son of a bitch shoved me over the side,” she said. “He tried to kill me.”

Béne heard the shock in her voice.

“But you saved my life,” she said to Sagan. “Why did you do that? You jumped in and grabbed me. You went over the side first. You could have been killed.”

“I’m just glad there was water here,” Sagan said.

“We have to go,” Béne said. “I know Rócha. He’s trouble. And they’re both coming this way.”

He angled his light down and crept toward the edge. “It’s a short drop. Do it fast.”

They all three hopped down, the water now only ankle-deep.

Quickly he found the next edge and aimed his light. A series of short steps made a steep descent.

Then he noticed something.

A glow from below.

“What is that?” Sagan whispered, apparently seeing it, too.

“I don’t know, but it’s the only way to go.”

The men behind them were armed. They weren’t. Their only choice was to use the darkness to their advantage.

He switched off his light.

“Down,” he breathed.

———

Z
ACHARIAH SAW A LIGHT BELOW, FLICKING ON AND OFF
. S
OMEBODY
was on the move, careful how long they betrayed their location.

Rowe? Sagan?

He and Rócha had utilized the rock ladder for the first change of levels, but now they simply hopped down each ledge. This cave was a natural chute that channeled groundwater, one level at a time, into the earth like a massive fountain. Before the dam had been destroyed rain would have been all that seeped inside. Now water poured with a peeling rumble, and he wondered where it led.

The light below had stopped strobing.

Were they armed?

Knowing Rowe, the answer was yes.

Unfortunately, he had to use the same trick, switching his flashlight on and off, since there was no way to see anything in the void.

But then he noticed something in the depths.

Light.

And constant.

What was that?

They kept descending.

———

T
OM HOPPED OFF THE LAST LEDGE AND STARED AT THE AMAZING
sight.

They’d made it to the bottom.

He estimated they were more than a hundred yards underground, the gushing torrent launching off into a dark, misty void in the far rock wall. The cavern that rose around them stretched at least a hundred feet high and that much wide. White stalactites dropped from the ceiling. Ten torches, projecting from the wall thirty feet up, illuminated the space, their fires spangling the darkness, trails of sparks popping skyward like comets. More climbing niches etched into the wall stretched below each torch, which explained how they were lit.

But by who?

And why?

No more darkness provided cover.

Nowhere to hide.

“What is this?” Alle asked.

He noticed that the water from above had lost nearly all of its strength, sapped by the many levels of varying lengths and depth. Several of the steps had been angled, forming pools that further arrested the flow. Here, at the bottom, the final remnants poured off the last ledge in a transparent sheet that stretched thirty feet wide and eight feet tall, pooling into a lake. To their right, the lake spilled over a rocky ledge and cascaded a few feet down to the river, which had the effect of keeping the lake level constant. A moldy smell of wet earth filled his nostrils. On the far side was another slit in the rock, large enough to walk through, a narrow ledge before it. There was no way to get to that ledge without crossing the lake. They stood on the only dry patch in the oblong-shaped cavern, the rock coated with a green, sandy patina.

A man appeared on the ledge above them.

Black-skinned, thin, older, with short hair.

Rowe seemed to know him.

———

B
ÉNE STARED AT
F
RANK
C
LARKE
.

“We have our eyes and ears, too, Béne. Just like you. We watch those who bear watching.”

Apparently so. Maroons had always done that. In the war years they’d cultivated spies in every plantation and town, people who would keep them informed as to what the British were planning.

“Then you know,” he said, “there’s somebody else coming this way.”

“Do you have ’em?” Frank called out.

A moment later Béne saw Simon, Rócha, and two Maroons, armed with
machets
, on the next ledge up. They hopped down. Two handguns and flashlights were handed over to Frank.

“I see you survived,” Simon said to Sagan’s daughter.

“Go to hell,” she spat out.

Simon seemed unfazed by her rebuke. He simply turned to Clarke and asked, “And who are you?”

“We are the keepers of this place.”

“And what is this?” Sagan asked.

“Sixty years ago,” Frank said, “we were asked by a friend to hold something of great value. He was a special man, someone who understood Maroons in a deep way. He was also a Jew. There is a deep connection between Maroon and Jew, always has been.”

No one said anything.

“Yankipong is our supreme being. Our god,” Frank said. “Maroons were handpicked by Yankipong to serve as a conduit of His divine power. We have always thought of ourselves as chosen.”

“Like the Israelites,” Simon said. “Chosen by God. Singled out for divine favor.”

Frank nodded. “We noticed the similarity long ago. Maroons were able to overcome what others deemed hopeless. Jews have done the same. We’d already found the treasure the man who came here spoke of, but when he told us how sacred it was, we regretted our violation of it. That’s another thing about Maroons. We’re respectful of others’ ways.”

“You found the Temple treasure?” Simon asked.

Frank nodded. “Long ago. It was brought here for safekeeping in the time of the Spanish, by Columbus himself.”

“You told me those objects disappeared,” Béne said to Clarke.

“Another lie. I was hoping you’d let this go. I thought maybe the attempt on your life would stop you. But here you are. You couldn’t have found this place on your own, so I assume one of these outsiders is the Levite.”

That word Béne knew.

“I am that person,” Simon said.

“Liar,” Alle yelled. “You’re nothing.”

Simon faced Clarke. “I have come for the treasure.”

“Then you’ll know how to find it.”

Béne kept silent. What was the colonel up to?

Frank stepped to the lake’s edge. The water was shallow, no more than a third of a meter deep, its surface smooth as a mirror, like an infinity pool at one of his resorts. It was shaped as a rough oblong, about thirty meters wide, stretching the entire cavern.

“Leave,” Frank called out.

The two Maroons with
machets
climbed up the rocky ledges, disappearing toward the surface.

“This is a private matter,” Frank said.

But Béne was worried. Even though Frank still held the two guns and the flashlights lay on the ground, Rócha could make a move.

“If you think attacking me will solve anything,” Frank said, “be warned. Only the Levite can go from here. I know nothing. But I do need to show you something.”

Frank tossed one of the guns he held into the lake.

It sank to the shallow bottom.

Béne had already noticed stones scattered beneath the surface, and now realized that in between them was mud. Frank lifted a rock, about the size of a melon, and dropped it into the lake. A splash, then the water cleared and the rock met bottom, settling beside the gun. Bubbles oozed to the surface. Then the rock sank, sucking the gun down into the mud with it.

“At the time of the Maroon wars,” Frank said, “British soldiers were brought here for questioning. One of ’em was tossed into the lake and the others watched as he sank in the mud. After that, answers to our questions came easy.”

“The person who came here,” Sagan said. “The one who told you about the treasure. Was it Marc Eden Cross?”

Frank nodded. “I’m told he was a remarkable man. The colonels at the time had great respect for him. He asked for our help with a great duty imposed on him, and we provided it. This place was changed … for him.”

A
LLE WAS WET, SORE, AND PISSED
. A
T
S
IMON
. A
T HERSELF
. S
HE’D
been an idiot, allowing her anger, her whims, and her fantasies to be exploited.

“Who are you?” she blurted out to the older man who’d tossed the gun in the water.

“My name is Frank Clarke. I’m colonel of the local Maroons. This land is ours by treaty. That means I’m in charge. Who are you?”

“Alle Becket.”

“That man,” her father said, “who came here sixty years ago. That was my grandfather, Marc Eden Cross. Her great-grandfather. He told you the truth. He was fulfilling a special duty given to him.”

“I am told he spent a lot of time in Jamaica and came to know Maroons in ways outsiders rarely do. We offered him this place as sanctuary and he accepted.” Clarke pointed to the lake. “This pit filled with mud long ago. It’s a thick soupy mixture. You see the many stones scattered beneath the water. Some have numbers etched into them. Cross did that himself. His addition to this place. This water, this mud has served Maroons for centuries. Now it serves the Jews. It is for the Levite to take the next step.”