The Florentine Deception (26 page)

“Wait, Alex. Wait,” yelled Steven. “This is the best thing that could have possibly happened.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“No. Hear me out. Now that they have the video, you're off the hook. Let them go after the Florentine. Once they have it, they don't need you anymore.”

“Are you fucking crazy? This is the worst possible scenario. Maybe if there was just one of them, either Khalimmy
or
the Russian, you might be right. But they're both after the Florentine. If either one gets it and the other still thinks I have it, I'm fucked.” I swallowed hard. “I want to get this damn thing over with tonight.”

The line went silent.

“We can do that,” Linda said after a few seconds, “but first you've got to calm down.”

“I'll fucking calm down once the Florentine is sitting in front of fucking Wolf Blitzer on live TV. Then I'll calm down.”

“Okay, okay. Let's—”

“Look,” I interrupted, “between Potter, you, and me, we know every inch of that canyon. I want to be at the cave's mouth before sunrise.”

I heard some mumbling on the other end of the line, then Linda said, “What time do you want to meet at the trailhead?”

“No later than four-thirty,” I said.

“We'll be there. Just try to get some rest. I'll call Potter now.”

Chapter 41

After a trip to the park's lone remaining functional bathroom, I rejoined Steven, Potter, and Linda at the Malibu Creek trailhead. The three had their headlamps on, casting dim red beams of light onto the hard-packed gravel as they milled pensively around. In the background, the din of crickets filled the damp morning air.

“Before we start, I've got to say it again: this could be really dangerous, so if anyone wants to bail, I totally understand.”

I shifted my beam toward Potter. “Not a chance,” he said.

“Linda? Are you sure?”

“Stop asking stupid questions, Alex.”

My head shot around, my eyes drawn to a pair of headlights. They quickly dimmed.

“It's probably just someone on the highway,” said Potter. “We've seen a bunch of others come and go since we arrived.”

“Okay,” I continued, my heart still pounding. “Regardless of what we find, I want to thank you guys. I couldn't ask for better friends.”

“Alex, you're like family,” said Potter. “The Lord knows you've been there for us.”

“Thanks, Potter.” I nodded solemnly. “All right, let's go.”

Everyone heaved their packs up onto their shoulders and began hiking down the dirt path. After a few minutes of silent walking, Steven and Potter began chatting softly, so I walked up ahead to Linda. She turned to acknowledge me with a warmhearted smile.

“I don't know how to thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

“Promise me you'll buy me that margarita when this whole thing is over,” she paused, “and then keep your promise. That'll be thanks enough. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.”

I put my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “That's a promise.”

Twenty minutes later we reached the edge of the rock pool. Except for the cacophony of croaking toads and the occasional bug flitting on its surface, it was eerily devoid of activity, the usual crowds of cliff-diving weekend-goers still sound asleep at home. Our canyon lay beyond the brackish basin of water, sheathed in darkness.

After taking a moment to drink some water, Linda gestured silently, and we made our way like a quartet of spiders across the hundred-foot-long sheer left wall behind the rock pool: Potter first, followed by Steven, me, and Linda at the rear. Our hands shifted from pocket to pocket, feet balancing on a series of protruding rocks and ledges twenty feet above the waterline.

“I'm glad that's over,” panted Steven as he stepped to the ground at the far edge of the pool. Even in the dim red light of my headlamp, I could see that his shirt was soaked in sweat.

“You did well,” I said softly.

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his brow. “Just tell me that was the worst of it.”

I nodded. “That should be the worst of it.”

I sat down on a rock and closed my eyes, then inhaled a deep, cathartic breath.

“Feeling a little safer now, cowboy?” asked Linda.

“Yeah. Now we're on our turf.”

She sat down and gently placed her arm around me. “It'll all work out, Alex.”

“I sure hope so.”

After a brief rest we began the final leg of our trek, working our way over, around and under the forest of boulders, trees and bushes that littered the next mile of the canyon floor. Linda was the first to spot the cave's entrance. The four-foot-wide by twelve-foot-high undulating crack lay hidden behind a vertical fold of rock about twenty feet above the streambed. A series of large pockets in the face led up from the canyon floor to a natural shelf at its base.

“Wow, it's completely hidden,” I said. “I've hiked past this spot at least half a dozen times and never noticed it. How did you spot it?”

“The oak,” she said, pointing at the arthritic limbs of the gnarled old tree. “It looks just like the one in the video.”

By the time we'd climbed up to the shelf and taken our packs off to rest, it was nearly six, and a faint morning glow tinged the sky. I reclined against the trunk of the old oak, while Potter and Linda found their own bean bag-size boulders and began soundlessly unpacking their food for breakfast. Steven sat down next to me, pulled a handful of energy bars from his backpack, and offered me a choice.

“So, based on the video,” I said, breaking the silence, “I'm guessing we'll be down for about four hours, maybe five. It looks safe if you want to come with us to the first rappel point. Or you can stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“After everything we've been through, I want to see the inside of that cave,” said Steven.

“We'll give it a go then,” I said. “But once we get to the first drop-off, we'll need you up here. Anything could go wrong down there, so we need a backup.” I took another bite. “If we don't make it out in five hours, head back down the canyon to the visitor's center and get help.”

“Will do.”

We all chewed quietly for the next few minutes, each in our own world. When the last bites had been swallowed, I headed over to the edge of the cave.

“All right guys, it's now or never. Let's do this.”

Chapter 42

“Word travels fast,” said Linda, stooping down next to a makeshift stone fire pit about a dozen paces inside the cave's entrance. “At least it's not fresh,” she said, nudging the remnants of a melted Corona bottle with a stick. “This is a few days old.” She zoned out for a moment, then stood back up and unzipped her pack.

“All right gents,” she continued, “make sure you know exactly where your backup headlamps and batteries are, and make sure you know how to put the batteries in—even if you can't see. Here's a little trick I learned recently from a spelunking blog.”

She reached into her pack and withdrew three AA batteries that had been neatly taped side-by-side with a single layer of climbing tape. “Now if my batteries go, all I have to do is pull the old ones out and then slide this set in, bumpy side first.” She wrapped the makeshift pack in a Ziploc bag and then buttoned them into her front shirt pocket.

“Clever,” I said, grabbing my own backup batteries and a roll of athletic tape. After a moment of preparation, I slid the newly taped batteries into the top of my pack, then switched my headlamp to its brightest, white-light setting. Outside, it was beginning to get sunny—the old oak I'd leaned against cast a black silhouette against the brightening canyon wall.

“So you think this Florentine thing is actually hidden down there?” asked Potter.

“Let's hope so,” I said, walking over to the three-foot-high tube.

“Either way, I'm glad I could help.”

“We're lucky to have you, Potter,” said Linda, who had lowered to her knees and was now peering down the dark shaft. “I think I'm going to leave my pack off and push it ahead of me. Less chance of getting stuck.”

I lowered onto my haunches and gazed down the tube. “Ugh.” I shuddered, just a hint of claustrophobia overtaking me. “Good idea.”

“Well, here goes.” Linda shoved her pack into the hole then followed behind it, shimmying forward on her elbows and knees. A moment later, her squirming feet disappeared, and it reminded me of the hind legs of a mouse being swallowed by a boa constrictor.

“Damn,” said Steven, unconsciously backing up a step.

“You okay to go?” I asked.

Steven squatted to look down the hole, shot me an uneasy look, then peered down the hole again. “I think I'll stay here,” he said, deflated.

“Don't sweat it, Steven,” said Potter. “I had a panic attack the first time I went spelunking. Nearly lost it. It happens to everyone.”

“Thanks, Potter,” said Steven.

“No problem, man. It's the truth.”

“All right, well in that case, I guess I'll go next,” I said. “See you on the flip-side, Crouch.” I swung the pack off my shoulder, dropped to the floor, and shoved it ahead of me. “No farting,” I yelled into the tube.

“Too late, cowboy,” chuckled Linda from somewhere deep inside.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, pushing my unwieldy pack across the rough stone floor and into the shaft. With each shove of the pack, I shimmied a few feet deeper, braced one foot or another against a sidewall, then pushed again. After about fifteen feet, the tube craned right and constricted into a nearly impassible duct a mere foot-and-a-half high. I tried to advance, but recoiled each time the dozens of sharp rocks embedded in the tunnel's surface dug into my back.

“What was I thinking?” I mumbled, closing my eyes to avoid a wave of claustrophobia.

“What?” asked Potter from somewhere behind me in the shaft.

“Nothing,” I yelled.

I lowered onto my belly from my knees and forearms and slithered forward like a snake, sending eddies of fine dust dancing through the shifting beam of my headlamp. Finally, after another five feet, the tube veered left and its outlet, and Linda's legs, came into view. Linda tugged my pack from the tube and extended me a welcoming hand.

“Thanks,” I said. “Remind me to take a Valium next time.”

“That makes two of us. That last part was claustrophobic as hell.”

I wiped the dust from my glasses using my t-shirt and surveyed the cave. All around us, spiny stalagmites shot up from the ground, some reaching the level of my head or taller; their opalescent, mottled surfaces looked like the skin of some amphibian monster in my headlamp's harsh LED beam. I tilted my head back. Overhead, an equally large number of stalactites dangled from the thirty-foot high ceiling, some with glistening drops of water pooling at their tips.

“It's beautiful!” I said.

“Yeah, who knew this was here all this time? These formations look a lot like the ones in Bishop's Cave. Remember?”

“How could I forget? I seriously thought we were going to die down there.”

“That's right! Jotz ditched us a quarter-mile down to smoke some weed, then both of our headlamps died.” She giggled. “You were as jumpy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”

“That's right, I was,” I said, nodding. “You know, we've had some good times.”

“Yeah.” She smiled nostalgically. An instant later, Potter's pack shot out of the tube like the head of a groundhog. I grabbed its straps and leaned it against the wall, then helped him out of the hole.

“Now I know what it's like to be a snake,” he said.

“Can you imagine getting stuck in there and having your headlamp go out?”

“I'd rather not think about it,” said Potter, shuddering. “But actually, that reminds me …” He stooped down to his pack and unzipped the top pouch. “Here, just in case.” Potter handed each of us a pair of chemical glow sticks. “Snap one, and you've got four or five hours of light. You never know what's going to happen.”

“Thanks Potter.” It was actually a really good idea—no batteries required. I crammed them into a pocket of my nylon climbing pants and zipped it shut.

“All right, lead the way, Alex.”

I pulled my Ziploc-wrapped iPod out of my backpack and used the touchscreen to advance the video to our current location.

“That way.” I pointed. “According to the guide, it's about thirty yards down.”

Our beams danced left and right across the forest of glistening stalagmites, casting an eerie kaleidoscopic lightshow as we probed deeper into the cave.

“No bats,” said Potter, who was also scanning the periphery.

“Hopefully no Russians or pygmies with blow-darts either,” I said, sinking up to my ankle in a pool of brackish water. “Dammit. Watch out, right here,” I pointed, “it's deep.”

Linda nodded and sidestepped the pool.

“Hey! I think that's where the first descent is,” said Potter, pointing forty-five degrees right of our current trajectory. I turned my head and illuminated two towering stalagmites, each at least a foot and a half in diameter and ten feet high.

“I think you're right,” I said. After I double-checked with the video, the three of us headed right, past a thicket of spiny growths, and toward the pair of megaliths.

“These should hold us, no problem,” I said. Grabbing hold of the left stalagmite, I leaned forward to look over the edge, my head-mounted beam slicing through the blackness and illuminating a bowl-shaped landing at the bottom. “Looks like about a fifty-foot drop.”

“Who wants to set up the rappel gear?” asked Potter.

“Go for it, Potter,” said Linda. I nodded in approval and dropped my pack to the floor.

Within a few minutes, Potter's bright orange rope dangled from the two stalagmites, undulating into the darkness below.