The Mahogany Ship (Sam Reilly Book 2) (5 page)

“As in, Egypt?” Sam replied.

“Exactly.”

Tom continued to scan the vivid imagery on the walls. There
were animals and humans, snakes – all sorts of creatures. Tunnels, similar to
the shafts he had just climbed, appeared to swirl around the walls of the room,
until he realized that they weren’t tunnels – they were branches of a tree, and
its roots.

On the wall was a symbol Tom had never seen before. It was
small, and made of bronze, depicting a man with a measuring tool standing above
an army. It seemed almost irrelevant compared with the other treasures that adorned
the King’s final resting chamber. Yet somehow, it looked like it could have
once been important.

One look at Sam’s face when he saw it confirmed his
instincts.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Yes.” Sam was quiet and unusually distant.

“Where?” Tom pursued the question. It was unlike Sam to be
coy with him. “What does it mean?”

“Back in Afghanistan… When I was removed from active duty, I
was sent to explore a prehistoric ruin, overrun with encryptions and mazes. At
the very top of the structure was the symbol of the civilization that built it.
Their mark. It was simple, almost bland by comparison with the structure they
had created – just like that one…”

“So, you’re saying that these people, who lived in
Afghanistan many years ago, also lived in Central America?”

“No.”

“But this is the tomb of a Mayan King?”

“Yes, but the Master Builders lived by building great
structures. One theory is that they never even built these things themselves,
but instead commanded great armies to do it for them. They would have been more
accurately described as Master Engineers. And this, I believe, would have been
just one of their many projects – for a price.”

“And what was that price?”

“That I’ve never been able to work out. In fact, so far, I
don’t even have proof they ever existed. The only evidence I have is that many
of the ancient wonders could not have been built without such a race.”

*

Eight hours later, after a prolonged decompression period in
the Rock, Sam and Tom stepped outside the hyperbaric chamber and onto the deck
of the moon pool. Sam looked at the faces of the people who worked and lived
aboard the Maria Helena. They were his family, and each face displayed its own
way of coping with a near death experience of one of its members.

“All right, you lot. We’re okay.” Sam scanned their faces
for relief, and found none. “We all know it takes a lot more than a cracked
faceplate at a few hundred feet of water to damage Tom’s ugly face any more
than Mother Nature.”

“I’ve had a look myself, and I think the blow might have
done some improvements.” Tom spoke with the relaxed self-assurance of a man whose
strong jaw line and intensely grey, piercing eyes, had stolen many a woman’s
heart. 

“Now, as much as I’m glad you all care about our survival,
we have some important work ahead of us. Let’s not forget that several tons of
hydrogen cyanide are still leaking out of a hole in the seafloor. I want
everyone in the mission room within ten minutes. Grab yourselves a quick
coffee, or whatever drug you use to keep focused. I need to debrief what we
discovered, and plan our next steps.”

Eight minutes later, Sam stood at the head of the table in
the mission room. Each person on board the Maria Helena was there, all fifteen
of them, and each looked up, focused on what he was about to say. He could feel
the tension as he spoke.

“We made our dive to the seafloor in search of one answer,
but have instead come back with a multitude of unanswered questions. Two
distinctly different challenges, requiring two different teams to resolve. The
first, and paramount purpose of our mission is to discover the source of the
leaking hydrogen cyanide and block it. The second is of an archeological
nature. The pyramid will be treated as an archeological site, with our team
primarily providing the logistical needs of the archeologists to investigate.”

Sam drank from his cup of hot chocolate before he continued
speaking. “It appears that the source of the hydrogen cyanide leak is through a
crack in the outer wall of a subterranean Mayan pyramid. It’s unlikely to have
come from the local silver mine as first expected, but instead from a cyanide
store.”

“Mayan cyanide store?” Veyron asked.

“Yes, Mayan. I do realize that cyanide wasn’t utilized in
mining until the 17
^th
century in Europe, but there has been evidence
over the years that both the Mayans and the Aztecs discovered the benefit cyanide
served in separating raw mining materials such as gold and silver, centuries
earlier. My guess is that a recent drilling or explosions from the nearby
silver mine most likely damaged the old store, sending its lethal poison into
the Gulf.”

“I want you, Veyron, to head up a team of engineers to work
out the solution to remove any additional poison from the cracked wall. Then
work out a way to fill the entire area with concrete, so that if we miss
anything, it will be another thousand years before the stuff escapes again.”

“Got it,” Veyron acknowledged.

“Tom, once someone checks you out and makes certain you’re
fit to dive again, I want you to head up a team to search the pyramid and what
appeared to be the King’s Tomb.”

“You don’t want to run it?” Tom asked, his surprise clearly
evident in his face. 

“I do, but my first mission must be to resolve this marine
catastrophe.” Sam grinned. “I have a number of personal reasons why I’m intent
on exploring the pyramid’s hidden secrets, but it can’t be my priority. I’m
going to need to make some calls, and manage the overall project from topside.
Don’t forget, we have less than a month until we’re in the midst of hurricane
season. It might sound straightforward, but don’t forget we’re working in up to
400 feet of water, inside a narrow tunnel. We have no way of knowing how stable
the pyramid’s walls are, or what’s on the other side of that cracked wall.”

Veyron raised his left hand, only slightly, as though he had
something to say.

“Yes, Veyron?”

“Why don’t we just back fill the entire pyramid with
concrete? It would be less risky, and I’m sure whoever’s buried down there
wouldn’t mind being just that little bit more… how do I say? Snug?”

“We may have to if our first option becomes too difficult or
unsafe, but I believe this site holds far too many secrets and insights into
the Mayan culture to be forever buried in thousands of tons of concrete. During
the Spanish conquest, t
he Catholic Church and
colonial officials, guided by Bishop Diego de Landa, destroyed Maya texts
wherever they found them, and with them the knowledge of Maya writing. The
writings on these walls may hold a wealth of information about pre-Spanish
Mayan culture, which I would hate to see buried for eternity.
”

“Okay, I’ll do my best to preserve it,” Veyron acknowledged.

Returning to the cyanide problem, Sam continued, “For all we
know, the mine has been stockpiling the waste product from their silver mine in
an underground tunnel, with no idea that one day it would break into a pyramid.
Make no mistake ladies and gentlemen, this is a serious undertaking, with
deadly consequences for the world’s marine life.”

Veyron said, “Regardless of who owned the cyanide once upon
a time, I believe it is safe to say that the silver mine is somehow responsible
for the damage that caused the leak. And if they have been dumping cyanide for
years, we better know now rather than later, before we drill into something
that we shouldn’t.”

“Good thinking,” Sam said. “If I know big mining, they’re going
to drag this thing on through every loophole possible until the EPA forces
their hand. It’s going to be nasty, but I’ll make the call. TRY and get hold of
the owner, Michael Rodriguez, first, and see if we can get around some of the
red tape.”

Tom grinned mischievously, “I don’t think that will be
necessary.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I think that’s his helicopter approaching now.”

Michael Rodriguez flew into Mexico that morning on his
private jet. It was hot, but unlike Spain, which enjoyed the cool breeze off
the Adriatic Sea at the entrance to the Med, Mexico always seemed dry. It was
one of his least favorite mines, but there was no avoiding it today.

Nothing ever happened without his knowledge – on any one of
his 43 prized mineral mines. He was an owner who maintained a very active
control of the day to day workings of each of his mines, and prided himself on
his ability to ensure their efficiency and the loyalty of his employees.

Rodriguez Mining Inc. was started by his grandfather in
1928. Originally, a single gold mine in South Africa, which he’d bought after
luck granted him a relative fortune with the discovery of the Royal Clipper, an
80-ounce gold nugget. As the world turned to ruin and the great depression
struck solid in 1930, he bought up a number of mines at prices below the value
of their inventory. It was a gamble that paid huge dividends in the lead up to
the Second World War in 1939, when Germany began stockpiling gold and iron ore.

By the time Michael’s father took over in 1962, the company
was already rich. But by embracing the newer drilling technology, he drove the
company to be one of the most profitable mining conglomerates in the world,
with mines on every continent.

History teaches us that the first generation of
entrepreneurs make the money, the second improve on that money, and the third –
loses it all. If, somehow, the third generation manages to keep the wealth
inside the family from becoming lost in gluttony, greed and temptation, then
the family often goes on to being generational old money, such as the Rothschilds,
the Waltons, or the Arnaults of the world. The families entire nations borrowed
money from.

It was his plan, among others, to place the name of Rodriguez
beside those names of the uppermost echelon of rich.

He had flown in immediately when he heard that the Maria
Helena was snooping near his mine. He had a fair idea what they were after. It
had been all over the world news that the Dead Zone had increased since last
year by a factor of nearly 100.

Michael couldn’t have cared less about the environmental
losses, but where unexplained environmental accidents occur, local mines often got
the blame. No, he would have to show a presence at the investigation if he
wanted to keep Rodriguez Mining Inc. above board. It was a small price to pay
for what he wanted in the long run.

His private jet had just stopped rolling on the tarmac at
Mexico’s
Ciudad Del Carmen International Airport
, when he
stepped off it and boarded a company helicopter. The best way, he decided, to
keep things in his favor, was to meet the crew of the Maria Helena in person.

Immediately, before they sought him.

Within twenty minutes, the company helicopter landed on the
rear deck, next to another helicopter on board the Maria Helena. While the
rotors slowed, Michael, not prone to waiting for anything, stepped out and
walked towards the crew behind the decking – where the man who held the outcome
of all his dreams, stood waiting for him.

*

Sam watched the stranger approach.

He was maybe ten years Sam’s senior, but bounded out the
helicopter like a much younger man, paying no attention to the spinning rotary
blades above his head. It was a sign he was confident around helicopters, or lived
in such a world that he believed himself above the possibility of harm. His
height was average, and although approaching his mid-forties, Sam guessed, his
athletic stride and upright posture displayed the remnants of someone who had
once been a boxer. And none of the usual signs of someone who’d inherited
nearly 25 billion dollars, such as a team of bodyguards, or flab from a
lifetime of inactivity and excess.

“Good morning. Which one of you is Sam Reilly?” he asked,
holding out his hand. The man wore a confident smile, and spoke like a man who
was used to being listened to. Despite his Spanish origins, he spoke perfect
English. His voice betrayed a very slight trace of a Boston accent – the latter
being most likely the result of his Harvard education.

“That would be me,” Sam said, meeting him half way to shake
hands.

The man met Sam’s eyes immediately. “My name is Michael
Rodriguez.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”

“Call me Mick…” Smiling affably, he winked and said, “Only
my employees and those who want to suck up to me for money call me Mr.
Rodriguez. Unless, that is, you want to work for me? Because I know you don’t
need the money.”

So he knows who I am… or at least who my father is…

“Sure.” Sam was surprised by Mick’s gregarious attitude.
Growing up with his own father, he had met many of the world’s ultra-rich, and
this man made the first exception to the rule, that all such men act as if and
believe they own the planet and all those within it. “What can I do for you,
Mick?”

“Sam… may I call you Sam?” Mick asked and then, receiving
the slight nod from Sam, continued, “I’ve heard reports that record numbers of
fish have been found dead or dying near “The Dipper,” one of my silver mines.
Each year the Dead Zone seems to be getting worse… maybe there’s something to
this whole global warming thing, or maybe we just take too much from the soil
through Northern America?”

Sam wasn’t sure whether or not Mick was attacking America’s
stance on global warming. He was about to mention that this year’s cause of the
Dead Zone was triggered by the mine, when Mick continued to speak.

“I’m here to say that I would like to offer you our full
support with your investigation.”

“That’s very good of you, Mick.”

“Not at all. It’s the least someone born into my position
could offer. Do we have any idea what’s been causing it?”

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Sam said.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, son, what’s causing this
disaster?”

“It appears that blasting from your mine may have caused
damage to a local Mayan tomb site of great archeological significance, which
has in turn released large amounts of hydrogen cyanide into the waters.”

“Cyanide? We don’t even use that on our mine site. We’re a
silver mine, not a gold mine – I’ve no idea where that could have even come
from.”

“We don’t know for certain yet, but it appears the Mayans
may have discovered the benefits of cyanide in separating gold many centuries
before the Europeans did back in the seventeenth century. Somehow, your
blasting appears to have opened an old Mayan stockpile.”

“Okay, wow. So what can we do about it?”

“We’re going to need to send a team in to find the primary
source of contamination. Then, we’re going to need to safely secure it without
damaging the archeological site, which will be performed by another team in
conjunction with the Mexican government. Last, we’re going to need to
repopulate the local fish.”

“Not a problem, pal. Let me know what assistance you need,
and I’ll give you my full support. Then send me the bill. If we caused this
mess, I want to take responsibility for it. We’re not one of those companies
that destroys the land and then moves on without repairing.”

“That’s very good of you, Mick. You’ll be the first I’ve had
dealings with to take responsibility with such equanimity. We appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. I still don’t know how this could have been
caused by one of my blasting sites. I mean, it’s very unlikely that the
aftershock could have damaged the Ciudad Del Carmen,” Mick said, his voice
confident, but not pugnacious. “Roberto Jackson, my manager of the mine, says
that the Little Dipper has gone to great lengths to protect the valuable
archeological relics of Ciudad Del Carmen. In fact, I made the decision a
couple of years ago to halt tunneling down the southern long wall, because of
the low level risk. Now, the mine moves more towards the north and east, well
below the ocean floor.”

“I know it does.”

“Then why do you believe that it’s my mine that has caused
all this damage?”

“Because it wasn’t the Ciudad Del Carmen that was damaged.”

The skin around Mick’s strong jawline tightened – only
slightly, but it was the first time Sam had noticed the man’s confidence waver.
He was probably only just now realizing that it was possible for his mine to be
responsible for a disaster that may end up costing him millions to repair.

“Then what Mayan archeological site were you referring to?
There aren’t any other sites nearby.” His eyebrow rose with genuine curiosity.

“A subterranean pyramid, found beneath the ocean seabed…”
Sam pointed on a map of the Gulf of Mexico to the exact location, “right here.”

“Shit.” Rodriguez’ face became ashen, and small drops of
sweat dripped from his forehead despite the Maria Helena’s powerful air
conditioning. “That’s exactly where the Big Dipper runs!”

Sam hadn’t considered the significance until that moment. “If
it breaks through, more than 400 feet of water will be pushed through at a
force that will kill everyone inside the tunnel!”

“Exactly… please forgive me for a moment, I must call my
underground manager.”

“Of course.”

Sam watched as Rodriguez calmly walked towards the outer
deck, where his helicopter now rested silently. The man spoke on the phone for
a couple minutes. His legs were firm on the deck, not pacing, like so many do
during a crisis.

“What do you make of him?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know yet. He seems like a nice enough guy, for
someone who’s on the same playing field as my father in overall wealth, but
there’s something that I don’t trust about him. I just don’t know what… maybe
it’s just my inbuilt dislike of the ultra-rich.”

“Yeah, I hate you rich guys, too…”

“It’s nothing that he’s done or said. It’s what he hasn’t
that concerns me.”

“What do you mean? He sounded to me like he was happy to
provide whatever help he could.”

“That’s just it. Do you know what my dad’s response was when
I told him what the Maria Helena was spending her time doing this month?”

“No.”

“He said, ‘but there can’t be much money in that sort of
work.’ That’s what people in my dad’s caliber like to do. Avoid paying what
they owe. This man sounds like he hasn’t even talked to his lawyers yet,
despite potentially being liable for millions.”

“Okay, I’ll keep my eyes on him. See what wildcard he thinks
he’s holding up his sleeve.”

Mick walked back, the serious look on his face now gone.
“I’m sorry about that. I just called my underground manager. He’s pulling the
team out of the tunnel now. I’ve more than a thousand Mexican workers several hundred
feet below the waterline. If that thing breaks, every one of them will be dead
before they know what hit them. We’re going to have to send a team through to
close the entire tunnel, or risk killing them all. The biggest problem is that
water is coming through small cracks, and there’s a practical river pouring
down the tunnel. The pumps should be able to keep the tunnels open to my men,
but the flowing water will make it very difficult to reach.”

“With that, I might just have a solution…” Sam said.

*

Sam switched on the projector.

It showed a hand-drawn diagram of the subterranean Mayan
pyramid. A red symbol like a lightning bolt highlighted the point on the eastern
tunnel of the pyramid where Tom had been nearly killed by the outward flowing
hydrogen cyanide.

“This is where the crack was found in the tunnel.” Sam
pointed to the spot where the leak was first identified. “We’ll have no way of
finding out how close the other side of the hole is to the Big Dipper, but for
the blasting at that point to damage the enormous blocks, one must assume that
it’s pretty close.”

Mick opened up his computer tablet. “Here’s the schematics
of the Big Dipper. Our tunnel draws directly below the subterranean pyramid –
about ten feet below. For our blasting to cause that type of damage between the
two structures, there would have to be an opening somewhere already.”

“Perhaps the Mayans maintained a storeroom underneath the
pyramid that we would be able to see?” Mick asked.

“It’s highly possible,” Sam accepted. “So, you were
considering sending in a team of miners, who would be willing to take the risk
of entering the mine and blasting the roof in from about 50 feet below the
pyramid?”

“Yes.”

“Mick, you pointed out that the risk would be high, and
failure would result in the flooding of your entire mine.” Sam saw Mick nod in
agreement and then, pointing to the diagram of the pyramid, asked, “What if we
blocked the entrance to the pyramid here, and here?”

“Then, the pyramid would remain lost forever?” Mick asked.

“No, then your team could go in and seal the mine from
below, losing no more than 50 feet of your long wall. Once that was complete,
we would remain with a team of archeologists to remove the blocked entrance and
explore the Mayan tomb.”

“How soon can you do it?” Mick asked, his eyes wide with
respect.

Tom looked at his engineer, “Veyron – what do you think?”

“I need to build the steel framework and then pump the
concrete. Ideally, I’ll need about three days, given the location.”

Sam looked back at Mick to see if that would meet his new
friend’s approval.

It looked like Mick hadn’t heard it. Instead he was speaking
on his cell phone, his body tense with anxiety. “I understand. Do what you can
– pull everyone out.”

“What’s happened?” Sam asked.

“That was my underground manager. The water’s just burst
through the tunnel.”

“Shit. Okay, at least you got your workers out…”

“That’s just it though… my underground manager just told me
he pulled them from the Big Dipper, and moved them to Mine Shaft Four. He
thought it would be safe there, because of the twenty miles between the two
shafts. But that amount of water will fill that distance quick.”