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Sam fished his GPS from his backpack and entered in another waypoint. “Come on, gang. We’re almost there. Remi? Care to do the honors?”
“I think Lazlo should lead the way since it was his decryption that brought us here in the first place,” Remi said.
“Very well, then. No point in dawdling,” Lazlo said, shouldering his pack and setting off toward the cave.
They skirted the water’s edge, crossing two streams, and made their way to a mushy stretch of bank near the boulders. The cave opening yawned like a giant mouth, the gloom beyond its threshold impenetrable, vines having overgrown across part of it. Sam and Remi freed their machetes and set to work and three minutes later had cleared enough of it to enter.
“Flashlight time,” Sam said. They paused outside the rent in the rock, took out their lights, and switch them on. “Lazlo? No time like the present.”
Lazlo cautiously moved into the cavern, followed by Sam and Remi, their machetes still in hand, with Leonid bringing up the rear. The entry was long and narrow, stretching for fifteen feet, but no more than five high, requiring them to stoop as they crept forward. Lazlo’s light shone ahead of him, and as he moved deeper into the cave, they saw that it opened into a small chamber with water pooled on the ground, the light reflecting off its surface. The source dripped from a fissure in the stone above, rippling the placid surface.
“Be careful, Lazlo. That could be a hundred feet deep, for all we know,” Sam cautioned.
“Ah, yes, the dreaded cenote. Noted,” he said. “Pun intended—” He stopped midsentence and held his lamp aloft.
“What is it?” Remi asked, his body blocking the passage.
“Looks like we’re not the first visitors,” he said as he stepped aside. Remi and Sam followed his gaze to where a pair of skeletons lay on the cold stone floor, their sightless eye sockets fixed accusingly on the entryway.
Leonid brushed past them and neared the bones. “Murdered villagers,” he whispered as if afraid he might rouse the dead with his voice.
“Perhaps,” Sam said, stepping forward and illuminating the pair with his light. “But I seriously doubt the Japanese did this unless they had a time machine. Look at the smaller one’s feet.”
Remi gasped. “Are those . . . ?”
“Yes,” Sam answered. “Flip-flops. Judging by the size and pink plastic, worn by a very small woman or a girl.”
“What are they doing here?” Lazlo asked, his voice hushed.
Sam shrugged. “Don’t know. But they’ve been here a while.” He paused as he eyed the remains. “Animals and rot got their clothes, unless they were naked when they died. But look—no visible injuries, nothing broken, no cracked skulls or bullet holes. It’s possible they died of natural causes . . .”
Remi shook her head. “I doubt it. Look at their wrists. See the plastic?”
“What is it?” Leonid asked.
They all peered down at the skeletons and then Lazlo straightened and spoke softly. “Zip ties. Their wrists were bound when they died.”
CHAPTER 41
Sydney, Australia
Jeffrey Grimes sat back in his executive chair, his shirt collar open, his Armani jacket hanging from a coat rack in the corner of his office. He smiled at the young blond journalist sitting across his desk from him, her aqua eyes intelligent and quick, her bone structure a testament to fortunate genetics, her slim form a tribute to long hours in the gym.
“I’m afraid that the rumors are always more interesting than the truth,” Grimes said with a wave of his hand. “We’ve had a few difficult quarters, but all businesses experience ups and downs. It’s impossible to operate with sustained growth every quarter in this business. Any thinking person realizes that—it’s only the stock market that focuses on short-term profitability rather than long-term sustainability.”
“Your critics say that you’ve lost your Midas touch and that the recent quarters are more attributable to risky strategies gone wrong than normal business fluctuations,” she parried, her smile lighting the room even as her eyes remained locked on his.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s a cadre of hopeful short sellers who are spreading all sorts of alarming rumors. After all, they profit only if the stock loses value. So it’s in their best interests to make it seem as though the world’s ending for us.” Grimes chuckled at the thought. “To hear them talk, every day is a new nail in our coffin.”
“Right, but what do you have to say about the specific criticisms? That you were caught overextended when the value of the derivatives you were speculating in lost much of their value?” she asked, her tone reasonable.
“Anyone familiar with our operations understands that we’re always adequately hedged. That the doors are still open underscores that we were in that instance as well.”
The woman nodded and shut off her recorder, then slipped it into her purse before smoothing her dress and standing. “I think that should do it. You’ve given me more than enough to work with.”
Grimes took in her long tanned legs with a quick glance and offered a sparkling, chemically augmented smile. “Ms. Donovan, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, rising and offering his hand.
“Likewise, Mr. Grimes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she said, shaking it.