“How so?”
“You’re thinking west to east and the sixteenth century. I’m thinking east to west and much earlier than that.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Remi, you said it yourself: Historians aren’t entirely sure where the Aztecs originated. What if we’re standing in front of a Proto-Aztec migration ship?”
CHAPTER 32
MADAGASCAR, INDIAN OCEAN
REMI WAS ABOUT TO OPEN HER MOUTH TO REPLY WHEN THE crack of a gunshot echoed through the cave. To their left they heard something plunk into a stalagmite. They doused their headlamps and dropped to the ground. Perfectly still, barely breathing, they waited for more shots. None came. At the mouth of the right-hand tunnel the flare was sputtering, almost consumed. Red light flickered over the wall.“Do you see anything?” Remi whispered.
“I think it came from outside. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Sam got to his feet. Hunched over, he dashed to a mineral column, stopped to look and listen, then moved on, zigzagging from cover to cover until he was pressed flat against the wall beside the entrance. He drew the Webley and ducked into the entrance.Crack!
A bullet struck the floor beside him and ricocheted off into the cavern. Hurrying now, he ran out into the grotto, then sidestepped left until he reached the spot where they’d entered. He fell to his belly and crawled between a pair of boulders until his head slipped beneath the cascade. Eyes squinted against the torrent, he peered ahead until the lagoon came into view.
Six men, all armed with assault rifles, stood on the beach. They were dressed in torn jeans, ratty T-shirts, and combat boots. To a man, each wore a white bandanna with red-dyed corners tied around his forearm. Two of them knelt beside Sam and Remi’s packs, sorting the contents into piles. Sam scanned the lagoon area and surrounding trees but saw no sign of the Kid.
One of the men-the leader, Sam assumed, based on his mannerisms and the semiautomatic pistol he wore on his belt-barked something to the others, then pointed toward the waterfall. The five subordinates began picking their way around the lagoon.Sam back-crawled, holstered the Webley, and hurried back into the cavern. He found Remi where he’d left her. He said, “Six men, all armed-the rebels the Kid mentioned.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, I think he got away.”
“Good.”
“They’re coming in to investigate. We’ve got a minute, maybe two.” “How many?”
“Five.”
“Bad odds for a gunfight. I’d suggest we go down the other tunnel and look for an exit, but I’m not in the mood to be devoured.”
Sam grinned. “I’m sure our visitors will share your sentiment. You look for a better hiding spot, and I’ll go stir up some trouble. Be back in a flash.”
Sam dashed across the cavern, hopped the creek, then started down the right-hand tunnel. After snatching the flare from the sand he dashed down the ramp to the water’s edge, stopped, and clicked on his headlamp. Twenty feet away he saw a jumble of scaly tails, clawed feet, and fanged snouts. He counted at least three crocodiles. They hissed and thrashed as the light panned over them.“Sorry about the intrusion,” Sam murmured.
He cocked his arm and heaved the sputtering flare down the tunnel. His aim was true. The flare landed on the nearest crocodile’s back, then bounced into their midst. The hissing and thrashing became frenzied. En masse, the crocodiles began scrabbling away from the flare and moving toward the ramp.
Sam doused his headlamp, turned, and ran. As he reached the creek he saw Remi’s headlamp flash once near the far wall. He ran that way and found her hunched between a crescent of boulders. Just as he skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees he heard the echo of voices at the cavern entrance.“Are the natives restless?” Remi whispered into Sam’s ear.
“More like enraged. If that flare stays lit, our visitors should head straight for it.”
“And into an ugly surprise.”
“Let’s just hope their surprise doesn’t turn on us.”
IT TOOK LESS THAN A MINUTE for their visitors to make their presence known. Having grown accustomed to the steady if muffled rush of the waterfall, Sam and Remi heard its pattern change as bodies moved through the cascade. This was followed by the sound of boots in the grotto, then whispered voices through the entrance and in the main cavern. The whispering stopped, followed by the barely perceptible scuffing of feet on stone.
Sam whispered in Remi’s ear, “One man. A scout.”
This was a watershed moment for their plan. If the scout decided to investigate the flare on his own, the crocodile reception would probably send him and his compatriots running. If, however, they came en masse, the reception and its resulting pandemonium could easily engulf Sam and Remi as well.
Sam and Remi sat still, listening. The sound of the footfalls went quiet. A single voice called out something. More silence. Then more footfalls, overlapping, moving through the entrance tunnel. Now the crunch of footfalls moving across the loose rock and sediment. The group was moving deeper into the cavern. With their eyes already well adjusted, Sam and Remi could plainly see the faint red flickering of the flare down the right-hand tunnel. How soon this group would see the light was the question.Sam and Remi turned their heads this way and that, trying to triangulate the location of the party. Remi whispered, “They’re near the far wall.”
The crunch of footfalls stopped. A single voice called something in what Sam assumed was Malagasy, and while the word made no sense the inflection was one of surprised announcement, as in, Sam imagined: Look, a flare!
Whatever was said, it had the desired effect. The group continued, but their pace seemed more cautious. Soon, Sam and Remi saw the first figure move into the sputtering glow of the flare. Then a second. And so on. Until all five men had moved into view. One by one, the men started down the ramp. Boots splashed in water.Sam whispered, “Any second-”
A guttural scream echoed through the cavern.
“-now,” Sam finished.
The first scream was joined by a second, then shouting. Remi managed to catch one of the words, a curse. “Someone’s developed a bladder control problem,” she whispered.
Sam drew the Webley and propped the barrel on the rock before him.
Across the cavern came the sounds of splashes in the water, then boots pounding up the stone ramp. Then the first gunshots, tentative at first, then in full automatic, the pop-pop-pop bouncing off the cavern walls. The mouth to the right-hand tunnel blinked orange with overlapping muzzle flashes; caught in the strobe light, men backing up, stumbling, scrambling back to their feet.
“I count five of them,” Sam whispered.“Me too.”
Once back on level ground, the rebels turned and sprinted, most of them heading straight for the entrance. One, however, clearly panicked, rushed headlong across the cavern toward Sam and Remi’s hiding spot. The man stumbled into the creek, fell, then crawled across to the other side. The man got to his feet, took a few steps toward Sam and Remi, then stopped and looked around.Silhouetted by the flare, the man was a mere outline. Sam placed the Webley’s front sight on the center point between the man’s shoulders.
“Turn, damn you . . .” While both he and Remi had taken lives before, neither enjoyed the feeling. Necessary or not, it was an ugly thing. “Turn . . .” Sam murmured.
From the main entrance a voice called, “Rakotomalala!”
The man spun around, paused a moment, then sprinted toward the entrance. Sam lowered the Webley and let out a deep breath.
He and Remi waited until they heard the interruption of the waterfall again, then Sam got up and picked his way to the entrance and through to the grotto. He crawled back between the boulders and inched his head through
