Tales of caving accidents bubbled to the forefront of my mind. Explorers like Floyd Collins, John Ogden, and others, all of whom were much more experienced than me, had died in caves. What the hell was I doing here? I was a sailor, not a dwarf. My place was on the sea, not inside of a mountain.
Self doubt hit me like a wave, but like every good waterman, I let it roll off of me. Doubts and misgivings wouldn't do me any good here. Burying all of my negativity, I moved on. Worst-case scenario: I could retrace my steps and attempt to climb out of the crater-like hole. At least now I had a fighting chance at survival, and with any luck, I might still recover the idol.
The cave steadily widened. Blackness devoured the thin beam of my flashlight whenever I let it wander from the floor or walls. The ceiling, which had been low enough to cause me to duck, now retreated to unknown heights.
Curious indentions speckled the walls of the mammoth underground room. There was something unnatural about them. The spacing was too regular and precise, and the carvings were unlike any of the symbols or images I had seen elsewhere in the cave, covering each indention.
I shined my light into one of the odd recesses, and a ghastly face grinned back at me. I jumped back, fumbling and nearly dropping the flashlight in my surprise. Recovering control of the light, I shined it back in the hole. It wasn't a face, at least not anymore. It was a skull. The rest of the skeleton lay in a chalky heap below it.
It was dusty and brittle looking, lying on its side. The ribs had long ago collapsed into a pile. The legs were bent and the arm outstretched as if asleep. Only the deathly grin of the skull broke the sense of peacefulness.
I probed another niche and then another and another. Each contained the remains of a body, and when there were two, they were placed facing each other in a permanent embrace, like lovers in an eternal slumber.
My light revealed hundreds of the small alcoves cut into the rock. As I walked through the room, I could see distinct differences in the carvings that adorned different areas of the tomb. They've been burying people here for generations, I realized. The style of carvings changed after every twenty graves. I followed the progression of deaths until I came across what looked to be the sharpest and newest of the carvings. Here, dozens upon dozens of open graves stretched around the enormous room, all in the same style.
The skeletons were not laid out in as peaceful of a manner as the rest. Their bones told a different story than that of their ancestors. This looked hurried, almost desperate. Some of the last graves, which nearly butted up to another passageway leading out of the tomb, were unfinished and devoid of carvings. It was as if the people had died off so fast they could not keep up. This is what genocide looks like, I thought.
Suddenly, the reason for the Taino wanting to preserve part of their culture made sense. These people had lost everything. They had watched their friends and family die, their culture and way of life collapse. Sickness from the invading Europeans would have devastated the population, leaving them in chaos.
The weight of these people's grief was nearly tangible. It descended upon me, smothering me until I could not breathe. Unable to take it, I fled from the room, using the nearby passage, continuing on through the cave system.
Thoughts ran through my head as I gasped for air. Why would anyone want the last remnant of these people? Why would anyone want a monument of death?
As a youth growing up in The United States, I was familiar with the concept of genocide. We'd all learned about the Holocaust, the near eradication of the native Americans, and some other ethnic cleansing programs throughout the world. But I had never seen the aftermath of it. I had never had to confront the reality of death on such a massive scale, and it unnerved me.
I knew the Taino people were extinct from the conversations with Pruitt and Blatt. I hadn't realized how quickly they had been wiped out. Removing the idol, the soul of the Taino people, now seemed a vile sacrilege. I wanted nothing more than to allow it to remain undisturbed. But I knew that was impossible.
If I didn't take the idol, Jaye Mercury would. And if not her, General Bardales would find it, eventually. The location was out, and while not precise, it was only a matter of time. At least if I found it, the Taino would not be forgotten. I'd also get paid and avoid a Cuban prison. Both of which were substantial marks in favor of recovering the idol. Self preservation is a powerful motivator. It didn't feel right, but it had to happen.
Knowing the idol was my only chance, I pushed off the wall and forged ahead through the adjoining section of the cave. I had to reach it before she did. The next chamber was small, and unlike most of the cave, boasted a smooth flat floor. I sped up to a slow jog, and after a few dozen feet, I found myself in another massive room.
There were no niches or alcoves cut into the barren, smooth walls of the room. No paintings or carvings adorned the surfaces. My light danced from surface-to-surface until it landed upon a flat-topped pillar of rock standing three feet tall. An object, small and round, rested on top of the rock.
A smooth gray stone sat on top of a plate of gold. Under it
