“Why flood it?” Sagan asked Clarke.
“It stays wet from rainwater and serves its purpose but, for this challenge, a bit more depth was required. Once I learned Bene was coming here, I ordered the dam be opened. We built it. If you fail here tonight, we will rebuild it and await the true Levite.”
“Why do this?” Rowe asked Clarke. “Seems like a lot of trouble for outsiders.”
“As I told you before, Bene, you really don’t understand us. Maroons were always outsiders, brought here in chains. We fled to the mountains to be free. The Jews were no different from us. They were never accepted, either. Many of us remember what they did for Maroons during the two wars. I am told that this was our way of repaying them.”
Zachariah had heard enough. He pointed at Rocha. “You go. I’ll direct the path.”
He saw the apprehension in his man’s eyes.
“Not to worry,” he said. “I know what I am doing.”
“Then go yourself,” Sagan said.
“And leave you here? I do not think so.”
He hoped that once he conquered the challenge this Frank Clarke would have no choice but to acknowledge he was the Levite, entitled to what awaited on the lake’s far side. Maybe then Clarke would deal with Rowe, Alle, and Sagan for him.
He faced Rocha. “You will be fine. I know the way.”
Rocha nodded his acceptance, then stepped to the rock edge. Torches shed a blood-red luster over the water. Half a dozen stones, all devoid of numbers, lay scattered across the bottom, about a meter apart, extending out five meters. Rocha plunged his foot through the shin-high water and stepped on the nearest one, nodding his head that it was solid. He then worked his way out into the lake, sloshing through the water, following more stones with no numbers.
Then stopped.
“Ahead are five stones,” Rocha called out. “They are numbered 9, 35, 72, 3, 24.”
Zachariah nearly smiled. He was right. “The one with the three is safe,” he called out.
He watched as Rocha tested the stone and saw that he’d chosen correctly.
Now he knew.
Another series of blanks, then a second cluster of numbered stones. The one with 74, as he thought, proved solid. Two more times, and 5 and 86 offered safe passage. Rocha was now about twenty meters from the far ledge, calling out the next sequence of numbered stones. Zachariah told him 19 was the safe play.
And he was right.
Except that Rocha was still not at the ledge.
Ten meters of water remained.
“There’s a final sequence of stones,” Rocha called out. “Twenty of them numbered. The others are blank, but there’s no way to reach them.”
A final sequence?
But the message only provided five numbers.
“Can you make it to the ledge?” he called out.
Rocha shook his head. “No way. Too far.”
He glanced over at Tom Sagan, who apprised him with a cool glare. He’d said nothing about being the Levite when Clarke spoke up, allowing only Alle to challenge him. The son of a bitch. There was something more, something Sagan had not allowed his daughter to learn. And he’d stayed silent to see if he was right.
Rocha had no idea that the next choice would be a guess. Only Sagan would know that, and the former reporter surely could not care less if Rocha died. In fact, he was probably counting on it.
“Tell me the numbers you see,” he yelled across the water.
Rocha rattled off twenty.
“Thirty-four,” he said.
Rocha did not hesitate. Why would he? Every other choice had been right.
His man stepped toward the stone, planted one foot, then the next. And began to sink.
Panic immediately grabbed hold. Arms went into the air searching for balance. He tried to leap away and find another stone, but the mud around his feet was too strong.
Rocha began to sink.
As the others realized what they were watching, Zachariah elbowed Frank Clarke in the gut.
The older man reeled forward, the breath leaving his lungs.
Rowe surged his way.
But Zachariah wrenched the gun from Clarke’s grasp and aimed it straight at his adversary.
“Back off, Bene,” he ordered. “I will shoot you dead.”
