While they were drinking the time away, Anna Chohany was in the cave, scraping away dirt around the boulder. She wore a hard hat. Her beam illuminated the way ahead, and ahead was a narrow crawl space.
Chohany was in good shape. But she was not experienced as a caver, which she realized an instant later.
No one was there to hear her scream as she fell twelve feet into complete darkness.
Twenty-two
Tamburro rode shotgun on the way back and dialed through stations on the AM radio. He settled on a powerhouse signal out of Kalispell, MT broadcasting the national late night show, “Coast to Coast AM.”
“Cool,” he said. I love this guy. The host was interviewing a guest about curious satellite photographs of the moon. Shapes that could be things. Things that could be relics. It was a favorite topic of the show. “Dr. McCauley, you do shows like this. You should get on it.”
“What?” McCauley wasn’t really paying attention. His team was wasted. They were falling asleep into one another in the second and third rows of his Tahoe. McCauley concentrated on driving.
“A little bit of ooga booga, a lot of paranormal stuff, UFO’s and the like. They’re talking about secret sites in the South Pole designed to control the weather.”
“Conspiracy crap,” McCauley said.
At that moment, the host doubled down on that very point, speculating that the cover-up went as high as the White House.
“Definitely pushes the limits. But seriously, you’d be a good guest.”
“No I wouldn’t. Way too out there for me.”
“Naw, listen,” Tamburro said.
The guest, Robert Greene, was a regular. The question to him was simple. “What’s the government hiding?”
Greene ran with the answer, talking about what he’d gleaned from his Freedom of Information Act requests and his own website. No smoking guns, but enough to build a few hours of conspiratorial talk.
Greene was engaging and entertaining. He easily moved from recent rumors to long held views. He sprinkled it with references to black ops, the Pentagon, and a money trail that seemed to disappear in the South Pole snow.
It was impossible not to get caught up in the conversation; virtually a radio reality show with over-the-top characters and suppositions that could neither be proven nor disproven.
“See, you’re into it,” Tamburro said.
At base camp everyone said good night and went to their respective tents. Rich Tamburro slipped away from what Chohany called “the boys’ tent.” He crossed the grounds and pulled the flap back on her tent expecting to find his new girlfriend sound asleep. She wasn’t in her cot or, when he checked, in the lav. I know where she is, he thought. They had a special place where they made love under the stars.
It was dark, very dark. A moonless night. Tamburro picked up a high intensity flashlight and set out for Anna at their rendezvous spot.
“Hey, Anna,” he called out at moderate volume. He expected to hear her answer softly; alluringly. No response. He aimed the light into the immediate area. Nothing. He widened the field. Still nothing.
“Anna.” He said louder. “Anna!”
The call brought Leslie Cohen and Dr. Alpert. “What’s up?” Cohen asked.
“Just looking for Anna. She must have strolled off. Probably nothing. See you in the morning.”
“K, goodnight.”
“No,” Alpert said sensing concern. “Try again.”
Tamburro aimed his beam further into the darkness. His voice more urgent. “Anna!”
McCauley emerged from his tent wearing only his Bermuda shorts and sandals. He double-timed over to Tamburro. “Problem, Rich?”
“Well, I can’t find Anna.” He didn’t stop to explain. “Anna!”
One by one, the others made their way.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jaffe asked.
McCauley interrupted. “Everyone. Splash cold water on your faces and get your flashlights.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Now.”
Quinn McCauley returned to his tent to put on a shirt and change into sneakers.
Within minutes, eight beams of light cut through the pitch black sky. Eight voices called out from an area now spreading over fifty square yards.
McCauley caught up with Tamburro.
“She said she was just going to read.” Tamburro’s tone showed real fear.
McCauley looked back at the supply hut and quickly ordered, “Come with me.”
They ran at top speed and barged into the tent that housed all their daily supplies. After a quick inventory McCauley surmised what was missing: rope, lights and shovels.
“Christ!” he exclaimed. McCauley summoned the team. “Grab everything we just bought and more flashlights! And the first aid kit! Anyone who doesn’t feel good enough, tell me now.” He cursed the fact that he allowed everyone to drink so much.
“What? asked Trent.
“We’re going to the cave.”
“Why?”
“Do it!”
McCauley had a bad feeling. It was dangerous enough to explore during the day. But at night? And alone?
McCauley ran ahead, hoping he wasn’t going to find the lights on at the cliff site, praying that Chohany wasn’t there. He stumbled over a few rocks, steadied himself and came around a sandstone spire at the base of the valley.
“Jesus Christ!”
The generator was on and the lights high above illuminated the cave entrance.
Rich Tamburro had the same reaction when he pulled up behind McCauley. “Oh no! What was she thinking?”
“Not thinking.”
McCauley caught his breath. “Okay, we have to do this carefully. Let’s get everyone together and divvy up duties.”
“Right.”
A few minutes later, McCauley circled the team for instructions. “Here’s how we’re going to do this,” McCauley stated. “Rich and I will take the lead. Carlos and Al behind us. Leslie, come up, but stay posted at the cave entrance. Dr. Alpert, Tom, and Adam, you’re here, but be ready to call for help. We’ll check in with Leslie every two minutes on the walkie-talkies. Leslie keeps the three of you posted.
“I’m going with you,” Alpert argued.
“No,” McCauley replied.
“Yes, and that’s final.”
“No! And that’s final.”
She grabbed a hard hat and begin walking toward the ladder. “All right,” he said calling to her. “But stick close to me.” It sounded silly considering she was already ahead.
“Ready?” McCauley asked.
“Ready,” they replied in unison.
One by one they climbed the cold metal rungs. They checked their gear at the top, tested communications and reviewed the plan again.
“She’s definitely in here,” McCauley said. “The lights are fired up way down the line.”
“I just don’t understand why, Dr. McCauley.” Rich Tamburro was confused and concerned.
“Stay focused. Here we go.”
After taking a few steps in McCauley yelled, “Anna! Anna Chohany!” No response. “Too many twists and turns. Rich, you call. She might respond better to your voice.”
He shouted her name. All they heard were his echoes.
At the first two-minute mark, Jaffe transmitted that they were okay. Leslie Cohen relayed the message. They did the same thing at the second check-in just before they climbed down the interior ladder.
“Anna!” Tamburro continued to yell.
Eight minutes in, McCauley held his arm out for everyone to stop. “Quiet. We’re making too much noise ourselves.” Once it was stone cold silent, the professor signaled Tamburro to go again.