Just before midnight, I decided to make my move. Leaving my tarpaulin behind, I moved as quietly and carefully as I could to the cave entrance. I remembered that the entranceway was fairly steep, but was unprepared for the slippery slope it had become because of the storm. I slipped in the mud and slid down the first slope on the seat of my pants, making a fair amount of noise as I did so. I moved cautiously after that, holding on to the line from the generator to find my way, until I felt I was a safe distance inside.
Then I switched on my flashlight, certain that it could not be seen from the entranceway, and proceeded toward the cavern, stopping at intervals to listen for any sounds that would indicate someone else was still there in the dark.
The passage seemed much more menacing than when I had first visited it with my friends, or at least people I thought were my friends. It was sobering to think that one of them might be a murderer.
I reached the cavern at last, and shone my flashlight around the area, trying not to be frightened by the awful visages of the Chacs on either side. I took a quick look at the faint carving over the tunnel, which dropped off into the cenote, and was both gratified, and terrified, that it seemed to match the drawing in Don Hernan’s diary and the pottery shard I had found in Jonathan’s desk.
Everything in the cavern was much as I remembered it. The large crates containing the artifacts, all cataloged and ready for shipment to the museo for safekeeping were still there, although there were fewer. I remembered the crates I had seen in the basement of the museo. Presumably they had come from here.
The beam of my flashlight swooped over the pile of unnamed artifacts—what had Jonathan called it?—the GOK pile, for God Only Knows. It had grown considerably, I noted, and smiled as I thought of its name.
I passed by it on my way to examine the carving around the tunnel leading to the cenote, to see if in fact it was the symbol for the Maw of Xibalba, the place where Smoking Frog’s codex might wait.
As I did so I stepped over a dark rivulet that meandered between me and the tunnel opening. A leak from the storm above, I thought, but then I looked again.
It was not water. It was blood. I followed its winding course with the beam of my flashlight. It appeared to emanate from the GOK pile just a few feet away from the tunnel entrance.
I didn’t want to look, but I knew I had to. I moved woodenly to the pile of dirt and artifacts and, setting the flashlight down with its beam aimed to assist me, used a stick lying nearby to scrape away the layers of dirt. Soon the very dead face of Major Martinez stared up at me.
I backed away from the horrible sight and turned away quickly, my back to the GOK pile and facing the tunnel entrance, my hands over my face.
I heard a sound, but before I could turn I felt someone grab me from behind. I struggled as hard as I could and almost broke free. But as I did so I lost my balance, and strong hands pushed me very hard, propelling me through the tunnel opening.
It seemed a long way down before I hit the water. Unprepared, I hit it very hard, and my mouth and nose filled with water. Gagging, I flailed about in the water, trying to find first the surface, and then the side of the cenote.
My attacker, above me, had moved quickly to get a flashlight, probably mine, and soon the beam of light was swinging about searching for me. Fortunately it was a long and steep way down into inky darkness, and it would be difficult to lean far enough out to see the bottom without falling in yourself.
I pressed myself to the side of the cenote directly under the opening and tried to get my bearings. There was a small ledge or outcropping above me that afforded me some protection from the light. But otherwise the sides of the cenote seemed very smooth. It would be difficult at the best of times to climb out of this. I was not sure it could be done without ropes and some kind of assistance. In this case, even if I could, there was certainly no point with my attacker waiting up there for me.
I stayed in the water, hugging the side of the cenote, and watched the flashlight move erratically around the space above me. With one swing I could see that there was another opening, just a couple of feet above the waterline. Another tunnel perhaps, or a small cave.
It was the only chance I had, but the beam of light kept moving in a frenetic way above me. Whoever was above me was making sure I was not climbing out.
Fortunately for me, it is human nature for people’s actions to fall into a pattern, whether they intend to or not. The beam of the flashlight, unpredictable at first, had, over a period of several minutes, begun to settle into a fairly consistent rhythm.
By and large I found I could count slowly to about fourteen or fifteen before the next round of light came by, and the beam now invariably swung from right to left.
I waited for the beam to swing by, then very carefully, trying not to let my arms or legs break the surface of the water, swam toward where I remembered the opening in the side of the cenote wall to be. When I reached the far side of the cenote, I reached up in the darkness to try to find the ledge below it.
By my count I was now at thirteen, and sure enough the light began to swing around the perimeter, right to left, and I felt very exposed. I took a breath and sank below the water’s surface. With my eyes open under the water, and looking up, I could see the distorted beam of light pass overhead.
When the light vanished, I surfaced carefully, then felt once again for the ledge. It took to the count of ten to find it, so I waited in the water and once again ducked below the surface as the beam went by.
I knew I would have to move fast, because it would not be possible to haul myself out of the water and into the cave without making some sounds as I left the water. Once again I waited for the beam, ducked under the water, and then pulled myself up as quickly and quietly as I could.
As I had expected, there was what seemed to be a thunderous splash as my body left the water. The light reappeared quickly, but my attacker must have moved back from the edge after the last swing by, and by the time the light had reappeared, I had pulled myself back far enough into the opening that I was reasonably sure I could not be seen.
I sat with my back to the side wall of the cave to try to get my breath. I could hear voices now, and sounds of activity from the cave. I had an idea that I could outlast them, maybe wait for the staff to come to work in the morning. But I was not sure that I could climb out of the cenote, and I was afraid that whoever was up there must have heard the splashing as I moved into the cave. Either he would find some way to come after me, or would wait long enough that he was sure I was drowned.
So I sat there for what seemed to be a long time, watching from the darkness of the cave as the beam of light flashed around the sides of the cenote from time to time.
I wondered who would be up there. Had those shadows I thought I had seen while I waited outside the cave been Martinez and his killer, or had he been killed during the day? The last person to leave had been Lucas, that much I remembered, but I had not seen Martinez enter in the daylight. I found it difficult to think the body had been there all day unnoticed by the workmen. No wonder they went on strike! But maybe they were all in on this. I’d heard more than one voice above me, but could not recognize them, perhaps because of sound distortion in the cenote.
And why was Martinez here at all? Still looking for me?
Despite the dank, humid air, I began to get very cold. I was wet, and I was frightened, and my teeth were chattering. I tried to huddle up to keep warm. It was some time before I realized that I could feel a definite draft on the right side of my face, the side away from the cenote. Air was coming from the darkness on my right.