The Columbus Affair

by Steve Berry

  A dam.

  Fashioned of cemented rock, the rough joints thick. It rose two feet from the water and blocked the cave’s entrance, keeping water out.

  “We’ll need to walk through the river to get there,” Rowe said as he slipped the gun from the holster and stepped into the swift-moving flow, which rose waist-high.

  He followed.

  Cold water sent a chill through him that actually felt good considering the amount of sweat that covered his body. The riverbed was smooth stones in varying sizes that challenged his rubber-soled shoes and made footing tricky. Twice he almost lost his balance. If he fell and allowed the current to take him, he’d be gone in a matter of seconds. Luckily, the water ran shallow.

  Rowe made it to the dam, hopped on top and reholstered the gun.

  Tom did the same.

  They both shone their lights on the other side, into the cave opening. Some water leaked through the dam and trickled inside, down a flat, smooth, chutelike incline about ten feet wide.

  “This river once flowed into there,” he said.

  “And someone dammed it up.”

  A sign was posted adjacent to the entrance labeling the cave Darby’s Hole. The warning made clear NO ADMITTANCE. Unchecked water flows, unexplored and unmarked passages, dangerous pits, and unpredictable surges were listed as reasons.

  “That’s comforting,” he said.

  But Rowe had turned from the placard, studying the trees on the river’s far bank.

  No more wails had been heard.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked Rowe.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  ZACHARIAH CHECKED THE MAP. THEY’D FOUND THE HIGHWAY marked A3, just as Rowe had instructed, then sped north through a series of dark towns. Just past one named Noland the road began to climb into the Blue Mountains. A bright moon sheathed the landscape in a wondrous, divine light and he wondered if its presence was a sign.

  “Mahoe Hill is only a few more kilometers,” he told Rócha. “There we go west.”

  Falcon Ridge was on the map, with an elevation of 130 meters noted.

  “You okay back there,” he said to Alle.

  “I’m fine.”

  His head spun a little from the twists and turns in the road. He’d never been fond of mountain drives. “I think we are only a few hours away from finding what we are after.”

  He wanted to reassure her, calm any fears she may have. The violence at the airport had been necessary, but he’d told Rócha to keep it discreet.

  And that he had.

  He wondered if Berlinger’s body had been found. Nothing linked him to the rabbi’s house, and he’d been careful inside to stand and to touch nothing. He’d opened the door through his jacket and wiped the knob clean. He’d seen no one, and nothing had occurred that would alert anyone.

  Now to finish this matter.

  Where they were headed seemed isolated.

  Exactly what he needed.

  ———

  TOM HOPPED OFF THE DAM ONTO SLICK ROCK. HE KEPT HIS LIGHT angled down, watching each step through the steady flow of inch-deep water that seeped from the makeshift dam into the cave. Both the warning sign and Rowe’s evasiveness unnerved him. He’d never been inside a cave before, much less one advertised as dangerous with a man who was clearly not telling him everything. Yet here he was, in the middle of Jamaica, doing just that.

  Rowe entered first, his halogen light casting a bright cone ahead. They were standing on a ledge, twenty feet wide, the roof thirty feet or more overhead. The rock beneath their feet extended ahead another twenty feet then stopped, water pouring over the side, splashing somewhere below. Rowe crept to the edge, but the thought of what might be on the other side unnerved Tom. Heights were not a favorite of his, and the swift-moving water and polished floor made footing chancy at best. One slip and there was no telling what waited in the blackness beyond.

  Rowe stopped at the edge and shone his light into the abyss.

  Tom saw a rocky cavern extending out and up, the far wall a good fifty feet away. Vertical strata of sandy-colored limestone soared upward to form a rough dome. The cave was like a chute that funneled water in, then down, the cascade’s roar loud but not deafening.

  “It drops a long way,” Rowe said. “There are steps the water follows. The next one is three meters beneath us.”

  He crept closer to the edge and peered over. His light revealed the next level down, maybe ten feet below, which jutted out to another black edge where water disappeared over the side.

  “Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do here?” Rowe asked.

  He shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  A loud smack could be heard over the falling water.

  Then another.

  They stared at each other.

  The sound came from outside.

  They both doused their lights and walked cautiously back to the exit. Outside, atop the dam, stood a man. Tall and thin. Swinging the outline of what appeared to be a sledgehammer, smacking the stones with full force.

  “Stop that,” Rowe yelled.

  The man’s head glanced up, then he lashed down with another blow.

  Rowe unsnapped his holster and removed the gun. He pointed the weapon toward the blackened figure.

  “I said stop.”

  The man swung one more time.

  Rowe fired.

  But his target had disappeared over the side into the river.

  The dam burst open, water and rock exploding toward them. Twenty feet separated them from the calamity, which bought maybe three seconds. Alarm sent Tom darting left, away from the entrance, hoping that he could move out of the onslaught’s path.

  Rowe was not as quick.

  The water, which before had been a few inches deep, was now a raging flood, full of projectiles, pouring into the cave.

  Tom yelled, but it was too late.

  Rowe was swept off his feet and disappeared in the darkness.

  ———

  ZACHARIAH EMERGED FROM THE CAR. RÓCHA HAD PARKED A few meters away from a pickup truck that sat just off a narrow graveled road. They were high on a bluff overlooking dark forest, the Caribbean a few kilometers to the north.

  Falcon Ridge.

  He inspected the truck’s bed. Full of tools. Rowe had come prepared. But for what? Rócha and Alle were now out of the car, Rócha checking the cliff edge, staring down. Water rushed below.

  He heard a shout.

  Then another.

  And a gunshot.

  “It came from down there,” Rócha said.

  ———

  BÉNE REALIZED HE WAS IN TROUBLE. EVERYTHING BLURRED INTO one whirling spiral. The swift current surged him toward the edge and there was nothing he could use to stop himself. He knew the drop on the other side was about three meters, and he hoped there was enough water down there to cushion his fall. Otherwise, bones were going to break.

  He plunged over the side.

  He tried to right himself and land on his feet, but gravity’s pull on both him and the water was relentless. He hit the next ledge with his boots, rebounded, then slammed to the rock. Water battered his body. He gasped for breath and bit his tongue, tasting blood. The flow was deeper here, maybe half a meter, the current fast, but not overpowering. He was planted on his soles, body not moving. Splashes around him signaled rock from the dam raining from above. He still held the light in his right hand.

  More splashes.

  He had to move.

  He turned and spotted a ledge extending from the vertical wall, where the water from above was diverted, creating a waterfall within a waterfall.

  Cover.

  Not much, but maybe enough.

  He leaped toward it and pressed his body close, water pouring down only a few centimeters away.

  More thuds came as boulders from the dam kept falling.

  ———

  TOM COULD NOT GO AFTER ROWE. TOO MUCH DEBRIS WAS SWEEPI
NG in from the collapsed dam, the largest chunks wobbling to a halt just past the opening, most of the others vanishing over the edge.

  Why had somebody deliberately burst the barrier?

  The flow continued in a brisk current, the water now knee-high, but the debris had lessened. He risked walking ahead, the larger rocks making good handholds. He made his way to one side of the cavern and pressed himself close to the wall, keeping his flashlight aimed at his feet, watching every step.

  He crept ahead and found the edge.

  He pointed his light into the darkness.

  “Béne,” he called out. “You there?”

  ———

  ZACHARIAH HEARD BÉNE ROWE’S NAME ECHO FROM ACROSS THE river. He spotted faint trails of a flashlight streaking inside the cave.

  “They are in there,” he said.

  In the moonlight he saw that a rock dam had once blocked the cave entrance but a gash now existed, watering pouring through into the cave.

  “We can walk across,” Rócha said.

  And he saw that was correct. Their lights revealed the river to be waist-deep.

  “Your father is in there,” he told Alle.

  “That must be where his grandfather told him to go.”

  He believed the same thing.

  Or at least he hoped that was the case.

  ———

  BÉNE HEARD HIS NAME CALLED OUT.

  “I’m here,” he yelled back. “Any more rock coming?”

  “I think it’s all down there now,” Sagan said. “You okay?”

  “I didn’t break anything.”

  He stepped out from under his protection and moved right, toward the cavern wall. He figured the closer to the side, the better. Then he saw something. His light revealed notches that stretched upward, at regular intervals. Like a ladder.

  “Sagan,” he yelled.

  He saw the light above, but not the man. Then a face peered down close to the wall. “There’s a way down. See it there.” He pointed his light. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

  “Somebody just tried to kill us.”

  “I know. But they didn’t, so let’s keep going.”

  “What if they come back?”

  “Actually, I hope they do. It’ll save me the trouble of finding them.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  ZACHARIAH HOPPED ONTO THE DAM AND EXAMINED THE GASH. Alle and Rócha climbed up with him. None of their flashlights burned. He’d ordered them extinguished after they entered the river. He did not want to alert Rowe or Sagan that he was here.

  Water rushed toward the cave.

  Rócha slipped off and stepped past where the water flowed, reaching for something. In the moonlight he saw it was a tool, and heavy.

  A sledgehammer.

  Had someone opened the dam?

  Rowe? Sagan? Someone else?

  Both he and Rócha were armed, their guns kept above the water on the trek over. Now his was again secure in his back pocket.

  “What is it?” Alle whispered.

  “I don’t know. But we are about to find out.”

  ———

  TOM USED THE NOTCHES IN THE WALL AND LOWERED HIMSELF to the next level. Some were natural, others clearly hewn from the rock. He found Béne standing in thigh-high water.

  He motioned with his light. “You lost your gun.”

  The shoulder holster was empty.

  “That’s okay. I’ve rarely needed one.”

  Béne pulled his wet pant leg up and he saw a sheathed knife strapped to his leg. “This has always worked better for me.”

  He decided to risk a look over the side, hoping there would be more notches for climbing. With a padding movement, setting his feet down cautiously with each step, he eased toward the edge. Sure enough, there were more notches, the next level about eight feet below.

  “I don’t suppose your friend who knows caves told you what’s down there,” he asked Rowe.

  “Nope. And you didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you?”

  ———

  ZACHARIAH CAUGHT A WASH OF LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS BEYOND a rock ledge. He heard nothing except the roar of falling water. More lights continued to dance in the blackness. He crouched low, as did Rócha and Alle, and they used large rocks scattered here and there to work their way to the end of a ledge.

  Two figures stood below.

  Béne Rowe and Tom Sagan. At the edge of the next level, doing the same thing he was doing. Checking out what was below.

  He signaled to Rócha, and a gun appeared.

  “What are you doing?” Alle whispered.

  He ignored her.

  Rócha maneuvered through the dark, closer to the edge, planting his feet in the water. They’d get only one chance. It had to count. He was pleased to see that his man understood that, too.

  Rócha leveled the weapon.

  The shot was about twenty meters, but Sagan’s and Rowe’s lights made for easy targets.

  Two pulls of the trigger and—

  “No,” Alle yelled. “Stop.”

  And her flashlight sprang on.

  ———

  TOM HEARD SOMEONE YELL, THEN A LIGHT BLAZED FROM ABOVE.

  He whirled and saw an illuminated man crouched at the ledge’s end, aiming a gun their way.

  Rowe saw it, too, and leaped over the side.

  A shot banged.

  ———

  ALLE HAD POINTED HER LIGHT AT RÓCHA, HOPING TO BLIND HIM.

  And she had.

  He’d been caught off guard, one arm rising to shield his pupils at the same time he fired.

  “What are you doing?” she said in a loud voice.

  Zachariah backhanded her across the face, sending her down into the water. She rolled and kept her balance, planting her feet, then tried to stand.

  “You stupid child,” he spit out.

  Had she heard right? Never had he spoken to her in such a way, and never had he struck her. She still held her flashlight, which Zachariah yanked from her grip.

  “I never wanted my father killed,” she said.

  “Why do you think we are here? Your father and Rowe threaten all that we do. Millions of Jews have been slaughtered through time. Do you have any idea how many died defending the First and Second Temples? What are two more deaths? They mean nothing. Your father is in our way.”

  In the wash of her light she saw fury on his face.

  “You’re insane,” she said.

  He lunged for her. “Since you feel the need to protect your father, then be with him.”

  She tried to shrink back and avoid his grasp, but he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head downward, tripping her legs out from under her. She hit the swift-moving water and tried to stand. But he helped her along with a kick, the flow too fast, her body too close to the end.

  She screamed.

  And dropped over the edge.

  ———

  TOM HAD AVOIDED THE SHOT FROM ABOVE THANKS TO A LIGHT that blinded the shooter momentarily, the fired round ricocheting off the cavern walls. By the time the shooter recovered, he’d pushed himself through the rushing water, light off, back toward the cavern wall. He kept his focus above, eyes mated to the darkness, but the man had disappeared.

  A stab of light suddenly appeared, bouncing across the roof.

  He could hear shouting but couldn’t make out what was being said, the words lost in the trills and gurgles of the falling water.

  More movement above.

  Then a scream jolted his nerves.

  Female.

  Could it be?

  A body came over the edge and splashed into the waist-high water. Whoever it was came up, gasped for breath, and tried to stand.

  “Dad.”

  The word tore at his heart.

  Alle.

  He lunged toward her, wrapping his arms around her body, intent on stabilizing them both. Then he saw two forms above, one holding a flashlight aimed down.

  “It is all over,” Simon
called out.

  The other man raised a weapon.

  With Alle in his grip, one hand still holding his unlit flashlight, he dropped them into the water, out of the beam’s glare.

  Simon adjusted, trying to relocate the targets.

  But the current sent them over the side.

  ———

  ZACHARIAH STARED DOWN, AMAZED.

  “He took them both over,” he said to Rócha.

  But he wondered. What did Tom Sagan know now that he didn’t? Water raced past his legs. He used the light and scanned the cavern wall.

  And saw niches. Leading down.

  Rócha saw them, too, and moved closer with his light.

  “So let us see what it is you know,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  BÉNE HAD WILLINGLY LEAPED OVER THE SIDE, KNOWING THAT the next level was less than three meters below. His impact was broken by more water about a meter deep. He’d heard a gunshot, the sound within the rocky confines like an explosion. Had Zachariah Simon arrived? Or was it the same person who’d destroyed the dam?

  The abeng he’d first heard was the question, the return wail the answer. But why had the Maroons staked out this cave?

  And why flood it?

  He wondered about the extra depth of water on this level, much more than above, and the answer to his question came as he sloshed his way ahead. The rock angled upward, transforming this step into a rough bowl that first had to fill before any liquid continued its downward assault.

  Thank goodness.

  The deeper the better.

  He switched on his light, which he still held, and saw that the ledge was about ten meters wide. He glanced over its end and saw that the next one below was close, maybe two meters down, shorter and thinner, too, water quickly disappearing over its edge into more blackness.

  He heard a scream from behind.

  He whirled and saw lights reflecting off the ceiling in a chaotic dance. A splash, then a dark clump spilled from above and plopped into the pool two meters away.

  He aimed his light and saw Sagan holding a woman.