Murder on Masaya (Kea Wright Mysteries Book 3)

by RJ Corgan

  “Do we have enough line left to reach them?” Kea asked, referring to the specially treated heat-resistant steel cable designed to survive in the hostile conditions in the volcano. Even normal wires were quickly devoured by the combination of sulfur dioxide, moisture, and temperature found inside Masaya’s gullet.

  “Already sent extra line down.” Danilo held out a pair of gloves and a gas mask. “INETER’s got a helicopter from Managua on standby.”

  While Delta station was right on the edge of the lava lake, it was tucked beneath an outcrop directly beneath the basecamp on Beta. There was no way to lower anything directly to Delta nor use the helicopter to lift anyone out; Beta’s overhang extended too far over the lava lake. Not unless they wanted to roast any survivors alive. The updrafts from the lava also wreaked havoc for the pilots, not to mention the added dangerous lightning that frequently lit up the gasses within Masaya’s active crater.

  Danilo gestured at the descent tower. “You’re next.”

  Kea nodded, clanking her chin on the gas mask that dangled beneath her neck. She struggled to pull the trousers over her boots and shorts. They were at least one size too big, but they kept the scalding temperatures down to a low boil.

  As Danilo clipped equipment bags to her belt, she clicked her tongue impatiently and peered over the edge of the crater. Volcan Masaya was unique in many ways. In contrast to the symmetrical volcanic cones seen in cartoons, Masaya’s summit was a complex assemblage of vents stretching two miles across. The sharp crater walls fell away from the rim, leading her eyes down more than seven hundred feet into darkness surrounding Masaya’s fire. Two craters filled the abyss: San Pedro and Santiago. In between, stretched Nindiri, the frozen lava lake where Kea and Maria had taken readings with the gravitometer.

  Long ago, during times of drought, the natives had thrown children and virgins into Nindiri in a desperate attempt to appease the gods.

  I wonder what the gods will make of Emilio?

  “How is Carlos?” Kea asked, referring to the team lead.

  “He’s fine. He was the first one back to basecamp.” Danilo hesitated. “Before the incident.”

  “Any news on Daniela or the others?”

  Danilo shook his head.

  “Considering this is the most Wi-Fi enabled volcano on the planet, it’s difficult to believe that we can’t get a simple phone call through.”

  “Nothing’s working. The radios operate by line of sight and we can’t see below Beta. We don’t even know how bad the damage on Delta is yet.”

  Kea imagined Daniela’s helpless body trapped under a pile of boulders.

  “This is all my fault.” Kea swore under her breath.

  Daniela, her first graduate student, was on loan from UC San Diego’s geology department. While unfortunately fond of tie-dye and patchouli, Daniela was a gifted programmer and mathematician. Given that most geologists can’t math, Daniela was more precious than gold.

  Kea stepped closer to the edge and sucked in a breath of hot, cindery air. Somewhere, nearly a thousand feet down on Delta level, the remaining members of her expedition awaited rescue. At least, she hoped they were still alive.

  What the hell happened down there?

  A fitful gust of wind parted the curtain of smoke. On the wedge-shaped arc that comprised Beta level, she spied basecamp, a tiny collection of interconnected geodesic domes. The ledge, once the surface of a lava lake but now nothing more than a stale crust of rock, stretched out two hundred feet from the crater wall. Colored yellow and black, the cluster of tents resembled a group of wasps clinging to the bare rock.

  “All they had to do was install the last of the monitoring equipment, overnight at basecamp, and done.” Kea clenched her fists, trying to contain her anger. “A simple in-and-out.”

  “Nothing’s ever simple with Emilio around.” Danilo helped Kea shrug on her pack, then held up a clipboard. “Right, you’re good to go once you sign this.”

  Kea stared at the equipment sheet, incredulous. “Seriously?”

  Danilo held out a pen. “You may be on Amirah’s shit-list, but I intend to stay off it.”

  “Need I remind you, I’m the one who signs your paychecks?”

  “Yes, but Amirah approves the annual bonuses.”

  Kea narrowed her eyes. “I’m beginning to question your priorities.”

  “I’m beginning to question your highlights.”

  Awkwardly wielding the thin pen in her gloves, Kea signed the papers. “You know, since I’m about to descend into Hell itself, a real friend would say something reassuring, like, ‘Come back alive.’”

  “Come back alive,” Danilo said, “but make sure you bring back every piece of equipment you signed out.”

  She handed him the clipboard and nodded over his shoulder. “While I’m down there, there’s something I need you to handle.”

  Danilo followed her gaze and saw Maria and Rudi trudging along the crater rim toward them. It took a moment for Danilo to comprehend. “You haven’t told Maria about her brother?!”

  Kea shrugged, “Emotions are not really my strong point or so people keep telling me.”

  “Tick tock, pretty lady,” called a man from the staging point.

  Speaking of.

  Kea trudged over to Mack, one of the contractors hired to help the team with the descent. Standing at the base of the triangular assemblage of pylons and joists, he held open the door of the transport pod for her.

  “Someone stood me up for dinner last night,” Mack grumbled as she tossed her bag through the open door of the egg-shaped pod.

  “Someone had to help the thermal team calibrate their equipment,” Kea countered.

  Although every instinct in her body told her to run in the opposite direction, she stepped closer to the edge. Her hand firmly on the capsule, she turned into the cradle of Mack’s chest. Nearly two inches shorter than her, she always welcomed his wide shoulders and thick arms as they embraced in the privacy of her bedroom. Even his beer belly disappeared in the dark of night.

  Now, however, she studied his movements with scientific detachment as he steadied the swaying pod and checked the rigging.

  No going back.

  The ominous thought niggled at the back of her head. Descending into the crater last week had been exhilarating. As program manager, it had been her duty to inspect the basecamp, but she had not gone down to the lower levels. This time, however, as she steeled herself for the descent, dread tightened her stomach.

  Masaya’s hot breath kissed her neck as a bout of superheated air swirled up from the skylight. Against her will, she gazed into the opening. The glowing chasm churned with molten rock. At least, that’s what the scientific part of her brain told her she was looking at. Staring into its ever-shifting heart, the shimmering heat and the seemingly impossible speed at which the lava raced beneath the skylight, made it easy to understand why the locals had given Masaya a supernatural origin.

  Her eyes flickered back to the chaotic assemblage of pylons and cables that anchored her lifeline in place. It seemed ludicrous to trust something so ramshackle.

  “Hey!” Mack shouted through his respirator. “Eyes up here, soldier.” He patted the pod. “In you get.”

  She nodded, her eyes tearing up as another waft of sulfur dioxide enveloped them. She used a gloved hand to nudge her mask into place and eyed the capsule nervously. Lightweight, it was encased in white ceramic tiles to protect both the occupant and the sensitive mechanisms from the volcano’s harsh gasses. Transparent bands of Perspex crisscrossed its surface, revealing the chair and safety harness nestled inside. The pod hovered at the crater’s edge, dangling from the cable like a delicate egg.

  Which made her the yolk.

  Mack squeezed her shoulder gently. “Carlos is waiting down at basecamp for you.”

  The term ‘basecamp’ sounded ridiculous when they were descending into a volcano, Kea thought, but it was similar enough to climbing a mountain, just in reverse. Instead of acclimatiz
ing to different oxygen levels going up a mountain, as the climbers descended closer to the boiling lava, the increasing temperatures and clouds of sulfur grew more deadly, requiring different equipment.

  Mack tucked the last of the supply bags into the pod and Kea considered the cluster of tents that comprised basecamp. The inflated domes provided oxygenated air and a respite from the heat for the scientific team. Wire nets angled in front of the tents, intended to deflect projectiles ejected from the volcano, seemed too flimsy to provide any real defense. Nothing more than a bouncy castle, Kea thought, albeit an incredibly expensive one.

  She blew out a long breath and wished her legs would stop trembling.

  Make it down to basecamp, Kea told herself, then worry about the rest.

  Mack barked a query into his microphone.

  Kea couldn’t hear a reply but, apparently satisfied with the response in his earpiece, he tapped her on the shoulder again.

  “This controls your descent speed,” he jiggled the joystick on the armrest, “and remember to slow down on your approach to Beta, ‘cause the updrafts can be brutal. But you should be used to bumpy rides by now.”

  Kea frowned. “Are we still talking about the volcano?”

  “That’s the spirit.” Mack strapped her into the chair and closed the door.

  Then he was gone.

  Kea gripped the joystick firmly with both hands and stared between her knees into the depths below.

  What the hell am I doing?

  She took another deep breath. The team needed her, she reminded herself. Daniela needed her. However, staring down into the thousand-foot pit, she felt her resolve collapsing. Kea knew that she needed to be someone else right now, someone who had their shit together.

  Who am I kidding? I’ll never be that person.

  For their sake, she had to pretend that she was. Her hands shaking, she nudged the joystick forward. The pod rocked as it swung away from the rim and then began to move slowly along the line down into the pit.

  Chapter 4

  “MasayA Is a shield volcano with multiple vents.” Sharvil stood next to the model of Masaya that dominated the room. He tapped each of the four craters in turn. “Nindiri, San Pedro, Santiago, and Masaya.”

  Carter noted that the first three pits were interconnected, while the Masaya vent stood apart.

  “While the shield volcano is one of the few longest continuously erupting volcanoes on the planet, Santiago is the only active crater. Twenty years ago, the level of the lava lake was here.” Sharvil pointed to a spot marked ‘Basecamp – Beta Level.’ “However, the lava has been progressively lowering since then and recently dropped a few hundred feet, exposing a new ledge, Delta level, where our teams are stationed.”

  Carter peered into Delta’s dark recesses, tucked beneath the lip of Beta level. “Can you get a drone down there to check on the team?”

  “We lost our remaining drones in the lava earlier this week,” Shona added. “Unfortunately, the average drone can’t handle the updrafts. We’re hoping to have two sent in from Managua, but we don’t have an ETA.”

  “There’s no scale on this thing.” Carter squatted to examine the model. “How deep is it?”

  Bree rattled off the numbers. “Four hundred feet down to basecamp, another two hundred to the relay point on Gamma level, and then another two hundred feet to the skylight at Delta level.”

  “We have a zip line from Santiago’s rim down to basecamp that allows us to move people and equipment back and forth.” Sharvil pointed to a small structure at the edge of the crater. “However, the descents below Beta involve climbing beneath the ledges of the previous lake levels. It’s likely that the lines descending to Delta were ripped out by rockfall and will have to be re-rigged. The climbing lines down from basecamp to the Gamma checkpoint appear intact but are being double-checked now.”

  “How long will it take to rig a line to Delta?”

  “We’ll know once basecamp checks back in … oh, hell.” Sharvil caught sight of a middle-aged businessman entering the room and moved to intercept him. “Wǎnshang hǎo, Director. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  Carter eyed the new arrival’s quaffed hair and tailored suit. “Who’s the Gucci model?”

  “Deshi Zhao.” Shona crumbled her empty soda can and angrily chucked it into the bin beside her desk.

  “I’m guessing you’re not a fan?” Carter asked.

  “He’s arrogant, but not an idiot,” Shona grunted. “It’s the firm he represents that’s the problem.”

  Carter spied an expensive watch peeking out from beneath a cuff. “Rolex?”

  “If only.” Shona shook her head. “A Chinese company called Freedom Unlimited. How’s that for irony? They’re building a canal connecting the Atlantic and the Pacific through Nicaragua, so Panama won’t be the only game in town. It’ll never work. It has been proposed a hundred times in as many years.”

  “A man, a plan, a canal – Nicaragua,’” Carter considered, “it certainly fails as a palindrome.”

  “It’ll fail as a canal as well, but it will be an environmental catastrophe.” Shona glared at Deshi. “Not that his lot cares.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Carter asked.

  “This Outpost project has joint ownership with Freedom Unlimited. Didn’t Kea tell you anything?”

  “I’ve been a bit busy,” Carter replied vaguely. “You know, pirate stuff.”

  “There are Outposts all over the world.” Bree waved a hand at the star-studded map on the dome above them. “All the Outposts are designed to carry out long-term projects researching earth system processes and educate the local populations in STEM so that they can carry on the work. As non-profits, we’re often reliant on support from local governments, universities, and of course any companies looking for a tax write-off. Nicaragua? Well, they’ve got more volcanoes than volcanologists, and following the recent government instability-”

  “You mean riots?” Carter asked.

  “We don’t use the r-word here.” Shona frowned. “It’s not only happening here, unrest is spreading all across Central America.”

  “Funding streams have been a nightmare.” Bree gave Shona a warning glance. “China has been investing in this region for decades, but they’ve upped their game in the last couple of years. They’re essentially providing the only stability in the region.”

  “As long as they’ve got some way of getting Kea out of there, I don’t really care who they are.” Carter turned his attention back to the floor model of Masaya. “Is there any way of communicating with her?”

  “Are you kidding?” Bree picked up a handset. “Masaya’s the only volcano on Earth with Wi-Fi. Kea should be reachable while she’s at basecamp. Below that, we’re still trying to regain comms.”

  From across the room, Sharvil’s voice raised an octave. “There’s no way to reach them, we’ve tried.”

  “And I told you,” Deshi’s voice was edged with steel, “if you let my team have access to your software, we might be able to help.”

  “I’m not allowed to give admin rights to anyone,” Sharvil sputtered. “If your team wants to help, they can finish prepping the chemistry trailer like we asked.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re turning down an offer of help during a time of crisis ...”

  “Mr. Zhao?” As Carter watched, Shona positioned herself between the two men and discretely motioned for Bree. “I wonder, could you be a dear and have one of your team take a look at something? Bree has built a script to use the new thermal data to get an idea of where the flow of magma may shift to next.”

  Shona smiled sweetly at Deshi as Bree started to lead Deshi away. “It’s simply a matter of tweaking some Python code, no permissions needed, and Bree will be at their side the entire time. If you could send that lovely Li fellow to help, I’m sure he’ll probably have it sorted in no time. Bree here will help you with anything you need.”

  After they left, Shona turned to Sharvil. �
�Call Amirah and give her a heads-up that Deshi’s hunting for an excuse to take over the project.”

  “Can he do that?” Sharvil asked.

  “No, but our great leader can.” Shona nodded at the image of the Nicaraguan president on one of the television screens.” She pointed to a camera showing Kea about to step into a pod on the lip of the crater. “Carter, at the rate we’ve been losing reception, if you want to talk to Kea, this might be your last chance.”

  IN THE pod’s viewport, Bobadilla’s Cross was wreathed in smoke. At that distance, it appeared to be nothing more than a toothpick erected to stop the fury of Hell.

  Still, Kea considered, according to the stories, the bishop of Granada stopped an advancing lava flow in 1772 simply by commanding it, holding nothing more than an image of Christ.

  I couldn’t even get my students to hand their homework in on time.

  A spiral of sulfurous gases obscured the view of the crater rim. The stench seeped into the pod and stung her eyes. She was grateful she’d decided to pay for the laser surgery to correct her vision. After losing her glasses in a crevasse on a glacier, her near-sightedness nearly proved fatal. In a volcano, even grit in contacts could lead to lethal mistakes.

  The pod descended smoothly, belying the difficultly the team had encountered in preventing the acidic gasses from eating away the insides of the machinery. Despite the pod’s frequent maintenance, it was better than the rig used on the first descents. Those had consisted of little more than a lawn chair strung between two pulleys.

  She squinted at the orange fire smoldering nearly a thousand feet below and shuddered.

  A series of updrafts buffeted the pod, causing her stomach to heave. In an attempt to quell her nausea, she fixed her gaze on the frozen corpse of Nindiri’s lava lake. Santiago’s active crater had chewed a gaping hole out of the chilled plain of rock, exposing a layer cake assortment of old gray and black lava flows. She knew the different strata and intrusions like the back of her hand. Even as she automatically identified the formations, the rest of her mind was consumed by guilt.