Terrors (32 page)

Russell was an old man, living out his last days back on Vanua Lava. He was
comfortable, he was satisfied, he just didn’t want to be forgotten once he was gone. If Seamus Shanahan could recover the lost treasure of the Red Robe Men, all he had to do was finish Russell’s last story, the story of the lost treasure. Shanahan could keep the wealth. Russell had no need for it, no use for it. What good was Chinese gold to a dead man? Thus was the bargain struck.

The mouth
of Valeva Cave was located at the foot of a sheer cliff. There was no reaching it from above, but it was accessible from the beach when the tide was out. Once the tide came back in, anyone inside the cave had better pray that his air would last until the waters receded, or else he could drown like a rat in the clammy blackness of a stone coffin.

Shanahan stood inside the mouth of Valeva Cave.
He strapped the iron tank to his back and stepped forward. The floor of the cave had been worn smooth by the rushing waters of ten thousand years’ worth of tides. The walls and ceiling were of black basalt. The cave itself had once been filled with limestone but that had long since disappeared, dissolved and washed away by those same tides. The floor and ceiling of the cave rose steadily, although
not steeply, climbing within the cliff.

Perhaps the cave was haunted by the ghosts of Ni Vanuatu ancestors, or even by the ghosts of the Red Robe Men who had visited Vanuatu hundreds of years ago. Shanahan shuddered but kept moving. Once or twice he thought he heard something behind him, but when he turned to look back there was nothing.

The mouth of the cave faced to the north. Standing there
before he plunged into the opening Shanahan could espy Moso Island to the west and Nguna and Pele to the north and east. Once he was inside the cave the sea and the islands disappeared. Soon the mouth of the cave and the sky beyond disappeared as well, and Shanahan knelt to unseal his matches and light the kerosene lamp.

He came across a makeshift altar. The stone surface apparently rose above
high water level, for the desiccated remnants of ancient
offerings lay where Ni Vanuatu priests had left them: bones,
meresinfrut, kava
, and red
tapa
cloth.

A cold breeze sent a shiver down Shanahan’s spine. He turned around and he thought he caught a flash of light from behind him. He raised the kerosene lantern but there was nothing to be seen.

He turned and continued into the cave. His lantern
cast strange shadows on the walls. The sounds of the sea came from behind him. His time sense told him that daylight had departed outside, that the rising tide had sealed the mouth of the cave, that he was sealed in a black womb, alone and isolated from the rest of the world until such time as the falling tide opened the mouth of the cave once again. Side tunnels appeared, evidence that the
cliff had once been honeycombed by limestone veins that had melted away over the centuries.

A human figure appeared before him, holding one arm raised in warning. Shanahan blinked, a muscular hand reaching for the flensing blade on his hip. Then he realized that the path of the cave took a sharp turn just ahead of him; the figure was carved in deep bas relief and painted in realistic colors.
How long the carving had stood there, how long its paint had been undisturbed, Shanahan could not tell. The facial features were those of a Chinese sage. The figure was garbed in a floor-length red robe.

Shanahan had found the first strong evidence that the legend of the Red Robe Men was true. He stepped forward, pausing to gaze in wonder at the magnificent carving, then followed the path of
the cave. He passed more carved and painted figures, each more magnificent than the last. Messages were carved in the living rock beneath their feet. Shanahan could not read them, but he recognized them as Chinese characters.

He was deep inside the mountain now, far beyond the last evidence of Ni Vanuatu exploration or offerings. The native people had apparently decided that the cave was the
abode of spirits whom they did not wish to disturb.

Again there was a sound from behind him, but this was not the sound of the sea. It was the sound of footsteps, of hard boots on the stone floor of the cave.

Shanahan whirled, holding the kerosene lantern above his head. A human being, small but swift and muscular, darted at him, a sharpened blade thrust ahead of it. Shanahan dodged and brought
his free hand down in an angry chop. He felt the callused edge of his hand
collide with the wrist of his assailant and a glittering knife spun away.

His assailant leaped sideways, pivoted off the cavern wall, executed a twisting maneuver in mid-air and landed feet first, facing Shanahan, a small revolver pointed at his belly. He launched himself forward, his kerosene lantern sailing through the
air. There was a flare of flame as the lantern struck the wall and burst. At the same time there was a flash and a resounding explosion, its effect multiplied by the confined space they were in. Shanahan felt an impact and a hot streak that raced along his back just as his shoulder jolted into soft human flesh.

The revolver clattered across the cave floor.

The darkness that settled upon the
cave was perfect and complete. Nothing could be blacker than this, not even the inside of a coffin buried six feet underground.

A stream of expletives assailed Shanahan’s ears. He was astonished. The voice was that of a woman. Not only was Shanahan’s attacker female—even though the voice was one he had never heard before, he recognized the intonation, identical to that of his best friend, Frenchy
le Fleur. It was a fantastic long-shot, but there was nothing to lose by guessing.

“Are you Frenchy’s sister?”

“Mais oui. Antoinette le Fleur. I am called the Sea Lynx.”

“And I am –”

“I know who you are,
M’sieu
. You are Splash Shanahan. My brother described you to perfection.”

“How long have you been following me?”

“A very long time,
M’sieu
. I know that you alone survived the sinking of
the
Cichlid
. I know that my brother loved you above all others. I have searched the records of the Navy Department in Washington. I know that my bother gave his life for yours,
M’sieu
Splash Shanahan. Were it not for you—who knows—my brother might be alive today.”

“He was my best friend, yes. I’ve not got over his loss … Antoinette.”

The whole conversation had taken place in pitch blackness.
Shanahan could hear the Sea Lynx moving around. She was searching for a weapon, he knew. Her revolver or her knife. He still had his own flensing blade but he had not drawn it from its scabbard and he did not intend to do so.

“Why did you attack me, Antoinette?”

“To avenge the death of my brother. I have followed you for a long time,
M’sieu
. You always seem to weigh anchor and depart just before
I reach a port. But this time I have caught up with you at last.”

Only the soft sound of the Sea Lynx searching for blade or gun, and the sound of two mortals breathing, could be heard in the cave. At last Shanahan said, “You can stop searching, Antoinette. I have your weapons. I don’t intend to harm you but I will not permit you to harm me, either. Ten years ago I would gladly had died. Now
I intend to live.”

“If I had caught up with you ten years ago, you would indeed have died. But,
M’sieu
Shanahan, better late than never!”

“You’re foolish, Antoinette. You could have ambushed me outside the cave.”

He heard her bitter laughter. “You are right. It was my mistake. I followed you here and I could have waited for you to emerge,
M’sieu
. But I wanted to see what you were searching
for. I was overly eager. And now—here we are, eh? Like two children whose game has gone too far.”

In the darkness Shanahan frowned. The Sea Lynx had declared herself his enemy but he had no grudge against her. If anything, his guilt might justify the sacrifice of his own life if by giving it up he could save Antoinette’s. “I think I can get us both out of here,” he said. “It won’t be easy but
if we work together we might succeed.”

A pause, then the soft, woman’s voice came. “A truce, then. Give me back my blade and my gun.”

Shanahan said, “No. In time I will, but not now. We must get out of here.”

“You were seeking the treasure of the Red Robe Men, were you not?” the Sea Lynx asked. “Did you know it was in this cave?”

“I knew it was in a cave somewhere,” Shanahan told her.

“Everyone
knows that.”

“Of course. But there are hundreds of islands that the Chinese caravels might have visited. There are thousands of caves where the treasure could be hidden. I’ve looked in scores of places, and finally found the right one.”

“And found your grave, as well.”

“No. We won’t get out of here with any treasure, but maybe we can get out with our lives.”

“We’ll just go back the way we
came, then.”

Shanahan gave a half-laugh. “Will you lead the way?”

“I don’t know the way. I merely followed you.”

“I have matches,” Shanahan said. “We’ll need to use them sparingly. I’ll light each one, then we’ll advance as far as we can, then I’ll light another.”

“A poor plan, I think.” The Sea Lynx’s voice came from the darkness.

“Unless you have a better one, that’s what we’ll do. Or,
if you wish, you can remain here.”

He heard a sob, a roiling mixture of rage and defeat. Then, “All right. Let us begin.”

Shanahan opened his box of matches and lit the first one. They moved back through the darkness, feeling the floor slope away beneath their feet. Each time Shanahan struck a match the tiny flare of flame seemed far brighter than it truly was, thanks to their eyes adapting
to the pitch blackness of the cave. They could not advance by feel alone. There were side openings. To enter one would be to enter a maze. Even Shanahan’s unusual sense of location would not lead them out of that natural trap. No, to leave the main tunnel would almost certainly prove fatal.

Shanahan heard his own breath and that of the Sea Lynx growing labored. “We’re starting to run out of air,”
he warned. “We have to get out of here before the oxygen is used up or we’ll suffocate.”

“Just like my brother,” the Sea Lynx hissed.

Shanahan was down to the last match in his packet when he felt cold water lapping at his feet. “It’s straight on from here,” he told the Sea Lynx, “but I don’t think anyone could swim as far as the cave-mouth without breathing, and there’s no air above the water
to breathe.”

“We cannot wait here for the tide to recede?”

“We’d be out of air. It wouldn’t work.”

“Then we are doomed. Doomed to die by suffocation, as I said, just as my brother died.”

“No.” Shanahan reached behind him and pulled the breathing tube from the air tank strapped to his back. “You’ll have to trust me, Antoinette. We’ll have to swim out together. There’s enough oxygen in this
tank to get us both out, but it won’t be easy. You’ll have to stay in my arms as we swim. I’ll give you a breath of air from the tank, then I’ll take one, then it will be your turn again. We can do it if you’ll trust me.”

He felt her hand groping for his arm. They stood together, arms around each other, and waded into the icy brine.

As the water closed over them Shanahan flashed back to that
day aboard
Cichlid
, back to the last conversation he had held with his best friend. Back to the last words Frenchy le Fleur had spoken as they stood in
Cichlid’s
torpedo room, knowing that one of them was about to die that the other might live. Or had he spoken them? Had the information passed between them in an instant of eye-to-eye, man-to-man communion? Or again, had it come to Shanahan in
a dream?

He didn’t know, he only knew that he could hear his best friend’s voice whispering inside his skull.

I fooled you
, Frenchy whispered,
you never did figure it out and I fooled you one last time. You have a tell, Splash. Any good gambler knows how to look for a tell. Is a poker player bluffing or does he really have a strong hand? Is that crap-shooter just lucky or is he rolling loaded
dice? A good gambler can see through it
.

You used to blink, Splash. Whenever we threw fingers, I knew what you were going to do before you did. One blink for one finger, two blinks for two fingers. I knew every time. I had to lose once in a while or you’d quit betting with me. But I always knew, Splash. Always
.

The last time, when the Regensburg caught us I saw your tell. I knew you were going
to throw two fingers. That’s why I yelled, “Odds,” and threw one. You never had a chance, Splash. Man, but didn’t we have fun while it lasted! Didn’t we have fun!

And now he was making his way through a flooded cave a decade later and 12,000 miles away from the last resting place of
Cichlid
.

Half an hour later—or what would have been half an hour later had they any way of measuring time—they
waded out of Valeva Cave. It was midnight on the beach, and a huge moon pounded its rays onto the tropical sand as powerfully as a northern sun would have shone at midday. The oxygen in Shanahan’s iron tank was exhausted. He could have the tank refilled in Port Vila. Ni Vanuatu cooking fires, banked and covered for the night, glowed softly on the beach.

Shanahan stood looking at the Sea Lynx.
Water-soaked and barely alive after their escape from the cave, she was still, clearly, the sister whose portrait he had seen years before in Frenchy le Fleur’s wallet. This woman, whose face had haunted him across half the world, now stood less than an arm’s length away, staring at him with hatred in her eyes. He managed to ask the Sea Lynx how she had followed him.

She pointed to a sloop not
unlike his own, beached a hundred yards from them. Suddenly she lunged for Shanahan’s flensing blade and
very nearly came away with it. Snarling, she warned him, “Our truce is over.”

Shanahan smiled sadly. “Do you really hate me that much?”

She spit at his feet.

“I don’t blame you, you know. I truly don’t. You loved your brother. So did I, Antoinette. We were as close as brothers, as close
as you and Frenchy—Albert—were as sister and brother. When he died, you know, either of us was willing to die for the other. We gambled for who would live and would die, and Frenchie cheated. He cheated so his friend could live. And in the years since then, if only you knew, Antoinette, how I have carried your image in my mind’s eye. If only you knew the hours and years that I’ve thought about your
face.”