Mickey shrugged. "Honest to God, I don't know.”
It wouldn’t have been hard to weigh down duffel bags full of cash in watertight plastic and drop them to the bottom of the pipe. That might have worked for a few days or weeks. But someone would have easily found the loot by now—unless they were stashed somewhere down one of the passageways. The logistics of that would have proven difficult. Maybe it was possible to stash $150 million in one of the bigger chambers. The passageways below forked off into a maze of tendrils. But that amount of money would have taken multiple dives. If it was down there, it would be almost impossible to get it to the surface in time without additional help.
"Let's give it a look," I said, lacking much confidence that we’d find anything. I just wanted to scratch this place off the list.
I put the regulator back in my mouth, then plunged below and swam into the pipe. I dove deep into the abyss, the flashlight on my headband leading the way. I pulled hard, bubbles rising to the surface. The water grew darker and colder with each stroke.
I finned farther, descending into the inky void. The pressure in my ears increased.
Mickey was right behind me.
The Devil’s Pipe was about 20 feet wide and plunged straight toward the depths of hell. I encountered a few fish on my descent, but not much else. Still, venturing into a black void was a tad unsettling. You never knew what you might encounter.
I kept watch on the time it took to reach the bottom. Every second became precious at depth.
Mickey and I finally reached the bottom. Our flashlight beams swept across the limestone.
There was nothing down here.
Eons of silt lined the floor of the pipe, but that certainly wasn't something you wanted to stir up. Mickey wouldn’t have just left $150 million at the bottom of the pipe.
That’s where we ran into a slight problem.
Sometime after the most recent death, the entrance to the two passageways was sealed off with metal grates. If Mickey had hidden the money in one of those passageways, there was no way to get it now. Not without cutting through steel.
We examined the grates, tugging on bars. They were solid. There was no getting past them. No way around, no way to squeeze through.
We fumbled around the bottom, stirring up silt and sediment, looking for anything buried under the surface. It clouded the water instantly. It looked like coffee with heavy cream. Visibility dropped to zero.
We didn’t find anything.
After a few minutes at the bottom, we started our ascent, swimming out of the haze. Mickey and I made a safety stop for good measure.
By this time, the small shaft of light that had spilled into the cenote was long gone. The cavern was pitch black. I looked above us to the surface. Nothing but obsidian black. Until something grey with a white belly swam into the beam of my light.
There was no mistaking the bull shark and its razor-sharp teeth.
34
We had a few minutes left on our safety stop, and that was all right by me. I didn't think Mr. Teeth would bother us down here. If we kept minding our own business, he'd keep minding his. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
There's always an element of unpredictability with wildlife. Their thought process is not the same. Their priorities are different. They’re not bound by our social mores and customs. The past and future are never more important than the present. Food and security are primary and instinctual. Their existence is uncluttered by rent, insurance, taxes, and politics. Survival and replication are the only things that matter. They don’t face civil or criminal prosecution. Taking a chunk of flesh out of a pesky human is no different than chomping on a seal. To the shark, or any apex predator, there is no moral value associated with its actions. You’re either a threat, a meal, or, if you’re lucky, something neutral.
My heartbeat and my respiration increased slightly. Only natural given the circumstances.
We waited at our safety stop and watched as Mr. Teeth circled around the cenote a few times. He eventually headed back out the way he came.
We surfaced again in the grotto, and I kept an eye out for our slick friend. I spit out the regulator again and said, "How confident are you that the money is in one of those passageways?”
Mickey frowned and shook his head. "I'm not confident at all.”
"Where else might it be?”
"I guess I could have buried it out on Gator Island.”
This really wasn't the time or place for an extended conversation. I put the regulator back in, plunged below the surface, and swam out of the cave, keeping my eyes peeled. I didn't want to become a buffet for our toothy friend.
The water was so dark, I couldn't see anything outside the beam of my flashlight. The shark could have been a few meters away, and I wouldn't have known.
