“No, you won’t,” her dad said, aiming his light beam at the floor in front of him. “You love me too much.”
She muttered something under her breath that included the words “trade you in” and “stubborn old mule.”
“I heard that,gatita.”
“So, what is this?” Quint asked, trying to see around Angélica and her father. “Just a dead end? Or is there a secret door in the wall that will open to another tunnel if you tap your cane in the right place?”
He was joking, but a little serious.
Egyptians had fun with secret passages, tucked-away chambers, and mysterious open spaces in some of their pyramids. From what he’d learned about the Maya, they concealed rooms and burials, too. Hell, more than once he’d read about a Maya king who’d built a big, new temple over an old, smaller one, thus hiding away for centuries the accomplishments of a previous dynasty.
“Well, I’ve tapped a few blocks, but no luck.” Juan poked at the ceiling overhead, making Quint cringe and take a step back. “I think we’re at the end of the line.”
“Then where did the bats come from?” Quint asked.
“There was a hole in the wall near the floor a little ways back,” Angélica said. “About the size of a manhole cover.”
“There was?” Quint turned, shining his light back that way. “How did I not see it?”
“It was tucked behind an outcropping, and you were too busy staring at the ceiling.” She squeezed by her dad.
“Hey, can’t blame a tall guy for wanting to keep his head attached, especially in a structure that you believe has the death-bat god carved on the outside.”
“You think that carving isCamazotz?” Juan asked her.
“I’m not certain.” Handing her father her flashlight, she indicated for him to point it at the wall. “But I’d bet a box of your expensive cigars on it.”
Juan leaned against the wall, taking the weight off his bad ankle. “Stay away from my pride and joys, child.”
He shined both lights on Angélica, who was now running her palms over the wall, pausing on each block while putting her ear close to the stone.
“What are you doing, boss lady?”
“Listening,” she whispered, moving to the next block.
“What? For sounds to travel through solid rock?” her dad asked, his tone edged with sarcasm. He looked at Quint. “Her mother used to do that. When I’d tease Marianne about it, she’d remind me that if you listen to the rails sing, you can hear a train coming down the track before you can see it.”
“Dad …”
“At least you could in the old days,” Juan continued, “when vibrations were plentiful due to the steel wheels traveling over the joints connecting sections of rails.”
“Metal is a better conductor for sound than air,” Quint said, nodding. “But how does stone compare?”
Juan shrugged. “That depends on the type of rock.”
“Criminy, you two.” Angélica kneeled, moving her hands further down the wall. “I’m trying to listen for the whistling Esteban claims to have heard. Now shush.”
Quint leaned against the wall next to Juan, stretching his shoulders back and his neck from side to side. Hunching was for bell ringers in old French cathedrals, not six-feet-plus photojournalists.
He peeled his soaked shirt away from his skin, fanning it, trying to pretend it wasn’t six hundred degrees inside this narrow, crumbling tomb. No, more like a stone-lined casket.
At least there weren’t any mosquitoes or flies in here.
Wait, why weren’t there any bugs in here?
He checked the floor. Not a single roach, or beetle, or cricket. Nor a wandering ant, out hunting for food for the colony. Hmm. That was weird, wasn’t it? Had they entered the Maya Underworld without realizing it?
After a few minutes of searching for signs of bugs and bats or other tunnel life, Quint focused on Angélica. She had soaked through her shirt, same as him. Beads of sweat glistened on her face, leaving streaks as they rolled down her neck.
