David Golemon - Legend

"Lieutenant, if I may point out, the depth on your graph indicates that vent is over four hundred feet below the surface of the lagoon. A task quite impossible for man to have carved it out," Danielle said as she looked from Sarah to Carl and finally to Jack.

"Not if at one time this lagoon wasn't here," Sarah countered, holding the Frenchwoman's eyes.

"What are you saying?" Jack asked.

"I have a theory, and it's just a theory," she said, "that maybe this used to be an open pit mine, a natural formation that was discovered and used by the Inca, or maybe another civilization. I had time to think about it and I think this lagoon is a natural geological feature. A caldera — a creater — of a volcano that isn't quite extinct, but stable enough because the lava flow and steam vents act as a natural pressure relief valve, never allowing the volcanic pressures to build up to the point where it could erupt. My guess is a rough one, but I don't think this once-active site has erupted for close to twelve or fifteen million years. And maybe, just maybe, the tributary and the river above the lagoon that creates the falls were once flowing in other directions. I think that at some later time they were diverted here to fill a man-made lake, this very lagoon."

"What evidence is there that even hints at such an outrageous theory?"

Sarah didn't answer Danielle's question at first. She reached over and placed a CD into one of the networked players beside the navigation table. She hit a button and an underwater picture appeared.

"Now the absence of light hurts the quality of the video taken, but we got these on the way down before our visitor appeared. See this far wall — its about a hundred feet below the waterfall and two hundred above the cave opening, or lava vent. Now look at this," she said as she used a pencil to trace a line that at first only she could see. The pencil point zigzagged as she moved it down the screen.

Jack and Carl didn't see it at first. But then Jack noticed a formation that nature could never duplicate on its own. "A staircase?"

"Bingo."

"Damn," Carl and Danielle said at the same time at a pattern that was too precise not to be man-made.

"I must apologize, Lieutenant. You have a valid theory going here," Danielle said as she studied the rock wall. "But why would men build a staircase underneath the water?"

"I need to go back down, Jack," said Sarah.

Jack straightened and scratched his forehead. "Let's just assume you're right, that this vent is a man-made portal of some kind. I think we have enough to go on."

"But if you were hesitant about going into the mine without an escape route, why does an underwater cave reassure you?" Danielle asked.

"I'll make a wager that the cave is a viable exit from the mines. Ancient man had a habit of doing impossible things, Ms. Serrate. For all we know, there is a pressure area just beyond that opening that holds the water back and keeps the shaft beyond dry."

"Like a diver's trunk on undersea platforms," Carl volunteered.

Jack just nodded and looked at his watch. It was already well after three in the afternoon, but he wanted a few more answers now. He hit the intercom.

"Chief?"

"Yeah," Jenks answered from engineering.

"You ready to take Snoopy for a walk to see what the hoopla was about for all these centuries?"

Farbeaux watched as Mendez squeezed his fat body into the wetsuit and as Rosolo placed a rubberized nylon bag on his dive belt and made sure it was secured properly. The other men sat about with their wetsuits on and checked their rebreathers. There were sixteen men in all, including him. Enough , Farbeaux thought, to almost guarantee a foul-up while traveling that long a distance underwater to the mine.

Santos was leaning out of the bridge window with his large cigar tucked into the corner of his smiling mouth. Farbeaux walked to the opposite side of the boat, where the remaining crew was bringing over some of the packed supplies from the anchored barge. He thought he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye. As he strained to see, the movement didn't recur.

The commander of the assault element had been following the Rio Madonna for days. The track had been difficult to follow, but the colonel had been raised in the thick canopied forests of Brazil. He watched as his men performed their preparations deep inside the jungle.

"Are you ready?"

The small man walked up to the colonel but remained in the shadows. "We are ready."

"The radios will have no trouble operating underneath this cursed tree canopy, so have it monitored closely. I will signal when it is time for you to move the men in force into the lagoon, are you clear on this?"

"Yes, but my men, they are not used to water travel. We are at home on the land; our training has been for land assault."

The colonel looked angry for a moment but then quickly calmed. "My orders were to get your men to the assault point and let you do what you were paid to do; you will inflate your boats past the rapids and enter the lagoon. I expect you will only have to face a third of the Americans, the rest will be inside the mine by now."

"What about these fools on the boat? They pose a threat to my men, yes?"

The colonel looked through the darkness at the Rio Madonna . The men onboard were loud as they prepared to enter the river.

"They may make your assault all the more easy. I suspect they are at cross-purposes to our American friends. In any case, they must be eliminated also. No one leaves this valley alive; those are my orders and thus, your orders. Your employers will be very unforgiving if you fail in this."

"We do as we are paid to do. I have worked many times for your general and have never failed him. We will kill every person in the lagoon and then seal the others in the mine. But the situation has changed, hasn't it? We were told about the Americans, but your general never said anything about this second group. This will double the price, otherwise you can use your own military for these murders."

The colonel looked about in exasperation. "Your price will be met. But I will be with you to ensure your contract is fulfilled."

The mercenary nodded and ordered his men forward with the rubber boats. "Soon your general will have many dead Americans."

Onboard the Rio Madonna , Farbeaux went to the fantail and started situating his equipment. He still had the strange feeling that they weren't alone. The jungle opposite the boat was quiet but he still glanced up every few moments to examine the area as far as his limited sightlines permitted.

The rebreather he held was large and bulky but he would only have to carry it beyond the rapids. Then at that point, he and Mendez's men would enter the lagoon unnoticed. As he placed his nine-millimeter and five extra clips into a plastic satchel, his hand brushed against the large cross in his pack. He took a breath and curled his fingers around it. He brought it up into the fantail's weak deck light. It had been stolen by a contact who had known the item had been lifted by the U.S. government in the 1930s. How they had come into possession of it, Farbeaux had no idea. But it was his, and that included the unusual items inside the cross. The reason he was here. He rattled the large object and was satisfied when he heard the two samples inside slide up and down in the false bottom. It had been an ingenious design by none other than Father Corinth himself, the very same man who was responsible for one of the very first political cover-ups in the New World. As he held the cross and felt its internal warmth, he knew the priest of the Pizarro incursion had been beyond his years in wisdom. With what he held in his hand, Farbeaux knew beyond doubt that he could change the balance of world power forever. But it would be he who had that choice, not some banking blood-sucker that was far more evil than the men he once served.