The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

“Welcome to the Hotel Gold Stream,” he said.

They got out of the car and followed Saxon down a gradual slope to the edge of a lake. Hardly a ripple marred the mirrorlike surface.

“The hotel is under the lake?” Zavala said.

“The hotel used to be in a valley,” Saxon said. “After the place was abandoned, gold hunters came in looking for the source. They had more dynamite than brains. They blew up a natural dam, and allowed the waters of a nearby creek to fill the valley and cover the hotel.”

Zavala walked over to the water’s edge and gazed out at the lake. He judged that it was about a mile wide and two miles long, and surrounded by thickly wooded hills. “How deep is it?”

“Nearly a hundred feet at its deepest point,” Saxon said. “The lake is spring-fed.”

“Standard dive procedure is to plan the dive and dive the plan,” Zavala said. “It’s a big lake. Any idea where we should start?”

“I’ll show you,” Saxon said.

Back at the Suburban, Saxon extracted a file marked HOTEL GOLD STREAM from his bag and handed Zavala a yellowed brochure that touted the features of the hotel, shown as a two-story flagstone building.

A walkway led from the hotel to stairs that went down to the cave entrance, where the tour boats were lined up. A sketch showed people in Victorian attire panning sluiceways for gold. Zavala looked from the hotel layout to the lake, trying to visualize what lay under the surface.

“No one could find the mine when the hotel was high and dry,” he said. “What makes you think it will be any easier under water?”

“The same question occurred to me,” Saxon said. “I was about to call off the expedition when I came across a magazine article about the lost hotel. One of the former kitchen staff described a trapdoor in the kitchen. It had been locked, but the kitchen staff broke the lock and dropped something down to see how deep it was. No one could hear it hit bottom. The management put a stronger lock on the trapdoor because the kitchen people were dumping peelings down the shaft.”

Paul said. “The air shaft could have been dug to ventilate a mine.”

Saxon opened a sketch pad to a page where he had made a reasonable copy of the hotel from the tourist brochure. Double vertical lines marked the air shaft.

“I think the hotel was built over the mine,” he said. “The cave may have been part of the mine entrance before the ceiling caved in. The cave-in blocked access but not the flow of gold-laden water. If we go down that shaft, we can get into the mine. Do you think it’s doable?”

Zavala studied the drawing for a moment, going through each step of the dive in his mind. “Any idea how big the shaft opening was?” he asked Saxon.

“No dimensions were given in the article.”

Zavala was a careful diver. He proposed a two-stage plan. He and Gamay would explore the cave first, then check out the shaft. Gamay was a highly skilled diver who had explored many wrecks in the Great Lakes and, later, worked as a nautical archaeologist. With their slim builds, they might be able to navigate the shaft.

While Paul inflated a rubber raft, the divers got into their scuba gear. Saxon had charted out the hotel location on a topographical map enclosed in waterproof plastic.

Trout paddled Gamay and Zavala out into the lake. They dropped a weighted marker buoy into the water. All was ready. The divers rolled over the sides of the raft and disappeared into the depths, with only ripples to mark their passage from one world to another.

Chapter 46

AUSTIN WOKE UP FEELING as if he’d been mugged. He had foolishly expected to be fully conscious until the time he met with Baltazar. Instead, he’d let himself be sucker-punched.

A man’s face came into focus less than a yard away. The face was heavily bandaged on the right side.

“Feeling better?” the man said in a disinterested tone that suggested he didn’t care one way or the other.

Austin’s head ached, his tongue was fuzzy, and his vision was blurred.

“Compared to roadkill, not bad,” Austin replied. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Squire. I work for Baltazar.” He offered Austin a glass of clear liquid. Seeing Austin’s hesitation, he spread his lips in a crooked grin that showed missing teeth. “Don’t worry. If Baltazar wanted you dead, you’d be pushing up daisies. It will counteract the effect of the chemical they used on you.”

Austin took a sip. The liquid was cold and had an artificial sweetness. The pounding in his head lessened, and his eyes regained their focus. He was lying on an army cot. His newfound friend sat on a folding chair. They were in a large rectangular tent. Sunlight filtered through the translucent red-and-white stripes.

“I’ve been unconscious all night,” Austin said.

“You must make them nervous. They gave you enough happy juice to knock out a steer.”