The fact that Kensit, Bazin, and Ruiz had been tied together had been a shock to the U.S. military and intelligence communities. But what had surprised Juan was when they discovered who the other man on the yacht with Kensit was. A single frame of the recorded drone video had been enough to ID Brian Washburn, former governor of Florida and logical choice to have been appointed vice president in the event Air Force Two had been shot down. A subsequent forensic search of his office computer files turned up a deleted video of him killing a blackmailer, likely courtesy of Sentinel’s all-seeing eye.
Of course, no one would be re-creating Sentinel’s power anytime soon, particularly inside a cave that was now saturated with deadly radioactivity. There had been some concern that radiation would leak into Lake Péligre, but so far they’d detected no contamination.
Even if the cave had been intact, rebuilding Sentinel would be impossible without Lutzen and Kensit’s research and designs. But Juan was under no illusions that the U.S. government would give up. He was sure that simply knowing the technology was feasible had spurred top secret research already.
The computer readout said they’d reached the proper coordinates. Juan shined his flashlight up and saw the silvery shimmer indicating there was air. He gave the thumbs-up to Max and surfaced.
He hoisted himself up onto the lip of the cave floor and heaved Max out after him.
Max peeled off his mask and spit out his regulator.
“You know,” he said, his voice seemingly muffled by the blackness around them, “I could be on the ship knee-deep in repairs.”
Juan laughed. “I thought you’d like to see this since you missed Haiti.”
“You thought I’d want to see a dank, dark cave? Do I look like a Morlock to you?”
“Half Morlock. But the cave won’t be dark for long.”
Juan removed four high-powered LED lamps from his waterproof pack and arrayed them on the floor. When he lit them up, Max leaped to his feet.
The cavern they were standing in was three times the size of Sentinel’s cave in Haiti, so big that it extended beyond the lights’ reach. Brilliant green crystals sparkled in every crevice, some shaped like rosettes, others the circumference of cedars that had sprouted from the floor and grown through the roof high above.
“Holy Emerald City, Batman,” Max said, rubbing his hands together in glee. “We’ve hit the jackpot here.”
“They’re not emeralds. They’re selenium crystals colored by copper impurities. Not valuable as a mineral on its own, but for someone who has the means to create Sentinel—priceless.”
“How did you know this would be here?” Max said as he turned in a gawking circle.
“The video we recorded of Kensit’s office on the yacht. He had a map on the wall that said Phase Two. Underneath it had the exact latitude and longitude, plus a third number that I finally realized was depth. I was pretty certain he had found another cave. And if it was like the one in Haiti, it was a good bet that we could find a way in.”
“For all we know, this might be the only other cave like this on earth.”
“You may be right. The only similar cave that had been discovered is one in northern Mexico called the Cave of the Crystals, but those crystals are bone white so they don’t have the same properties as these Oz crystals.”
Max suddenly stopped gaping at the wondrous view and looked at Juan.
“You were afraid Kensit might sell his technology and let them build another Sentinel in this cave. That’s why you destroyed the yacht.”
Juan kneeled and picked up one of the crystals to examine its facets, careful not to cut himself. “I destroyed the yacht because Kensit had to pay for attacking my people. But it did worry me that if he survived, he would buy his freedom with the secrets of Sentinel and the location of this cave.”
“I can’t blame you. I know I wouldn’t trust anyone with that technology. If absolute power corrupts absolutely, wielding Sentinel would put almost anyone on the fast track to being a tyrant.”
“As we’ve seen already. And if one man like Kensit could be corrupted by that much power, imagine what a whole government could do with it.”
“Who knows about this place?”
“Just us. I figured what Langston Overholt doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, it’s on Mexican soil, so the U.S. government wouldn’t exactly have a strong claim.”
“But what if the Mexican government got in on the action?”
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“Then it would get complicated. They could keep it themselves or sell it to whoever they wanted. A conglomerate with big pockets. A drug cartel.”
“That brings up a good question. Who does own it?”
“Me.”