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Three men stood in the gloom beyond the gunman, machetes in hand. The islander with the pistol grinned malevolently and thumbed back the hammer on his weapon. The snick was as loud as a firecracker in the sudden quiet.
“Well, took you long enough,” the gunman said, and pointed the weapon at where Lazlo was trying to inch away. “Don’t any of you move.”
“We don’t mean you any harm. Our friend slipped and fell,” Sam said. “We have to get him. He could be badly injured.”
“Saves me a bullet. Now, don’t you be trying anything or I’ll blow your fool heads off. Any of you give me trouble, the little lady gets it first. Boys? Search them.”
The thugs made short work of a cursory frisking, confiscating their machetes and kicking their bags aside. The gunman kept the pistol trained unwaveringly at Remi the entire time, watching as she glared at him. When the islanders were finished, they manhandled everyone, pushing them forward. The gunman backed up, a flashlight in his other hand, while his companions directed them toward a dim glow at the far end of the massive space.
“Who are you?” Sam demanded as he passed the gunman.
“Your worst nightmare,” the gunman snarled. “You been sticking your nose into business that don’t concern you. Causing a heap of worry. That all over now.”
“What are you talking about? What is this place?”
“Shut up. No more talk,” the thug nearest Sam ordered, and gave him a hard push between the shoulder blades, causing him to stumble. Sam barely maintained his balance, his equilibrium thrown by the lack of a reference point in the gloom, and he could hear Remi’s breathing quicken.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said. His captor clipped the back of his head with the handle of his machete, knocking him to his knees.
“I say shut up, I mean it,” the man snarled. “Up,” he growled, kicking Sam in the ribs.
Sam struggled to his feet and felt the back of his skull. His fingers came away with a smear of blood.
“Sam,” Remi whispered.
He shook his head, instantly regretting the abrupt gesture and wincing in pain. The thug stepped back and raised his machete, the muscles in his arm bulging. “Move or I chop you right here.”
Sam staggered forward in the faint light. The others trailed him, as their captors radiated menace, machete blades glinting, as they made their way to a gap in the cave wall. Another armed islander stood to one side of the opening, watching them.
Once through the gap, they looked around in surprise—they were in a lit area. Cables
ran along the wall to low-wattage bulbs mounted in industrial enclosures, wooden crates served as tables, a half dozen cots rested near one wall, and a marine refrigerator hummed quietly in a corner.
The gunman motioned with his pistol. “All of you. Sit down there.” He pointed at a clear area near the cots.
They sat where instructed. Remi quickly inspected the back of Sam’s head and cringed at the split in his scalp. Eyeing the gunman, she wordlessly withdrew a wad of tissue from her pocket and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.
“There are plenty of people who know where we are. If we don’t return, they’ll come looking,” Remi said quietly.
“Ha. You liar,” the gunman said, but Remi could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
“Why are you—”
“Silence!” the gunman roared, taking a step forward, bringing his pistol to bear on her. “I ask questions. You answer when I say.”
“Do as he asks,” Sam cautioned.
The gunman’s eyes narrowed. “You bring this on you. Why you here?”
“Here, on the island? Or here, in the caves?” Remi asked.
The gunman’s eyes narrowed. “You think I stupid?”
Remi shook her head. “No. I don’t understand the question.”
“Why you look for?” he asked.
Sam cleared his throat. “We’re exploring the cave system. They’ve never been mapped.”
