LAST ASSAULT ON OAK ISLAND 33

Chapter 33

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The next morning Lauren was not only sore, but stiff and grouchy as well. The water seemed especially cold and the slight breeze held a chill. Entering the water in Joudrey's Cove made her catch her breath. She almost opted for the wetsuit Maruso had offered. She did not; this was supposed to appear as just some fun between a couple, nothing too planned.

The search resumed for Brielle's elusive cave with an even greater sense of urgency than the preceding days. Shortly after noon, they broke for lunch on the Second Wind, both disappointed in their investigations. The shoreline was mercilessly vague now, without even a rocky hedge to encourage diving. The long grassy bank hid no stony surfaces and had eroded into sand slides in several areas.

Shortly after lunch, they were back in the water, searching the shoreline.

Lauren pushed the shaggy overgrowth of moss from one spot on the bank. To her surprise, a dark hollow gaped deep within. She glanced to Maruso a few feet ahead of her along the bank. He swam back, and nodded when she lifted the mossy curtain and waved inside. They traded their snorkels for airlines and dove under.

Ten feet below the water, the sea floor inclined smartly to the dark crevice. Maruso motioned for her to wait and swam into the gaping blackness. After a moment, he reappeared and waved her in.

They surfaced slowly, wary of a low ceiling. The flashlight this time showed a round cavern not completely submerged. The veil of moss had hidden the opening a foot off the water's surface at the noon tide.

Lauren removed her mask and mouthpiece, inhaling testily. "The air isn't too bad," she said, her voice bouncing back from the close walls.

Maruso imitated her actions. "The entrance allows some exchange of air." He shone the light on the back of the cave where it simply ended in a bland curving wall. The light circled left and halted.

Her breath stopped. She grabbed his arm. "This is it! It's got to be. Someone's been here before."

His eyes were on the same feature. Not a dozen paces onto the cave's dry land, a shallow hole was dug into the wall. Beside it lay several tools, severely oxidized and out of date.

They moved closer, walking up the sandy sea bottom when their feet touched, and trained the light into the hole. It was only three feet deep and had collapsed farther inside. She examined the walls without touching them.

"Pick-marks," she said. "This has to be it, Lewis." She looked around at the beige walls speckled and lined with darker browns.

He nodded to a brittle, short-handled spade that lay near the old tunnel. "Should we take it back to Carlos?"

"No. He'll want everything photographed first. It looks like it would fall apart if we touched it."

He let the flashlight interview the rest of the small cave. "No outlets. I'll go back and get the lights and camera. Do you want to come?"

"No. I'll stay."

"All right. Be careful, Lauren."

He slipped back beneath the water and she was left alone with the smaller flashlight. The dry, sandy floor of the cave was smooth to a certain distance where the tides washed away any markings. The high noon tide had left a small deposit of slimy foliage around the cavern banks, a few seashells caught in it.

Beyond that, however, the sand was coarser and scattered with unusual debris. She studied the broken pick handle, two rags of scrap cloth, a short length of shredded rope and, most startling of all, footprints.

Footprints.