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Caine.”
    First the gun and now this. Some strange shit’s going on, I thought. Yes, I was born Nicholas Alexander Caine. I wasn’t even the first, as my grandfather on my father’s side was also named Nicholas Alexander. Anyway, I’ve never reacted well to bossy women. It’s especially true when such headstrong females insist on getting their way for stupid shit. Bathing in a chilled lagoon at dawn on a remote island in the Maldives served as a qualifying event in my book. As we bathed, the women worked their way down a side trail although, I noted, a couple of rifles were still pointed our way.
    Once finished, I shivered almost as badly as Ishi...but at least we were clean by Maldivian standards.
    We approached the beach with our soaked clothing wadded up and positioned just below our waists for modesty’s sake. Norema and her firing squad were waiting for us when we stepped out of the water. Two other girls brought us our new outfits, which consisted of matching dark cholis and non-pleated lehengas to wear, along with leather sandals that must’ve belonged to men no longer part of this village commune.
    At least the saris were as beautiful as those worn by our armed escorts. Yeah, that’s just me blowing off a little steam with some good old-fashioned sarcasm.
    They watched us dress, and it wasn’t the fantasy one might envision. I could feel the probing coldness of their stares, making me wonder how I measured up to their Indian partners, so to speak. Then again, Leo Da Vinci’s Beretta was still strapped to my left inner thigh. Maybe that’s what drew the lingering looks below my waist. Looks that came with pursed lips and furrowed brows. But no one said a word about the gun—not even Norema. Probably a moot point since the water-logged gun was undoubtedly worthless.
    “ There...now you’re ready to be introduced to Badri’s guards as part of our entourage,” said Norema, smiling at getting her way. I wondered briefly if Aamir, her murdered husband, had, in fact, chosen the firing squad option more willingly than she had described yesterday. Another wry grin spread across my face. But she was too busy studying our attire to notice. “There is one more thing you’ll need...something the two of you must wear to conceal your faces.”
    From inside her sari, she pulled out a pair of hoods to put over our heads and a pair of scarves for our faces. Once she finished helping us put them on, she gave an approving nod.
    “Do not remove the hijabs until we are no longer in the guards’ presence,” she advised. “Come, follow me.”
    She and the others began moving toward the waterfall. Without the distractions of undressing, bathing, and donning women’s clothing at gunpoint, I finally had a chance to look around. The area was pristine, with trees, shrubs, and flowers I was unfamiliar with. The white sand just beyond the shoreline seemed to extend up the hillside to the spot we were pushed from, roughly thirty feet above us. I assumed we were walking through some sort of depression in the earth, since to my prior knowledge the highest point in the Maldives was just over seven feet above sea level.
    The waterfall’s source was a powerful stream—which was another aspect that shouldn’t be present on any of the Maldives islands. It cascaded down the side of what looked like a volcanic rock formation from eons past. It was more like something we would see in the Hawaiian Islands, or those along the Mexican and Latin American coasts. I doubt that Ishi considered the same thing, since he only did a cursory review of the brochures the night before about the two hundred Maldivian islands that cover nearly thirty-five thousand square miles.
    “ This entrance to the cave system is largely unknown,” said Norema, as she motioned for us to climb onto a ledge just below the waterfall. I could see a deep shadow behind the rushing water, and assumed it was the entrance. “Some of the chasms we will pass through are