‘Are you OK?’ Alex shouted back through the open door, ‘Yes.’ A smell of cordite and gunpowder filled the tiny space. Paulo retrieved his torch and shone it around. A shotgun stood on the floor, its barrel propped up by rocks. A branch lay in front of them, vines linking it to the trigger. It must have been wedged in the door, ready to fall if it was opened. A booby trap. And it didn’t look like it had been set by the ancient Maya. Alex found his torch and went for the weapon. It was an old shotgun. Alex knew the type – it held just one round at a time, so it wasn’t about to go off again. The wood was battered but the barrel wasn’t rusty. It was a working, well-maintained weapon. He broke the breech and pulled out a spent red cartridge. A voice babbled angrily from the darkness. Paulo swept the torch around the room. It met two glistening eyes at floor level, blinking back at him. Dense black hair, frosted with dust. Thick Indian lips revealing missing teeth.
