When they found the ladder, Elizaveta climbed it first. Nitro and Jesus and Pita were all bent over the trapdoor, looking down, talking to her, talking heads. She emerged from the hole into the candlelit room, which seemed bright in comparison to the dungeon-like crawlspace, then helped Jack out. His shorts bulged with vegetables, impossible not to notice.

“It’s just a root cellar,” he said in response to the barrage of questions. He emptied his pockets, setting the vegetables on the floor. “Help yourselves.”

“They’re dirty,” Pita said.

“They’re food,” he said. “And we haven’t eaten since midday.” He took a crunchy bite of a carrot.

Nitro chomped into a turnip and shrugged.

“I’ll pass,” Jesus said.

“Ugh,” Pita said.

“Oh,” Elizaveta said, lifting her T-shirt, revealing the mystery box she’d stuffed down the front of her shorts. “We found this also.”

“Let me see that.” Nitro reached for it.

Elizaveta batted his hand away and unhoused the box from her shorts herself. “It’s locked,” she said, going to the wall on which hung the farming equipment. There was no shortage of tools to choose from. Large spanners, fencing pliers, an old fashioned saw. She selected a hammer, returned to the others, and set the box on the floor so the lock was facing upward. She gave it a solid whack with the hammer. Wood splintered but the lock held. She whacked it again. This time the lid flipped open. A battered leather wallet tumbled out, along with several sepia-toned photographs.

“That’s all there is?” Jesus said, unimpressed.

“Solano’s wallet?” Nitro said.

“Who are those photos of?” Pita asked.

Jack picked them up. There were four in total: a handsome woman, two young girls, and a group shot.

“Solano’s family?” he said, passing them to Elizaveta. She studied them before passing them to Pita.

“Open the wallet,” Nitro said.

Elizaveta did. There was a single identity card printed on green paper issued to Don Javier Solano. In the money sleeve was an old article cut from a newspaper. Elizaveta unfolded it.

“What does it say?” Pita asked.

She read the Spanish out loud:

MEXICO CITY - At least 25 people were killed and 17 others severely injured when a firecracker factory exploded Sunday in a blast of flames and black smoke.

The factory was located on the ground floor of a 28-family apartment building. Officials searching the smoldering ruins said most of the victims sustained severe burns. Dozens of people were still unaccounted for, raising fears that the death toll could rise.

Police said the explosion took place at about 11:30 p.m. and could have been triggered by burning heating oil from an overturned stove in an adjoining apartment. They were not ruling out other potential causes, including the improper mixing of the raw materials used in firecrackers.