The Solomon Curse

If it worked, he stood to make hundreds of millions from the oil rights alone. That the scheme required a few casualties was a necessary evil—his hands wouldn’t be sullied.

As with all opportunities, one had to weigh the benefits against the costs. A few aid workers or unfriendly locals were nothing, in the scheme of things. Grimes hadn’t fought his way to the top of the heap by being soft. He understood how the game was played—the bigger the money, the dirtier the dealing. He’d watched rivals get rich rebuilding countries after war had ravaged them and it hadn’t escaped his attention that they always seemed to be at the front of the line when it came to lucrative contracts. All he was doing was creating his own advantage where he could, with complete deniability baked into the cake.

Grimes looked around his office, taking in the model sailboats, the awards from community organizations, the photographs with dignitaries and celebrities. He’d built it all from nothing. Along the way he’d had to do some questionable things, but everyone who’d amassed significant wealth and power had done so—there was no such thing as an honest fortune. He glanced through the picture window at Sydney Harbor and smiled with satisfaction. The difference between him and the rabble shuffling around on the street was vision . . . and daring. He saw opportunity and didn’t hesitate where others might.

Grimes checked the time on his platinum Lange & Söhne Perpetual Calendar Terraluna wristwatch and nodded to himself. He felt no remorse about his countrymen meeting their fate so he might profit from the outcome. People died every day.

It was strictly business, nothing more.

CHAPTER 17

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

Sam powered on his satellite phone, checked his messages, and listened to one from Selma, letting him know that the Australian research vessel, the Darwin, would be at the Honiara port by noon. After checking the time, he called California to leave his own message, confirming with Selma that they would meet the ship when it arrived.

The police had stopped by the hotel the prior evening and asked more questions, lifting Sam and Remi’s hopes that their attackers would be caught; but now, as Sam looked out over the primitive buildings and rusting fishing scows, that goal seemed as far-fetched as the tale of giants roaming the island.

“What are you staring at?” Remi asked, coming up behind him and slipping her arms around him.

“Nothing,” he said, not wanting to depress her with his morose thoughts. “The boat should be here by noon.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

He turned to her. “How’s the neck?”

“If you’re asking whether I can manage a dive or three, the answer’s yes.”

He inspected her cheek, which still had a trace of discoloration from bruising, and smiled. “You ready for breakfast?”

“With Comrade Chuckles as usual?” she smirked.

“It wouldn’t be the start of a new day on the islands without Leonid’s su

“He’s certainly got the market cornered on pessimism. Although I did get the sense that he was enjoying his dive experience, for all his grumbling.”

“Me too. But don’t let on that you noticed or it’ll ruin his whole morning.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Sam escorted her to the hotel restaurant, where Leonid was sitting at their usual table, his face sunburned, sipping coffee with an expression like the dark brew was laced with rat poison. He looked up as they approached and offered a humorless smile.

“Good morning, my friend,” Sam said cheerfully, slapping him on the back. “You’re looking sprightly.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ve been drinking,” Leonid said sarcastically.

“I think the island pace agrees with you, Leonid. You’re positively glowing,” Remi beamed as she took a seat across from him.

“Make it a double,” Leonid muttered, but Remi caught a barely controlled flash of a smile.

“We come bearing good news,” Sam a

“Really?” the Russian asked, raising a distrustful eyebrow.

“The Darwin will be here in a few hours and then we can get this exploration kicked into high gear. And you can show off some of your newfound scuba moves.”

“As long as they consist of sitting on board and directing the divers, you won’t be disappointed,” Leonid assured him.

“I bet you’re like a fish in water,” Remi teased.

“A puffer fish. It’s all I can do to get into the pool, much less swim.”

“Well, fortunately, Selma called this morning to tell us that she’s got four ex–Navy divers flying in to help. They should arrive tomorrow,” Sam said.

They agreed to meet at the boat when it was scheduled to dock. Leonid still had one final dive to do before getting his certification. They watched him trundle out to the parking lot and Remi shook her head.

“You’d think he’d just found out he only had a few days to live. Has he always been like that?” she asked.

“As long as I’ve known him. What’s fu

“Thank goodness I didn’t marry Mr. Sourpuss.”

“How could anyone be married to you and do anything but smile?”

Remi gri

—

The Honiara waterfront lived up to their expectations, with the pungent aroma of decaying marine life thick as fog. Rows of rusting cargo ships in various states of disrepair bumped against the concrete docks in the gentle swell, and Sam and Remi watched as a large power catamaran edged to a stop near the shipyard. The water shimmered with a sheen of oil and gas, adding a petroleum stink to the area, and Remi wrinkled her nose and leaned in to Sam.

“Charming, isn’t it?”

“Hope nobody lights a match around here or we’re all going up.”

Leonid arrived a few minutes later and they stood together, staring impatiently at the horizon. Leonid shifted from foot to foot as the sun blazed down unrelentingly, clearly anxious to get to the bay.

“How did the dive go?” Sam asked, eyeing the Russian’s still-damp hair.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The satellite phone trilled. When Sam retrieved the phone from his backpack, he didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” he answered.

“G’day. Sam Fargo?” The Australian accent of the cheery male voice was pronounced even over the noise of the wind and a rumbling motor in the background.

“That’s me.”

“Captain Desmond Francis. Des, to most. Wanted to see if you’re ready for a pickup?”

“Yes. We’re at the Honiara docks.”

“Brilliant. We should be rounding the point in ten minutes. I’ll send a tender for you, if that works.”

“Of course. How will we know you?”

Des laughed. “Hard not to spot us, mate. Bright red hull and a bad attitude.”

“We’ll be watching for you.”

Captain Des was right—they couldn’t miss the Darwin on approach. Painted neon red, it had a stylized gaping shark’s mouth emblazoned in yellow on the bow, replete with oversized teeth. Remi laughed when she saw it and elbowed Sam.

“What have you gotten us into this time?” she whispered.

“Blame Selma. I just asked for a boat.”

A crane swiveled on the ship’s deck and lowered a twenty-foot fiberglass tender onto the water and soon the small skiff was cutting across the small waves toward the wharf. Sam walked to the edge of the concrete dock and waved both hands over his head and the research vessel changed course to approach.