The Solomon Curse

Remi was the first to break the silence. “Looks like glyphs, and, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a totem of a sea god,” she said. “And look there. Looks like a depiction of a column of men. Hauling cases.”

Leonid squinted and Des cleared his throat. “What do you make of that?”

Remi sat back and smiled.

“Unless I’m completely garbling the glyph, it’s a group of warriors carrying something into a temple.”

“Something?” Leonid said.

When Remi spoke, it was almost a whisper. “Treasure. An offering to the gods.”

CHAPTER 19

By the end of the afternoon, much of the top section of the large structure had been partially scrubbed clean. The uppermost portion of the roof had collapsed, but enough of the edges remained to be able to make out the rough shape of the building. The divers continued working even as Sam and Remi climbed into the skiff to return to shore. The plan was to continue until ten that night, using underwater floodlights, switching out the surface-breathing divers every few hours to avoid fatigue.

Once back in the van, Sam eyed the Darwin, floating serenely at anchor.

“What are you thinking?” Remi asked.

“What it must have been like to watch your entire civilization disappear without a trace. Imagine how that had to feel.”

“I’m pretty sure that in an earthquake large enough to do that, nobody had time to feel much of anything.”

“You’re probably right. But I can understand why the survivors would think the place was cursed. How else could you explain that kind of devastation?”

“What do you make of the glyphs?”

“It appears to suggest the legend of a treasure, at any rate. We’ll soon know for sure.”

Remi gave him a doubtful look. “It’s a lot of area to explore. It’ll take years just to clean the ruins and then they’ll have to contend with all the rubble. It might be a long time before there’s a chance to hunt for any treasure.”

“Well, Mrs. Fargo, I’m enjoying the Solomons’ charms, but not enough to spend years here. Even in company as delightful as yours.”

“Leonid seems to have it under control now. Maybe we can leave this one to him?”

The sun was sinking into the sea when they turned onto the paved road, and they hadn’t been driving for ten minutes before they came to a roadblock where six grim-faced police officers were standing by their cars in the middle of nowhere. Sam coasted to a stop. Four of the policemen made a big show of making them get out of the van and checking their identification while the other two did a cursory inspection of the interior.

“What have you got in the backpack?” the oldest of the group asked, indicating Sam’s bag.

“Just some odds and ends. A phone, canteen, spare shirt, that sort of thing.”

“Show me.”

Sam humored the man and caught Remi’s eye, willing her to stay quiet. He knew her well enough to see that she was going to ask the officer whether he thought the militia was composed of American tourists and was silently thankful when she thought better of it. More than once she’d voiced her frustration at airports when a grandmother was searched by security perso

“You shouldn’t be driving out here,” the officer said when he was done with his cursory search. “Be very careful, even in Honiara. Things are unpredictable right now.”

“Seemed fine this morning.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but the news about the aid workers’ execution hadn’t hit yet. People are uneasy. Just watch yourselves. I’d go straight to your hotel and not leave if I were you.”

“They’re dead?” Remi asked, her face revealing her surprise.

The policeman nodded. “There was a broadcast this afternoon. It’s a dark day. They were unarmed, helping rural families who have nobody else.”

“What will those families do?”

The officer shrugged and frowned. “We’ll probably escort whatever remaining aid workers who still want to help, but I doubt there will be many takers. It’s one thing to have compassion, another to risk your life to ease the troubles of others.” He looked away into the thick underbrush. “Drive safely and don’t stop unless the roadblock is ma

One more roadblock treated them the same way, and by the time they reached the hotel lot, Sam and Remi were worried. They’d passed crowds of angry-looking islanders who glared at the van as it drove by. Though nobody did anything, they could sense the menace. As they pulled through the gate, Sam noted that the parking lot security guard looked as worried as he felt, although there were no signs of a mob anywhere near the hotel—perhaps because it was located near the main police station.

When they entered the lobby, the front desk clerk signaled to them. They approached and she gave them a professional smile and asked them to wait for her boss, who appeared moments later, wearing an obligatory sincerity suit.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I’m Jacob Trench, the manager. I hope you’re enjoying your stay?”

Remi nodded. “Everything’s been satisfactory.”

“Good, good.” Trench shifted nervously and looked down at his shoes. “I wanted to greet you and introduce myself and apologize in advance for what I’m going to say. We’re advising our guests not to leave the hotel grounds. The situation in town is . . . unsettled . . . and we don’t think it’s safe.”

“Really?” Sam said. “Then why would it be safer here?”

“We have extra security coming. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying that we expect any trouble. Purely precautionary. But it would be unfortunate if any troublemakers used the current uneasy sentiment opportunistically, and there’s always a faction . . .” Trench’s Australian accent was crisp, but it was impossible to mistake his concern.

“Do you really think there’s a risk?” Remi asked.

“It would be better not to test your luck, for the time being. The authorities have everything under control, but I was here during the last . . . unrest . . . and it got out of hand rather quickly. A hotel down the beach was gutted.”

“Right, but this is completely different, isn’t it?”

Trench nodded but wouldn’t meet their eyes. “It always is, unfortunately. Please. Be our guest in the restaurant tonight. I’ll be happy to provide a complimentary bottle of champagne as an incentive.”

Remi looked at Sam. “He’s convincing me with the free champagne, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got a deal. Do we need to make a reservation?”

Trench shook his head. “Just let me know what time you’d like to have di

“Say . . . seven?”

“Perfect. Party of two or will you have guests?”

“Just us,” Remi said.

As they continued to their room, Sam whispered to Remi, “Did you see the guy reading the paper in the lobby? Big man, khaki pants, local?”

“No, I was too busy being warned that we’re all going to die.”

“He seemed very interested in us.”

“Maybe he doesn’t get out much.”

Sam gri

She looked down at her rumpled cargo pants and T-shirt and laughed. “I am a real glamor girl today, aren’t I?”

“You look pretty good to me.”

“Don’t think you’re going to dupe me with your silver tongue, Sam Fargo.”

“I was hoping the free champagne would do the trick.” They approached their door and Sam paused as he felt in his pocket for the card key. “Maybe you’re right. I just thought he was trying too hard at not being interested in us, especially given how much attention he was paying to us.”