The Solomon Curse

Dr. Berry called into the back of the building and moments later Dr. Vanya appeared, a folder in hand. She smiled when she saw Sam and Remi.

“Well, isn’t this a delightful surprise. What brings you here? All’s well, I trust?” she said as Remi shook her hand.

“Everything’s fine. We wanted to stop by to see how Benji is doing and talk to you a little more about your project.”

“I just looked in on him. He’s asleep. Had a rough night, with a fever. We’re pumping more antibiotics into him to try to stave off infection.”

Remi said, “I reviewed your presentation and I have to say it is impressive. We discussed it and we’ve agreed to match your sponsorship commitments and make up any shortfalls. So, congratulations. You’re fully funded!”

Vanya’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? That’s wonderful news. Thank you. Thank you so much . . .”

Sam smiled. “It’s a worthy cause, and, God knows, the island looks like it can use some help.”

Vanya’s face darkened. “Yes, well, I haven’t considered the effect these most recent events will have on my corporate sponsors. Big pharmaceutical companies can be skittish if there’s even a hint of controversy. I’d hate for them to pull out because of the rash actions of a few zealots, but there’s not much I can do about it other than hope for the best.”

“Do you really think they’d pull out?” Remi asked.

“No way of knowing. But I’ll say this—if there’s rioting, keeping them committed will be a hard sell. Many will view it as the population destroying its own home, like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, and will be unwilling to do anything that seems like it’s rewarding that behavior.”

“But surely they would be discriminating enough to appreciate that the actions of an unruly segment don’t reflect an entire island’s—”

“The problem is, we’re small potatoes. For most of these companies, we’re no more than an afterthought. It’s all too easy for them to do nothing if there’s even a hint of controversy. We saw that the last time around with the promised foreign aid—too little, too late.” Dr. Vanya shook her head. “Based on history, I’d have to say it doesn’t look positive.”

“Well, we’re committed,” Remi said.

“That’s really the best news I’ve had in months.” Vanya hesitated. “How’s your dive project coming?”

“Oh, we’re plugging away at it,” Sam said brightly, avoiding any details.

“You mentioned sunken ruins. Any further clues as to what the ruins are?”

“It’s too early to tell. Could be nothing,” Sam said, again deflecting.

Again Vanya hesitated, looking pensive. “Well, let me know if you need my help in any way at all.”

—

On their way out of the hospital, Remi whispered to Sam, “Playing your cards close to the chest with her on the find, aren’t you?”

“We’ve learned from harsh experience that the fewer people who know a secret, the likelier it’ll remain one. This is Leonid’s find. It’s not ours to discuss.”

“I know. I just thought it was fu

“I’ve always considered myself a great dancer.”

“Which medication and therapy could probably help with, but—” Remi stopped teasing Sam when they neared the van and she tensed. Her eyes roved across the street, where the random bands of islanders had gathered in a mob. “Sam, you probably want to get us out of here sooner than later. This looks like trouble.”

Sam popped the locks with the remote as he assessed the situation and then slid behind the wheel. “I’m way ahead of you. Buckle up, because I’m not stopping for anything.”

CHAPTER 21

The van engine roared as Sam floored the accelerator, sounding a warning to the group of islanders spilling into the street. Sam’s horn honking drove any stragglers aside as he aimed the vehicle down the center line.

“Look out!” Remi hissed as she grabbed the armrest. Sam adjusted their trajectory just enough to avoid a rough-looking man toting a baseball bat, raising it as they neared like he was going to knock one over the wall. The heavy wood missed the van by inches, and then they were past the mob and heading toward the main boulevard that led out of town.

“See? No problem,” Sam said, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his uneasiness.

“That was close, Sam. Maybe everyone who’s been warning us to get off the island has a point.”

“Nonsense. Although it’s not a terrible idea to spend the night on the boat. I’m not sure I want to run that gauntlet again until things calm down.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then we may be looking forward to an extended cruise.”

The police at the first roadblock they came to were jumpier than the prior day. There were more officers, fully outfitted in riot gear, as though they felt the need to make a show of force. Their admonition that driving into the rural area of Guadalcanal was inadvisable was more strident than before, and when Sam thanked the officer in charge politely for his counsel but said he was continuing west anyway, the man shook his head like he’d never see them again.

The next roadblock was more of the same, and Sam couldn’t help noticing that they were the only car at each stop.

“Kind of deserted, isn’t it?” Remi said as though reading his mind.

“Seems like nobody’s in the mood for a drive.”

“Might have something to do with the whole brink-of-civil-war thing.”

“I don’t know. It’s a lovely day for motoring,” Sam said, although Remi noted that he picked up speed as the jungle seemed to close in around them.

When they arrived at the bay, Sam parked out of sight by the grove where the crocodile had attacked and radioed Des to pick them up. The Darwin’s skiff sliced through the calm water and reached the beach in a few minutes, Elton Simms in the stern piloting.

“Morning. Nice day for it, am I right?” Simms said.

“It’s gorgeous,” Remi agreed as she climbed aboard, helped into the boat by Sam, who quickly joined her after handing her the backpack.

“Anything new to report?” Sam asked.

Simms dropped the transmission into reverse and eased off the sand. “No. Same as yesterday. Clearing off the gunk while your man Leonid looks on.”

Bubbles frothed on the surface of the sea as they neared the ship, evidence of the work taking place beneath them. On the expansive deck of the Darwin, two crew members fed out hoses, ensuring that the surface-breathing divers had freedom of movement and didn’t find themselves gasping at the end of a kinked line.

The tender pulled alongside the red hull, and Simms cut the engine after securing a line to a cleat at the stern. They clambered onto the oversized swim step and up a stainless steel ladder to where Des and Leonid were waiting in the morning sun.

“Good to see you!” Des called down. “I caught some of the news broadcasts about the excitement on the island. Can’t say I’m too upset to be out here.”

“We’re going to spend at least one night aboard, so we’re right there with you,” Sam said. He looked to Leonid. “And how are you, my Russian friend?”

Leonid scowled and waved a fly away. “We’re making progress,” he allowed, as though unhappy with the work. Sam knew better than to query him on what was wrong and instead looked over his shoulder at the pilothouse.

“Let’s see what you’ve been up to,” Sam said.

The interior of the pilothouse was a mirror of the previous day, with the exception of the images on the monitor, which revealed considerably more of the stone blocks that composed the wall. As the divers worked along the far end of the structure, clouds of debris and bubbles filled the surrounding water until it had all the clarity of mud.

“Looks like you’re getting a lot of it cleared,” Remi said. “Check out the size of those blocks. It must have taken years to quarry them and get them to shore, much less build the structure.”