The Solomon Curse

“Rubo, you said you were here when the Japanese occupied the island. That they treated the locals badly.”

Rubo nodded. “That’s right. They mean as crocodiles.”

“All of them?”

“Hard to say. But the officer who ran things . . . he a monster.”

“What can you tell us about him?”

“He a devil, he was. Kuma . . . Kumasaka. Colonel Kumasaka. Never forget that name, I won’t.”

“What did he do?” Remi coaxed. “Specifically?”

“I told you. He bad. Do bad things to us.”

Rubo repeated his prior account, and nothing in the story changed on the second telling. Sam then pressed in a different direction.

“Did you ever hear or see anything out on the west side of the island? With the Japanese?”

“Like what?”

“Anything strange. Maybe diving in that bay that you told us about,” Sam said.

“In the end, there was lot of fighting, so can’t say for sure. But I remember sometime before they leave for good there was big killing in the village near the bay. Those bad times.”

“The Japanese killed islanders near the bay?”

“I just say what others talk about. I wasn’t there.”

Remi nodded. “We understand. What do you believe happened, Rubo?” she asked softly.

“I hear things. One of the things is that whole lot of island men killed by Japanese. They make them slaves, then kill them before they leave the island.”

“Slaves? For what?”

“I don’t know. Some kinda work.”

“Was that normal?”

Rubo shook his head. “No, they leave us be, mostly. But this man . . . he in charge of west side and he like to kill. Everyone know he a bad one.” Rubo spit into the dry leaves by his side. “Only two islanders get away. All the others . . .” He shook his head with a sad frown.

“There were survivors?” Sam asked, his voice quickening.

“Like I said, I think one still alive. Tough as rock.”

“Really? Do you know him?”

“You live long enough, you know everyone, sure do.”

“Where is he?”

“Still in the same village, I think.” He eyed Remi. “But he don’t speak no pidgin. Just local talk.”

“Would you be willing to take us to him?” Remi asked.

Rubo stared at the van distrustfully. “Long way.”

“Bad roads?”

He laughed and spit again. “No roads. You not going in that.”

“If we get a bigger truck, something for off-road, would you help us, Rubo? We’d pay you for your time.”

Rubo studied Sam and then his gaze wandered to Remi. “How much pay?”

Sam did a quick equation in his head. “Solomon dollars or American?”

Rubo didn’t blink. “American.”

“I don’t know. What do you think is fair?”

The old man appeared to give it deep thought and then sat back with a grunt. “Hundred. Hundred American dollars.”

Sam and Remi didn’t know whether they were expected to negotiate, but Remi didn’t chance it. “That’s fair.” She glanced at the time: still five hours until dusk. It was an hour and a half from the bay, the way Sam drove. Allowing for time to rent something more rugged . . . It would be too close. “We can pick you up tomorrow morning. Will that work for you, Rubo?”

He nodded slowly and smiled his toothless grin. When he spoke, he savored each word like rare wine. “Hundred dollars.”

CHAPTER 27

Sydney, Australia

Jeffrey Grimes frowned as he studied the topside of his yacht while his captain stood stiffly a few feet away. With a practiced eye, Grimes squinted while peering down at the shining surface, the sun gleaming off it like a mirror, and then he straightened and grunted.

“Bloody wankers. Couldn’t be duller if they’d used sandpaper instead of polish. Why do I pay these thieves?” he complained.

“Well, sir, you didn’t like the last lot, either, so I changed them out, didn’t I? These are the ones your friend recommended. Supposed to be right masters at it,” the captain said.

“How can you look at this and not cringe? I mean, seriously? You can’t tell they did a crap job?” Grimes stalked to the stern, fuming, and the captain followed, a pained expression tightening his face. Grimes inspected the brightwork, freshly sanded and varnished, and nodded. “At least the buggers got this bit right. Small miracles and all.”

His cell phone chirped and he glanced at the screen. No caller ID. His stomach tightened as he regarded his captain. “That will be all for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grimes waited until the man was out of earshot before thumbing the phone to life. “Yes?”

The voice was the usual robotic, heavily filtered drone. “Things are proceeding apace.”

Grimes exhaled with frustration. “I wouldn’t say that. I don’t see any progress, do you?”

“These things take time, as I said before. However, I agree that we will need to increase the pressure.”

He looked around the marina as though checking to verify he was not being watched and lowered his voice. “You really needed to . . . take such drastic steps?”

“The end justifies the means. Great fortunes are never made without blood being spilled. Why would this one be any different?”

“They were i

His words were greeted with a pause. “I hope you’re not losing sight of the stakes,” the mechanical voice said.

“Of course not. I just hoped . . . that matters wouldn’t escalate to this point.”

“Indeed. Well, they have. What’s done is done. And you should prepare for more . . . unpleasantness.”

“I see. That’s necessary?”

“There is nothing that I do that isn’t necessary. I trust I still have your full, unquestioning support?”

Grimes eyed the other yachts—each millions of dollars of excess on the water, tributes to their owners’ egos, monuments to their willingness to squander fortunes on frivolities. The human struggle was about pecking orders. He needed to be at the top. Anything less was failure. He couldn’t afford for his life’s work to crumble to nothing, and time and circumstance were working against him. He sighed. “Yes. Do whatever needs to be done. But, for the love of God, hurry, would you?”

“We have never been closer. The island’s at a tipping point. Like dry kindling in summer—any spark could set it off.”

“I don’t need to ask about the spark, do I?”

“You’re better off not knowing any more than you already do.”

The line went dead. He stared at the little phone—the latest technology of course—and shook his head. He’d steeled himself for some difficult moments in bringing his scheme to fruition, but the waiting was proving to be the most trying for him.

The captain returned, but Grimes had lost his taste for nitpicking the imperfections of his workers’ efforts. He waved the man away and stepped down to the dock, oblivious to the tranquil beauty of catamaran ferries in the distance slicing through the Sydney Harbor chop as his mind worked at a thousand miles per hour.

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

The wheels of the Toyota Land Cruiser spun in the muddy ruts of the trail that wound into the hills. Remi gave Sam a sidelong glance for the twentieth time that day and turned to look back at Rubo, who seemed to be enjoying their bouncing progress.

The jungle encroached on all sides of the track they’d been following since leaving the main road twenty-five minutes earlier. Honiara had been gridlocked due to a protest in town, carefully monitored by the police, and it took an hour longer to traverse than they’d hoped.