The Solomon Curse

Selma was quiet for a few moments. “What did you say the name of this commander was?”

“I didn’t. Why?”

“It may be nothing. But a colonel on Guadalcanal . . .”

“Selma, what is it?”

“I was just thinking that there couldn’t have been dozens of them. I mean, we’re talking about a total force of only a few thousand men at the end.”

“Right. But how does that help us?”

“When I researched the survivors of the destroyer that sank, I remember one of them was a high-ranking officer. Army. I’ll have to go back, but I think it was a colonel. Hang on just a second and let me pull up the file.”

Sam could hear the sound of keys clicking in the background in a flurry of activity and then Selma came back on the line.

“I knew it. Here it is. A Colonel Kumasaka was rescued, along with four seamen.”

“On a ship bound straight for Tokyo, best as we can figure.”

“Right. It could just be a coincidence . . .”

“Or it could be he was the reason for the detour.”

More typing and then Selma sighed in exasperation. “Oh. Well, that’s not so positive.”

“What, Selma?”

“According to the search I ran when you asked me to investigate survivors, he died in a POW camp in New Zealand before the end of the war.”

Selma was silent as Sam digested the news. “Get me everything you can find on him,” he said. “If there’s a record of his internment, a file on him, I want to see it. Anything at all no matter how seemingly insignificant. Service records, decorations, family, education, the works.”

“Will do. But as I’ve already discovered banging my head against the destroyer wall, the documentation for that period is lacking, to say the least.”

“Do the best you can.”

“You got it.” Selma paused. “Do you have anything new we can use Lazlo for? He’s driving me crazy. Stops in every few days like a lost puppy. I think he’s bored out of his mind.”

“If you think he can help with Kumasaka, sure, put him to work.”

“I’m not sure that would be his strong suit. There’s nothing more . . . intricate? Some puzzle he can solve?”

“Not so far. But I’ll keep it in mind. He’s not in poor spirits because of Laos?”

“A little down, but he’s already evaluating a new project, or so he says.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Pirate treasure.”

“Are you pulling my leg?”

“Do I sound particularly playful?”

Sam considered possible responses, then opted for a safe one. “I’ll give him a call when we come up for air. Let me know as soon as you have something on the colonel.”

“I will.”

Sam hung up and gazed at the fishing boats moored off Honiara, their hulls a rainbow of blues and greens and oranges. Remi slid the glass door open and joined him. “Selma or Leonid?” she asked.

“Selma. But it doesn’t look good.” He told her about Kumasaka.

“If there’s anyone who can track down information on him, it’s Selma. Let’s hope she gets lucky.”

Sam turned and kissed her. “Those are the magic words.”

“Track down information?” Remi asked i

“Something like that.”

At dusk, Sam called Leonid on the Darwin for an update. When Des put the Russian on the line, he sounded typically morose.

“How’s the seafaring life, my friend?” Sam greeted him.

“I can’t wait to get off this scow. It never stops rocking. It’s like a kind of living hell, only worse.”

“Did you try diving like I suggested?”

“I won’t be toyed with for your amusement.”

“How’s the exploration going?”

“The divers are making progress, but it’s going to take years to clear the total complex. Just this main building will be weeks of work.”

“No crocodiles or sharks?”

Leonid ignored him. “Perhaps it’s worth getting a larger, better-equipped ship here now that we know there’s a genuine find?”

“I can look into it. But what’s wrong with the Darwin?”

“Nothing. Only, the more hands we have working, the faster this will go. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this place.”

“Noted. I’ll see what we can do, although we’re in about the most remote point in the world. It could take weeks to get a big mother ship there.” Sam gri

“I really do get seasick.”

“Come on, Leonid. You’re Russian. From a long line of seafaring warriors.”

“My ancestors were farmers. They lived in the snow. The closest they got to water was when the ice melted.”

Sam finished the call and plugged the phone into the charger before going to where Remi was sitting up on the bed, accessing the Internet with her tablet. She glanced up at him and then continued what she was doing.

“So? How is he?”

“Claims to hate the boat and needs a bigger one.”

“In his usual good mood?”

“More cheerful than usual.”

Remi smiled. “It might not be such a terrible idea to look into a large vessel.”

“I know. Since you’re on the web, could you send Selma an e-mail so she can get the ball rolling?”

Remi tapped out a quick missive and then stretched. “Hungry yet?”

“I could force down some fish.”

“Hotel restaurant?”

“I was thinking about that place we ate at the first night.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“I see no reason why not. It’s only a few blocks from here. Why not live a little dangerously . . . ?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “So help me, if you say what’s the worst that can happen, I’ll scream.”

“It never entered my mind.”

The streets were empty except for a pair of stray dogs, loping in the shadows. Sam pulled into the restaurant parking lot and looked around—there were only three cars.

Remi frowned. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“If I let that stop me, I’d never go anywhere.”

When they entered the dining room, the waiter looked at them like they’d descended from a spacecraft, but he quickly recovered and approached.

“Sit wherever you like,” he said with a thick island accent.

They ordered the seafood special again, and this time the fish was freshly caught, lightly seared yellowfin tuna with a black pepper crust. They took their time eating, enjoying the balmy wind off the ocean.

When they finished their feast, Sam paid the check and left a generous tip, and they made their way to the Toyota, the surrounding palm trees swaying in the breeze. When they reached the vehicle, Sam stopped, squinted at the SUV in the gloom, and cursed under his breath.

“What is it?” Remi asked.

“Flat tire.”

“Are you joking?”

“I wish.”

He moved to the rear cargo door and swung it open. Twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat, he finished with the jack and stowed the tire and gear. Remi stared up at the full moon before looking back at Sam. “Look at the bright side. At least this didn’t happen on the trail. Can you imagine trying to change a tire in that mud?” she said.

He nodded. “True. One of life’s small blessings I should be thankful for.” With a final glance at the new tire, he opened the driver’s-side door, beads of perspiration streaming down his face. “Hop in.”

She made a face. “I’m hoping there’s a shower in your future.”

“Safe bet.”

The security guards smiled as they pulled up to the hotel gate and one of them directed Sam to a spot near the front entrance like he was guiding an airplane into a Jetway. When he and Remi entered the hotel, the staff studied them warily, faces frozen in polite expressions but eyes wide at the apparition of Sam looking like he’d fallen into the sea. Remi nodded to the night clerk and the man smiled reluctantly as they passed the reception desk and made their way to the room down the gloomy hall.

“Light must have burned out,” Sam observed, looking up at the dark ceiling.