The Solomon Curse

Sam took the lead and led the group across the brook to where he’d spotted a faint game trail leading in the desired direction. Once they were back in the brush, the heat quickly rose to a stifling level, the faint ocean breeze stopped dead by the vegetation. Sam slowed every few minutes and cocked his head, listening for any hint of followers—he didn’t think they had anything to fear from the youth or the villagers, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

The slope steepened as they worked their way east, and the trail eventually veered off in a northern direction, rendering it useless. Sam and Remi unsheathed their machetes and hacked a way through the thick underbrush, their progress slowed to a crawl as they fought the jungle and the terrain.

The afternoon wore on, the swelter almost unbearable, and when they reached another opening near a larger stream, they took a break beneath the spread of a banyan tree, all four panting from exertion.

“How far do you think we’ve come?” Remi asked, blotting her brow with a banda

“Maybe half a mile. No more.” Sam retrieved the GPS, waited until it acquired a signal, and peered at the screen. “Actually, a little more than a half mile, but not much.”

“And we have no idea how much farther until we’re in goat head neighborhood,” Leonid muttered.

“All part of the challenge,” Sam said.

“Don’t forget that we have no idea what the goat head refers to,” Lazlo chimed in. “Lest anyone think we’re doing this the easy way.”

Remi cleared her throat. “The reason I ask is because it seems like this stream, assuming it’s been here for a while—which, judging by the erosion, it looks like it has—would be a natural place to rest, just as we have. And while taking a break, it might also be a good spot to memorialize somehow as a marker.”

“Yes, well, that’s all very good, but I’m afraid the diary didn’t say anything about any stream. And I don’t see a waterfall,” Lazlo said.

“And no goats,” Leonid grumbled.

“Sometimes the answer is right in front of your face,” Remi said. Sam followed her gaze to a rock outcropping.

After a few moments, he gri

Lazlo peered at the outcropping. “Like a bunch of bloody rocks.”

Remi smiled. “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”

Lazlo turned to her. “That’s as may be, but—” He stopped dead and stared again at the rocks.

They sat quietly for several moments and then Leonid broke the silence. “Forgive me, but are you all talking in code? Because I don’t understand any of this . . .”

Sam shook his head and gestured to the rocks. “The boulders look like a goat’s head, Leonid.”

Leonid gaped at the outcropping. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

Lazlo nodded. “Quite likely, we all may be, old chap, but apparently not just yet.”

CHAPTER 40

Sam set another waypoint on the GPS and zoomed in on the satellite map of the area. After studying the terrain, he shook his head. “Looks like it’s going to be a low-tech hike for us. The images aren’t any help—it’s all rain forest canopy. You can’t even make out this stream—too much overhang.”

“What’s the rest of the line from the diary?” Remi asked. “Something about ‘into enemy territory’?”

Lazlo nodded. “That’s right. ‘Into enemy territory to the small waterfall.’ Any ideas?”

Sam looked up at the top of the nearest mountain, where wisps of clouds hovered around the peak like a halo. “The Allies held the area around Honiara down to where the airport is. That would be more northeast from this point. Assuming that’s what he was referring to.”

“Actually, they also had most of the eastern part of the island, not to be a killjoy,” Lazlo observed.

“Right, but since Kumasaka felt it noteworthy enough to write in his diary, I think it’s a safe bet that the wording signaled a direction change at the goat head—from east to northeast,” Sam said. “Otherwise, why say anything?”

Remi peered at the slope beyond the rocks. “Looks like it’s going to get harder from here. That’s pretty steep.”

“Remember that they had to lug heavy crates, so all we have to do is think like the Japanese,” Sam said.

“Then we’re looking for a natural passage—a path of least resistance,” Lazlo said.

They studied the landscape, from the dull gray of the goat head to the neon green of the lush vegetation around it. There was no obvious way forward—or, rather, up the mountain that stretched endlessly into the afternoon sky. Sam and Remi headed up to the base and slowly walked along the edge of the brush. It was evident from the abundant tall grass that the area hadn’t seen human feet for eons.

When they returned to where Lazlo and Leonid were resting in the shade, Sam’s expression was pensive. “It may be as simple as following the stream. It looks like it heads in a roughly northeast direction, and it could well be that’s what the Japanese did,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t Kumasaka have simply said ‘follow the river,’ then, instead of all the nonsense about going into enemy territory?” Leonid demanded.

“Maybe he was worried about the stream changing course over time. Rubo mentioned that the stream that now runs across the trail leading to the village wasn’t there the last time he was. On a tropical island, that’s a distinct possibility. Or he might have been paranoid that someone might get their hands on the diary and somehow decrypt it. There are a number of possibilities . . .”

“. . . any of which could be wrong,” Leonid finished.

“Look at the bright side. We found the goat head. So we’re doing something right,” Remi said.

“Ever the diplomat,” said Sam. “Reality is, it’s a decent guess. Unless you have a better suggestion.” He eyed Leonid and Lazlo.

Lazlo pushed himself to his feet. “I’m with you. We follow the stream. If we’re wrong, we’ll figure it out sooner or later. We’re on an island, after all. Eventually, all directions lead to the sea.”

Sam checked the time. “We should get going.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way of arguing for going back to our nice, safe hotel and picking this up tomorrow?” Leonid asked. “You have the waypoints.”

“We’re on the hunt now, my Russian friend. We have the scent. We keep pushing,” Sam said, ending the discussion.

The streambed of loose gravel was at first a welcome relief from the endless mud of the trails, but after a short time it proved the more difficult path as the slope steepened. After an hour of hiking along the bank, the stream widened and then forked, one tributary stretching to their left, the other to their right. They stopped and eyed the two choices. Sam turned to Leonid. “Which do you like?”

“Neither.”

“Come on, choose one,” Lazlo said. “Be a good sport.”

They waited while Leonid studied the two branches, and he eventually grunted and pointed at the one on the right. “That goes more eastward.”

“Well, there you have it,” Remi said. “But perhaps now it’s more obvious why the colonel didn’t simply write ‘Follow the stream.’”

After a brief rest, Sam led them along the stream as it climbed into the mountains. The sun was begi

“No way they climbed that. I think we might be on the wrong path here.”

Remi nodded. “He’s right. They were hauling heavy crates. They must have followed the other branch.”