The Solomon Curse

“Anyone familiar with our operations understands that we’re always adequately hedged. That the doors are still open underscores that we were in that instance as well.”

The woman nodded and shut off her recorder, then slipped it into her purse before smoothing her dress and standing. “I think that should do it. You’ve given me more than enough to work with.”

Grimes took in her long ta

“Likewise, Mr. Grimes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she said, shaking it.

“A refreshing departure from the usual drudgery of my day,” he assured her, his hand lingering on hers. “I hope you got what you wanted out of it.”

“I think my readers will be fascinated with the human face of the ruthless corporate raider portrayed by your critics.”

“There are two sides to every story,” he said, and then glanced at his watch. “If you’d like to get together after my day’s over, perhaps to have a drink and tie up any loose ends, I’d be delighted to answer any further questions you might have.”

She batted her eyes and appraised him with interest. “Why, Mr. Grimes, that’s very . . . generous of you. I know how valuable your time is.”

“Please. It’s Jeffrey. And I make time for the things I find important,” he said, squeezing her hand slightly before releasing it. “It would be my pleasure. I’m pla

She smiled broadly. “You’re very persuasive, Jeffrey. And it’s Cynthia. What time were you thinking?”

“Six-thirty at the dock. My assistant will give you all the information and security codes.” His eyes roved over her figure before his gaze locked on hers. “Do you have any favorite beverages?”

Cynthia blinked and shook her head slightly. “Surprise me.”

Grimes escorted her out of his offices and instructed his assistant to arrange for her access to his dock. She was beaming as she left, and Grimes congratulated himself on another conquest, only hours away. He’d successfully converted a potentially hostile interview into a romantic pursuit, the conclusion of which was foregone for a wealthy, handsome bachelor like himself.

He pulled his door closed behind him and was startled out of his reverie by the chirping of his cell phone—a tone he’d programmed that chilled his blood whenever it sounded. He rushed to his desk and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Yes,” he answered.

“There will be another event tomorrow that should seal the island’s fate,” the robotic voice a

“It’s taking too bloody long. I thought the last ‘event’ was supposed to be the tipping point,” Grimes complained.

“This isn’t an exact science. It’s more of a cumulative process. Each drip of water wears the stone away.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m being eaten alive here by margin calls and demands from my bankers. Something needs to happen fast or there will be hell to pay.”

“There should be substantial progress within forty-eight hours, at the outside. I’m alerting you so you can be ready to move quickly, as discussed.”

“I’ve been ready for a week,” Grimes snapped.

“Then your wait is almost over,” the voice said, and the line went dead with a click.

Grimes punched the phone off and tossed it on his desk before taking a seat. The call was good news. He was juggling a lot of balls and ru

When it would be a

He’d doubled down on his bet by buying call options on his own stock, and part of his impatience centered on their expiration date—they’d expire worthless within three more weeks. But if he was able to a

He smirked as he sent a short message to his captain and alerted him to have the yacht fully stocked and ready to sail that evening. He suspected he would get ample opportunity to explore the nubile Ms. Donovan’s charms before the night was through and he wanted everything in place for another perfect evening on the water.

Grimes eyed the sparkle of Sydney Harbor from his picture window, his thoughts once more on his mystery caller. To the victor in this struggle would go impossible spoils. That he would be the victor was preordained. He’d made sure of it. Although it was taking longer than he’d been assured, which had his fortune, and nerves, teetering on the brink.

His intercom buzzed and he pushed the doubts from his mind, do

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

“They were captives?” Leonid blurted, eyeing the bindings that loosely ringed the skeletons’ wrists.

“I’d say that’s a given,” Sam said quietly as he crouched by the remains.

“The question is, whose?” Remi finished the thought for him.

“Maybe . . . rebels?” Leonid said.

“Could be,” Lazlo said. “How long have they been active here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “But I got the impression that they were a relatively recent development.”

“That’s my understanding,” Remi said. “There was no mention of them in any of the accounts from the civil war in 2000.”

Lazlo shined the light beam on the far wall of the cave, which stretched into darkness beyond the water’s edge. “Not to be a materialistic pig, but back to the immediate concern—the treasure. Shall we continue into the void and see what we find?”

Leonid stared at the skeletons. “They certainly aren’t going anywhere.”

“Lead on, Lazlo,” Remi said.

“Wait,” Sam said, eyeing the surface of the pool. “I want to see how deep this is.”

“Why?” Leonid asked.

“In case our Japanese friends decided the best place to hide a treasure was back underwater.” Sam approached the pool, knelt, and probed at it with his machete. The blade hit stone. He continued until he was standing near the center of the pool in no more than three inches of water. “I think it’s safe to say there’s no treasure here.”

The group moved to the other side of the cavern, the walls lit with the eerie blue-white of their flashlights, and Lazlo took careful steps into the narrower passage at the far end. A few moments later, he stopped, speechless.

“What is it, Lazlo?” Remi whispered.

When he found his voice, it was tremulous. “Rather a lot more dead in here.”

The scene in the second, smaller chamber was one straight out of a nightmare: at least thirty skeletons of all sizes were strewn around the cave, their dead grins greeting the newcomers in humorless welcome. Sam stepped past Remi and focused his flashlight on the piles of bones. Remi shuddered at the grim spectacle.

“It’s a massacre,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Look at the size of them,” Leonid murmured.

Sam shook his head. “They were children.” He examined several of the skeletons. “But these weren’t bound when they died.”