The Solomon Curse

Once through the gap, they looked around in surprise—they were in a lit area. Cables ran along the wall to low-wattage bulbs mounted in industrial enclosures, wooden crates served as tables, a half dozen cots rested near one wall, and a marine refrigerator hummed quietly in a corner.

The gunman motioned with his pistol. “All of you. Sit down there.” He pointed at a clear area near the cots.

They sat where instructed. Remi quickly inspected the back of Sam’s head and cringed at the split in his scalp. Eyeing the gunman, she wordlessly withdrew a wad of tissue from her pocket and pressed it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

“There are plenty of people who know where we are. If we don’t return, they’ll come looking,” Remi said quietly.

“Ha. You liar,” the gunman said, but Remi could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“Why are you—”

“Silence!” the gunman roared, taking a step forward, bringing his pistol to bear on her. “I ask questions. You answer when I say.”

“Do as he asks,” Sam cautioned.

The gunman’s eyes narrowed. “You bring this on you. Why you here?”

“Here, on the island? Or here, in the caves?” Remi asked.

The gunman’s eyes narrowed. “You think I stupid?”

Remi shook her head. “No. I don’t understand the question.”

“Why you look for?” he asked.

Sam cleared his throat. “We’re exploring the cave system. They’ve never been mapped.”

“Lies!”

“It’s the truth. Why else do people go caving? It’s our hobby.”

“You make big mistake.”

“Why are you doing this? Are you rebels?” Lazlo demanded.

The big man laughed with genuine amusement. “Rebels. Yes, we rebels. I rebel!”

“We mean you no harm,” Remi tried.

“You come. Now you all mine,” the gunman said, his gaze roaming over Remi.

“There are people who know we’re here. If anything happens to us, it will be disastrous for you,” Sam said.

The man laughed again. “Where are you?”

“We gave our headquarters the latitude and longitude before we entered the caves. If we don’t reappear, they’ll come search,” Remi said, her voice calm. “We’re well-known explorers.”

“Maybe they pay for you?”

“A ransom? I’m sure something could be arranged,” Sam assured the man.

The gunman exchanged a glance with his accomplices and then refocused his attention on Sam. “Who you with?”

Remi looked confused. “With? What do you mean ‘with’? We’re with ourselves. We explore remote places. We’re archaeologists. Our interest is scientific.”

“Who send you?” he demanded. “Who pay me for you?”

“We have a foundation. Nobody sent us. We choose where we explore.”

The man looked at his cheap plastic watch and signaled two of his henchmen. “Tie up.”

“You’re making a big mistake. Our hurt friend is a famous archaeologist. We need to help him,” Remi said.

The gunman’s face could have been carved from mahogany. He watched impassively as his men tied the captives’ hands behind their backs, and then their ankles, immobilizing them. When he finished, the leader slipped his weapon into the waistband of his ratty shorts and turned to the rest of his men. They had a brief discussion, in a local dialect, the gunman giving instructions, and two of the islanders went back to the passage where the Fargos had been discovered. The gunman watched them go and then stepped closer to Remi and leaned over her. She winced in anticipation of a blow. He tilted her head up with his hand, studying her, and offered a grin that froze the blood in her veins. “Pretty.”

Sam struggled against his bindings. “Touch her and you’ll die.”

The gunman sneered at Sam and backhanded him, the move nonchalant yet lightning quick like the strike of a snake. Sam’s head snapped to the side and he fell backward.

“No!” Remi screamed, the sound amplified by the cave walls, echoing over and over.

“Shut up or I hurt you.” He glared at Remi. “You first.”

The gunman crouched down and grabbed a handful of Remi’s hair, causing her to cry out. He brought his face down next to hers and whispered in her hair, the stench of his breath and sour sweat overpowering. “I going to hurt you good.”

He released her and stood, watching Remi. After a few moments, he barked terse orders and pointed at the captives, then stalked off after his departing men, leaving one islander to watch the prisoners, machete in hand.

They remained silent until the guard drifted to one of the crates and poured himself a cup of coffee from a jug. Sam slid nearer to Remi and murmured to her, the sound covered by the hum of the refrigerator.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. What about you?”

“I could use some aspirin.”

“What is this?”

“I don’t know. But it’s bad. We need to get loose.”

“How tight are your wrists tied?”

“Tight,” Sam said. “But I already found a spot on the wall that’s got a jagged edge. Just a matter of time until I saw through the cord. We’re lucky they used rope.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Shift over in front of me so he can’t see what I’m doing.” Sam leaned over to Lazlo. “Did you hear all that?”

“Barely. I’ll move to your left so you’re covered if they come back.”

The men didn’t return, though, and after a long hour Sam eyed the guard, who was reading in his corner, and whispered to Remi, “I’m free. Let me get my ankles untied and then I’ll deal with our friend there.”

“You want to get me loose first?”

“They could be back any second. I’ll take him down, then cut you two free. It’ll be faster.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Improvise.” Sam inched farther back from Remi. “Move away from me so I have some room. You too, Lazlo. But don’t be obvious.”

When they’d done as he asked, Sam called out to the guard, “I have to use the bathroom.”

The man looked over at him and laughed. He went back to what he was doing and Sam called out again. “Please.”

The guard ignored him.

Sam decided to try something different. “You’ll hang for this. They’ll come for us and you’ll dance at the end of a rope.”

“Shut up,” the guard snarled.

Sam shook his head and muttered audibly, “Idiot. Stupid piece of garbage.”

“Not stupid. You the one tied up.”

“Big talk, moron. What rathole did they find you living in?” Sam glared at the man. “I can buy and sell you a thousand times over, lowlife. You’re an insect.”

The man rose, his face twisted with anger, and stormed toward Sam. “I say shut up!”

Sam spat at the man’s feet and gave him a dismissive look. “You can barely pronounce it, you dolt.” Sam glanced at Lazlo. “No wonder this island’s stuck in the Stone Age.”

The man took another step toward him and Sam made his move, a lightning-quick sweep kick that knocked the guard’s legs out from under him and sent him pitching backward. Before the guard hit the hard stone floor, Sam leapt up and threw himself on the man, cracking ribs with his elbow and slamming the side of his fist into the islander’s face. The guard made a wet, gurgling sound as his head cracked against the floor. His eyes rolled back into his head until all Sam could see were the whites.

Sam stood and, after a glance at the unconscious guard, rushed to Remi and Lazlo. With the machete, he quickly severed their bonds.

Remi whispered to him as he finished Lazlo’s leg bindings. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“We can try backtracking through the cave, but they’re probably in there somewhere.” He peered toward where another passage was just visible in the gloom. “How about door number two?”

Remi moved behind Sam and quickly inspected his head. “It’s scabbed over.”

“One less thing to worry about.” Sam hefted the machete, considering the working blade’s sharpened, nicked edge, and then his eyes roamed over the room. His gaze stopped at one of the crates, where a collection of tools lay, along with a coil of rope. Remi glanced at the potential weapons and moved to them, selecting the most lethal, before heading back to Lazlo, rope also in hand.