The Solomon Curse Read online

  Everyone laughed, and he continued. “So this is a two-time-loser of a day. First a crocodile and then dinner with a politician.”

  Vanya grinned. “But you’re one of the good ones, right?” She looked at Sam. “Of course Orwen’s also an attorney. So you got all three local hazards in one fell swoop.” She reached across the table and patted Manchester’s hand.

  Manchester finished his beer and held up the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” He looked over at Sam, who was only halfway done with his, before gesturing to the server with two fingers. “Being the resident evil is a thirsty business.” He studied Sam and leaned forward. “How bad was the attack?”

  Vanya interjected. “He’ll live, minus a leg. His nephew said the creature was twenty feet long, so he’s fortunate it didn’t bite him in two.”

  Another round of beer arrived, and Manchester grinned at Sam. “You learn in this heat to drink them fast or they get warm.”

  Sam smiled back at him. “Maybe we can get a bucket with some ice? I’m a lightweight. Plus, I’m going to be diving tomorrow and even a trace of a hangover can make it a pretty unpleasant experience.”

  “Diving, you say? Fascinating. What’s this all about? Vanya mentioned archaeology?” Manchester asked, and took a mammoth swig of his fresh beer before waving to the waiter, who scurried over. A hushed discussion ensued, and then Manchester returned his gaze to Sam. “What on earth could archaeology have to do with diving? Unless you’re talking about a sinkhole . . .”

  “Our friend found some anomalies off the coast and asked us to take a look,” Remi said.

  “Really? Are you archaeologists?”

  “That’s one of our passions.”

  “How remarkable. For some reason, I never associate the profession with such . . . vitality,” Manchester said, admiring Remi.

  “The world’s changing. Full of surprises,” Sam said, and held his beer aloft in another toast, hoping to distract the politician, who was treading dangerously close to being rude.

  “And what are these ‘anomalies,’ as you put it?” Vanya asked.

  “We don’t know. We just got here and were sidetracked by the crocodile,” Remi said.

  “Might it not be leftovers from the war? The place is littered with them,” Manchester said.

  “Could be,” Sam agreed.

  A bucket brimming with ice arrived, and Sam positioned his second beer in it. Manchester finished his and signaled for another. Vanya gave Remi a gentle roll of her eyes as if to say “What can you do with the big lug?”

  “But enough about our little hobby,” Sam continued, then changed the subject. “What’s all this about setting up clinics?”

  Vanya beamed at him. “It’s been a long time in the planning. I’ve given up on the government doing anything for its people but robbing them blind, so I’m taking matters into my own hands. Children are getting sick and not being treated. People are dying who could be saved. All for want of some remedial care. It doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m saying in the twenty-first century it shouldn’t be that way. We have the knowledge, all we need are the resources. Which is where our generous donors come in.”

  “Sounds like a worthwhile cause. Do you already have many contributors?” Remi asked.

  Manchester guffawed as the third beer materialized and the empties were whisked away. “I’ll say. She’s got every pharmaceutical company she can shame into pledging something.”

  “Would that it were enough, Orwen. It’s just scratching the surface. Reality is, nobody much cares about our people, and, at best, I’ve been able to get them to commit to token charity. Any of these groups could easily write a check and solve most of our infrastructure issues with the stroke of a pen, but they don’t. Because we’re not high visibility. We’re stuck in a corner of the world nobody knows exists. So they commit to some crumbs, which is better than nothing, but not much.”

  “How much do you still need to raise?”

  “My target’s half a million U.S. dollars for the first year and then two hundred thousand every year thereafter. The first year will pay for simple buildings and some primitive equipment, but those costs won’t recur.” Vanya shook her head. “These companies spend more on a slow day advertising tooth whitener. But like I said, we’re not a revenue source, so we don’t matter. So far, I’ve marshaled a hundred and fifty of the first year’s requirement and a soft fifty for the second.”

  Remi looked to Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “We’ll take it under advisement. Do you have a plan? A budget written out?”

  “Of course. An entire presentation.”

  “Could we get a copy?” Remi asked.

  “I’d be delighted. Is it really something you think your foundation might be interested in supporting?” Vanya asked, her tone excited.

  Sam finished his beer. “No promises, but let’s see what you have. I know the foundation has funded other worthwhile causes.”

  Steaming platters of fish arrived, and Manchester made a point of studying his silverware for blemishes before digging in. By the size of his bites and the speed with which he ate, it was clear he was a man who didn’t miss any meals. Silence reigned at the table until the fish was gone. Sam sat back. “That was wonderful. Like they just caught it.”

  Vanya nodded. “I’d be surprised if it was more than a few hours old. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of marine life here. One of the ways we’ve been blessed.”

  “That and the mineral riches we can’t seem to get organized enough to pull out of the ground,” Manchester chimed in, sounding bitter.

  “Really?” Sam asked. “Like what?”

  “Good gracious, man. Oil. Tankers full of it. And every kind of rarity you can imagine. Gold by the truckload. Emeralds. Rubies. And on and on. We should be richer than the bloody Saudis, but instead all we do is bicker with each other and chase our own tails.”

  “Don’t get Orwen started. It’s one of his pet peeves,” Vanya chided as the plates were cleared.

  “We’ve had a history of corruption and of foreigners coming in and taking anything of value. How much do you know about our history?” Manchester asked with a slight slur.

  “Not enough, obviously,” Sam said.

  “We were a British protectorate for years and then the Japs invaded and took over the islands. Then the Yanks fought them off, only to hand us over to the Brits again after the war. We’ve been passed around like a pack of smokes at a rock concert, and, up until recently, nobody, including ourselves, thought that we might actually be entitled to self-determination rather than being somebody else’s possession.” He barked a humorless laugh. “Fat lot of good it’s done us. We might as well be destitute. We’re sitting on a fortune in natural resources and we can’t make a go of it. Saddest story you’ll ever hear.”

  Vanya sighed, obviously having heard all this many times before. “Next, he’ll be railing about the gold mine.”

  “So there’s still gold?” Remi asked.

  “Of course there is. But you wouldn’t know it to look at us, would you? And as Vanya alluded to, people get frustrated at all the jockeying and ineptness, so they kick their administration out with regularity, so the mentality of most politicians is to grab what you can while you’re in office because chances are you won’t be much longer. It’s a vicious circle. One I’ve lived in the last twenty years.”

  Vanya eyed the big man with a gentle gaze. “Orwen here is one of the last good ones. Don’t let him sour you on Guadalcanal. It’s got its share of problems, but it’s a beautiful place filled with warm-hearted people.”

  Manchester drained his beer. “And crocodiles. Can’t forget them. Maybe we should let them have a turn at running the thing. Can’t do much worse than we have.”

  The conversation stalled, and Vanya did her best to bring it back to center. “It’s confession time. I haven’t been co
mpletely honest with you two,” she said in a low voice.

  “Really?” Remi said with arched eyebrows.

  “Yes. I’m a bit of a research fanatic, and when I went home to change, I googled Sam and Remi Fargo. I suppose you know what I found.”

  Sam looked sheepish. “Can’t believe everything you read on the web.”

  “Perhaps.” She eyed Manchester. “Orwen, I’ll have you know you’re sitting with celebrities. Sam and Remi are renowned treasure hunters.”

  Manchester’s face could have been carved from granite. “Treasure hunters?”

  “A distortion the media loves. They sensationalize everything,” Remi explained. “We’ve been fortunate a few times in locating significant finds. Some of our archaeological projects have turned up some historically valuable items. But it’s not like we find treasure and keep it,” she said, frowning. “It goes to the rightful owners for charitable work and enrichment.”

  “That’s right. It’s a case of man bites dog. Anything to sell papers,” Sam echoed.

  “And modest as well as famous,” Vanya said. “The Fargos have discovered more hidden booty than anyone else on the planet, Orwen. Don’t let their humility fool you.”

  Sam waved a hand. “Most people have better things to do than root around in old temples and the like. That’s a meaningless statistic,” he said. “It’s like having seen more ghosts than anyone. Doesn’t say much.”

  “Where did you say you were diving?” Manchester asked, his tone polite but with a hint of frost to it.

  Remi smiled megawatts at him. “We didn’t. It’s our friend’s expedition, so not ours to talk about. But I can assure you there’s no treasure involved.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s a small island. I’m sure everyone’s already talking about the attack. Secrets like that don’t stay that way very long around here.”

  “Probably, but we have to respect our friend’s wishes. He’s an academic and these kinds of things are important to him. Bragging rights,” she said.

  Manchester nodded. “I completely understand. I just thought that perhaps I could be of service if you need any help with permits or that sort of thing.”

  Remi gave a polite yawn behind her hand, and Vanya took the hint and gestured for the check. When it came, Sam snatched it from the waiter’s hand before she could reach it. “Please. Let us buy dinner. That was the best fish and some of the most engaging company we’ve had in ages. It’s the least we can do.”

  Vanya’s eyes flashed, but she smiled. “That’s very generous. Hopefully, that generosity will extend to helping my people.”

  “Hell, if I’d known someone else was buying, I’d have drunk more!” Manchester declared with a guffaw.

  Vanya dropped Sam and Remi off at the hotel with a promise to e-mail them the clinic plan and they in turn said they’d stop by the hospital soon to check on the injured worker.

  “Manchester’s a character, isn’t he?” Sam said as they shouldered their way through the door under the vigilant gaze of the desk clerk.

  “That’s an understatement. He seems angry, doesn’t he? Not that far below the surface. Resentful.”

  “I can’t blame him. Sounds like he’s fighting a thankless battle and losing two steps for every one he gains.”

  “Assuming he’s telling the whole truth. He didn’t strike me as suffering too badly.”

  CHAPTER 7

  When Leonid picked Sam and Remi up, two ratty dive suits and well-used rigs lay in the back of the SUV. The Russian looked like he’d had a hard night, his eyes red and two days of salt-and-pepper stubble dusting his jaw.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Sam said as he studied his friend’s profile. “You lose a round to the local rum?”

  Leonid smiled ruefully. “Don’t ask.”

  “Were you able to get another crew?”

  “I guess we’ll see when we get out to the bay. I had to pay double what it cost yesterday, but I think they’ll show up.”

  Sam checked his watch and pulled the satellite phone from his backpack as they made their way out of town. Selma answered after two rings, her tone businesslike.

  “Good morning, Selma,” he began.

  “Afternoon. Six hours effective time difference. Although technically it’s tomorrow there, so it’s actually eighteen hours.”

  “That’s right. Good to know.” He paused. “Any luck locating a ship?”

  “We were fortunate. There’s a boat on its way from Australia, although it won’t be there for a few days, weather allowing. A hundred-foot expedition yacht that barely makes twelve knots.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Selma.”

  “It was doing research on the Great Barrier Reef when I convinced the institute that owns and operates it to make a little side trip.”

  “Quite a side trip.”

  “What’s a thousand miles each way between friends? Needless to say, the foundation will be making another generous donation this month.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “How are you faring on Guadalcanal? I hear it’s about as exciting as watching ice melt.”

  He told her about the crocodile attack. When he was finished, she was silent for several moments.

  “That’s terrible. Why don’t you two ever pick someplace safe to go?”

  “I keep trying to convince Remi to let me retire, but she’s a slave driver,” Sam said, stealing a glance at his wife in the rearview mirror. She glared at him and shook her head in disapproval.

  “It will be three more days before the ship gets there, so you’ll have to find other ways to amuse yourself in the meantime. Do try to keep away from the man-eaters. Besides the crocodiles, they have plenty of great white sharks there, too.”

  “That’s good to know. Keeps us on our toes.”

  When he hung up, Remi leaned forward as they bounced down the road. “Well?”

  “Selma says hello. Said to practice your shark punching, too.”

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  “Yes. Apparently, she’s been researching the area, and there are great whites in addition to the other local attractions.”

  “And we’re going diving today?”

  Sam shrugged. “Nobody lives forever.”

  Remi glared at Leonid. “Tell me again why we agreed to fly halfway around the world to do this?”

  “Scientific curiosity,” Sam tried. “Friendship. The thrill of discovery. A zest for knowledge.”

  “Boredom,” Leonid said, and everyone smiled.

  “You know we’ll look like seals in our wet suits to any great whites,” Remi commented.

  Sam grinned. “I hear wet suits aren’t very tasty. Sharks tend to avoid them.”

  “You’re thinking of sea otters,” Remi corrected.

  “Ah, I always mix those up. Well, try to act like an otter while we’re in the soup.”

  “At least the crocodiles aren’t a problem in open water. They tend to be mostly dangerous on shore or at the mouths of rivers.”

  “As Benji, unfortunately, discovered.”

  When they arrived at the bay, a different truck was parked near the sand and only three men waited beneath one of the swaying palm trees, watching the SUV approach. A single boat was tethered to a tree trunk, floating lazily, in the strengthening sun.

  After a scan of the shore to ensure no further crocodiles were lurking in the brush, Sam and Remi donned their wet suits and climbed into the boat, followed by the rest of the men. The old outboard sputtered to life with a throaty cough and they were skimming across the bay, Leonid directing the captain with the aid of a handheld GPS.

  When they reached the coordinates, the captain kept the motor idling while Sam and Remi finished their preparations. Leonid regarded them in their masks, regulators in their mouths, and offered a halfhearted
grin.

  “Bottom’s at around eighty feet. Visibility should be pretty good, from what the divers said. The water’s usually exceptionally clear.”

  Sam spat his regulator out. “Except for the storm runoff yesterday. Still, it is what it is. Should be interesting.”

  Remi dropped backward off the side of the skiff while Sam lowered himself down a metal dive ladder that one of the men had attached to the stern. Once in the water, he was glad to discover that the temperature was almost bathlike. He slipped below the surface and spotted Remi ten feet away, waiting for him. He gave her a thumbs-up that she returned, and then they began their slow descent to the bottom, which was barely visible from their vantage point.

  At the fifty-foot mark, the contours of the mounds drifted up to meet them from the reef. Sam tapped Remi on the shoulder and pointed to their right, where a large, hulking shape rose from the sea bottom. As they approached, it became obvious that they were looking at something man-made. The jutting rise was almost entirely encrusted with sea life, but the shape and symmetry were unmistakable—it was part of a building.

  When they arrived within arm’s length, Sam felt for the handle of the dive knife he’d strapped to his leg and freed it. Remi watched as he scraped away at the barnacles. After a few moments, he stopped and pushed himself back so Remi could see.

  It was a seam. A joint between two blocks. Any doubts about the origin of the protrusions were now put to rest. These were indeed ruins of buildings, albeit submerged ones.

  A shadow drifted across the bottom and they froze. Sam turned and looked up to see the long shape of a shark. Not a great white, but, still, at least nine feet of marine predator.

  The shark orbited their position and then seemed to lose interest in them as it continued on its way. Remi’s eyes had gone wide in her mask, and Sam kept control of his breathing as his heart rate settled back to normal. If they’d required any evidence of their completely exposed state, the close encounter had been sufficient, and, after a quick swim through the ruins, they ascended, pausing for a decompression stop, eyes roving the water for more uninvited guests.