The Solomon Curse (16 page)

“How can you be sure, if it disintegrated?” Des asked.

“Because if you look closely at that piece of wood, you'll see it's the handle of a bayonet.”

Remi stepped forward. “And if I had to guess, we'll find that it matches the kind used by the forces that occupied the island during the Second World War.”

“The treasure was discovered during the war?” Des asked slowly.

Remi nodded. “The only uncertainty is whether it was the Allies or the Japanese. I don't know because I'm not an expert on antique bayonets. But I'm going to take a picture of it and send it to someone who is or who can find an expert in a hurry. Then we'll know who made off with the treasure—which, if the amount of gold it would have taken to fill the carvings is any hint, was probably substantial.”

Selma called them back within two hours of receiving the photographs. Sam and Remi were watching on the bridge as the surface-breathing divers worked their way into the first chamber. The progress was slow due to the lack of circulation—the debris they blasted loose just hung suspended in the water until gravity slowly pulled it to the bottom. After half an hour of frustration, Des had improvised a pump-driven suction system to use in conjunction with the blasting hose, which sucked most of the loosened debris to the surface where it was dispersed at the ship's stern. Even with this improvement, it was obvious that this phase would take just short of forever.

“You're in luck,” Selma said without preamble. “Milton Gregory is one of the foremost experts on World War Two arms. It didn't take him long to identify that handle.”

“What's the verdict?” Sam asked.

“Japanese army Type 30 bayonet, without a doubt. Probably
mounted on an Arisaka rifle—the most commonly issued rifle for Japanese forces during the war.”

“He's sure?”

“Absolutely. The bayonets used by the Allies had a completely different handle. He's positive. And there's something else: on one end of the handle you can see faint markings. They're the Japanese symbols for Aoba.”

“What?”

“One of the Japanese regiments that was stationed on Guadalcanal was the 3rd Battalion, 4th Infantry Regiment.” She paused. “The Aoba Regiment.”

“When did it land?”

“September eleventh, 1942.”

Sam was silent for a few moments. He nodded to himself and turned from the monitor.

“I have a project for you, Selma.”

“I suspected you might.”

“Your ESP is working. I want you to research the Japanese occupation of Guadalcanal. Who commanded it, how many soldiers were stationed here, when they left, how they were evacuated, the whole works.”

“How detailed do you want?”

“Give me everything you can find. All sources, along with a summary.”

“Will do.”

“How long?”

“I'll put Pete and Wendy to work as well, so if we're lucky . . . How soon do you need it?”

“As usual, Selma.”

“So, yesterday?”

He smiled. “That might be a little late.”

“All right. I'll get on it immediately.”

When he hung up, Remi was watching him expectantly. “Japanese, I presume?” she said.

He nodded. “Good guess. But it also makes tracking down any information harder.”

“History is written by the victors.”

“Correct. And that assumes that any record of a Japanese operation to recover sunken treasure is not going to be in the encyclopedias.”

“True. But if we're lucky, we'll pick up the scent.”

Sam looked at the sun glittering on the surface of the sea. “Imagine what that had to have been like. Diving, day after day, off an island during wartime, enemy attacks taking place constantly. With technology that predates scuba. The old copper diving helmets . . . like something out of Jules Verne.”

“They were obviously successful. One look at the walls proves that,” Remi said.

Sam looked back at the monitor with a thoughtful expression. “No question.”

The rest of the day went by slowly even with the improvised suction pump. Leonid's impatience created a palpable tension. When the dive teams finally called it a night, everyone gathered in the galley for dinner, the good-natured banter of the men lively and filled with laughter as they feasted on fresh fish.

Des tuned in to the local radio news for updates on the unrest, which appeared to have calmed somewhat over the course of the afternoon. According to the somber announcer, record numbers of police were on patrol and any disturbances were being met with a swift response from the authorities. Over twenty people had been arrested, but there was no mention of anything of significance in the hunt for the rebels. So for now, at least, it looked like they'd gotten away with murder.

The following morning, Sam used the satellite Internet to check his e-mail. There was a message from Selma with a file attached. He downloaded it and studied the pages as Remi lingered over another cup of
coffee. By the time she was done, he'd skimmed the summary and zeroed in on a few promising threads.

“The Japanese had a hell of a time supplying their troops here. That was the main reason they ultimately evacuated. When the surviving soldiers made it to the ships, they were suffering from starvation. Some of the reports are grim. Dysentery, malnutrition, you name it.”

“How long did the Japanese have control of the island?”

“Only about seven months. From June 1942 until February 1943. And it was some of the bitterest fighting of the war.”

“Then there's not a long time period for us to cover.”

“No, but there's also very few records from the Japanese side.”

“Right, but since we know they found whatever treasure was here, the question is what happened to it? Why hasn't it surfaced since the war?”

“You beat me to the punch. If you'd discovered gold, and who knows what else, what would you do? Remember, you're in the middle of a battle zone with fighting going on every day, your side losing the battle, starvation setting in, heavy casualties, an uncertain future.”

“I'd want to get it off the island.”

“Right, but that's easier said than done, with the Allies throwing everything they had at you.” Sam's brow furrowed in thought. “And there's another wrinkle. To dive that site, there had to have been a ship anchored over it for weeks. That would have naturally attracted unwanted Allied forces attention.”

“Then I think we can safely assume that the mother ship wasn't an official Japanese vessel.”

Sam nodded. “It was probably a converted long-range fishing vessel or an innocuous, seemingly empty barge. It would have had to have been something that looked innocent or it would have been sunk by the Allies.”

Remi frowned. “And there's no wreckage.” She sighed. “Are you saying that once the Japanese were done bringing the treasure to the surface, it just steamed out of here?”

Sam shook his head. “Highly unlikely. Especially as the Allied campaign intensified. They obviously couldn't afford the sinking or search and seizure of whatever craft they used. The Allies had created a tough enough barrier that the Japanese couldn't even supply their troops. I can't see anyone risking high stakes on the open seas.”

“Then what?”

“Well, let's think this through. Imagine what it must have been like. You have the treasure, but you're starving, and the enemy's landed on the island and is preventing any vessels from reaching you. The shoreline is littered with sunken Japanese and Allied boats, but the Allies have control over the sea during the daylight hours. What would you do?”

Remi thought for a moment. “Submarine!”

“That's one possibility, but a sub would still run considerable risk of being discovered if anything went wrong or took longer than planned. Also, it's harder than it sounds to get one close to shore, presumably at night, without risking grounding it or being a sitting duck.”

“Then I'd hide the treasure until I could get it off the island safely.”

“Okay, fine. But get it off how? It's increasingly obvious that the Allies aren't going to give up. And no matter how patriotic you are, how devoted you are to your cause, it's a virtual certainty that Japan isn't going to be able to hold the island forever.”

“I'd . . . I'd probably wait until a big push, when I had the best chance of making it off the island with it.”

“Like minds think alike. If you look at the chronology of the occupation, there's only one point where it seemed certain you could get off the island alive.”

Remi eyed him. “Which was . . . ?”

“The final evacuation. For whatever reason, the Allies didn't prevent the Japanese evacuation of the troops. And you would have known it looked like a sure thing, if you had communications capability, because the initial run in February went uncontested, as did the next run
on February fourth. The final run was on the night of February seventh and it was also unchallenged.”

“Did the Allies not want to commit resources to blocking a retreat?”

“Best I can tell, they thought the ship movements were the prelude to a big attack, so the naval forces fell back to the Coral Sea. That left the Japanese with an opening to make the run and they took full advantage of it.”

“I still like my sub theory.”

“I can see that. But in addition to the risk of running aground, the Japanese didn't have that many subs around the Solomons, at least that we know of.” Sam ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw and shook his head. “Besides, the Japanese subs didn't have much cargo space, and in the Guadalcanal campaign, other than dropping off a limited numbers of reinforcements, they didn't play much of a role.”

“Joy killer.”

Sam grinned, a distant look in his eyes. “Let's assume it took the Japanese a reasonable amount of time to locate the ruins and then more time to explore them and discover the treasure—they'd have had to contend with all the same sea growth we've been battling, so it wouldn't have happened quickly. And once they did, assume it took still more time to dig the gold out of the walls, as well as raise whatever else was in the vault. The bayonet came from a group that didn't arrive on the island until September. Let's say they somehow managed to find the treasure and get it to the surface in . . . a month, at minimum. That would put them well into end of October or later—when the island was awash with Allied forces and the sea corridor basically controlled by Allied airplanes. There were massive naval battles fought on an almost weekly basis—both sides lost plenty of ships. Does that sound like an opportune time to try to move treasure off an island?”

Remi cleared her throat. “Probably not. But that's a lot of ifs.”

“I know. But looking at the time line, assuming they didn't stash it on the island for pick up at a later date, I'd say they made the run during
the evacuation because at any point from about September on it would have been too risky trying any other way.”

Remi nodded slowly. “But your earlier point's a good one—a significant find would have been impossible to hide for long. If the treasure was recovered, why hasn't any of it surfaced? Secrets don't keep for that long, and I'd imagine that the Japanese could have used a nice infusion of riches for the war effort. Something would have made it to the market.”

“I sent Selma back some direction on what to look for. I asked her to get us anything she can find on Japanese asset sales during the war, as well as details on all the ships involved in the evacuation—or that were ever near Guadalcanal for more than the time it would take to off-load supplies. Nobody was trying to get anything off until the evacuation, so that would be a giveaway. It's a tall order, but she loves that kind of challenge. If anyone can do it, it's Selma.”

Sam and Remi moved on deck, where the divers were donning their equipment. Remi shielded her eyes from the sun as she studied the coastline, Sam by her side speaking quietly to Leonid. Sam noticed her attention and stopped what he was doing.

“What is it?”

Remi shook her head. “Probably nothing. I thought I saw a flash of something over by the car.”

“Probably the sun on the windshield,” Leonid said.

Sam looked to Des, who held a coffee mug. “Do you have a set of binoculars handy?” Sam asked.

Des nodded and ducked into the pilothouse, then returned a few moments later.

“These work for you?” he asked as he handed him a pair of waterproof Bushnell's.

Sam peered through the lenses at the coast and then handed the glasses back to Des. “Any chance you could give me a lift to shore to check on the van?”

Des nodded. “Sure. I'll run you over myself.”

Sam turned to Remi. “I'll be right back.”

She rubbed her neck and winced. “I'd offer to join you, but not this time. Maybe scuba diving falls under the category of things you shouldn't do after plunging off a cliff?”

Sam gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

“I'll be fine. I think I just slept wrong,” she said, but neither of them believed that.

Soon they were cutting across the placid sea. There was hardly any swell on the calm morning, and they reached the beach in minutes.

Sam hopped out onto the sand and approached the van, which looked exactly as he'd left it. He checked the locking gas compartment—no evidence of anyone trying to break into it. The windows were up tight and the doors all locked. His senses on alert, he inspected the vehicle, listening for any hint of movement in the surrounding jungle.

Nothing but the slight rustle of the wind tickling the tops of the trees.

After a long glance at the area around the Toyota, he walked back to the boat.

He'd spotted fresh tire tracks near the van.

Remi's instinct had been right. Someone had been watching the boat.