The Solomon Curse (28 page)

It was barely light out when the Mitsubishi turned onto the logging road, which was overgrown and in poor repair but passable. An hour and a half later, the SUV ground to a halt at the end of the road, stopped in its tracks by a wall of dense jungle.

Sam held the GPS up in the morning sunlight and studied the screen. “Looks like we're close. It's a little over a half mile that way,” he said, pointing at the nearest peaks. “Think you can manage it, Leonid?”

“I'm a locomotive. A battering ram. Unstoppable,” the Russian said, his eyes red from a restless night at anchor.

“That's good to hear,” Sam said. “Greg, you've got guard duty here.”

Greg had ridden out in order to watch the vehicle and ensure no harm came to it. He nodded once. Greg didn't talk much, but he looked lethal with his weapons, a machete on his belt and one of the ship's
twelve-gauge flare guns in his hand, and they were confident that the Mitsubishi would be in good shape when they returned.

The waterfalls might have been closer to the logging road than the village, but the terrain wasn't accommodating. It was tough going, with none of the game trails they came across heading in the right direction. They were forced to hack their way through the underbrush as the heat rose—cutting through the jungle and then pausing every twenty minutes to rest. Their clothes were soon drenched, and their water supply was dwindling at a rapid clip.

Eventually, they broke through into the clearing at the base of the large waterfall and sprawled in the shade of a grove of trees, studying the ridge for signs of another cave.

Remi stared at the sheer rock face and after several minutes pushed herself to her feet. “We know it's got to be there somewhere. What was the final line from the diary?”

“‘The way lies beyond the fall,'” Lazlo repeated from memory.

“You can't get much more beyond the fall than the ridge, so it's a question of where, exactly, the entrance is,” Sam observed.

“Well, we're not going to find it, lounging around here,” Remi said. “How's the leg, Leonid?”

“I'm strong as a bull. I feel nothing but impatience at being denied the treasure,” Leonid said, his tone as serious as a eulogy. Remi held his stare and then they both laughed simultaneously as he struggled to rise.

“Perhaps a
wounded
bull,” Sam corrected with a chuckle.

“That's not a terrible nickname,” Lazlo said. “Wounded Bull. It somehow fits.”

“I'm not so badly off I can't overtake you, you colonial oppressor,” the Russian growled good-naturedly.

“Yes, well, save your enthusiasm for the hunt. I suspect you'll need it.”

“You know,” Remi said, “I don't mean to be negative, but I had a thought last night. What if the Japanese hid the cave entrance once the
islanders had loaded in the crates? I mean, it's not impossible. If they really wanted to conceal their stash, it would have been easy. A grenade, a mortar . . .”

“That's a good point. But it would have left a trace, I'd think,” Lazlo said.

“Probably. All I'm saying is, we shouldn't discount any irregularity in the terrain no matter how unlikely it may appear.”

The trudge along the base of the ridge was agonizingly slow in the blaze of late-morning sun, over the treacherous ground. They passed the two caves they'd already explored and continued east, eyeing the landscape. Near another small stream, Leonid pointed to the rise. “Do you see that?” he asked.

They followed his finger to a collection of boulders, trailing down the hill, evidence of a landslide.

Sam nodded as he regarded the ridge. “Could be. Let's have a closer look.”

The group climbed across the loose shale, the stones getting larger as they neared. At the top of the irregularity, Sam and Lazlo scraped away at the rocks, prying with their machete blades, trying to loosen the rubble. Leonid and Remi stood back, letting them work. Ten minutes later, Sam looked over his shoulder at her. “There's a space behind it. You're a genius.”

“I just have a devious mind. It's what I would have done. After all, they had no way of knowing whether the Allies would investigate every square inch of the island or not once they had full possession. Better safe than sorry . . .” Remi said.

“Let's clear this and see what's inside,” said Sam, now fueled to greater effort. Remi and Leonid joined them and in another few minutes a gap had been opened.

“Definitely a cave,” Lazlo murmured, gazing into the darkness. Motes of dust hovered in the still air.

“Want to do the honors, Lazlo?” Remi asked.

“You know, I just had a thought. What if they booby-trapped it?” Lazlo mused.

“I highly doubt that anything they could have rigged that long ago would still be operational,” Sam said.

“Fine. Follow me,” Lazlo said, his voice trying for a conviction he clearly didn't feel.

They entered the cavern, trailing Lazlo, their lights illuminating the space, which was larger than the prior caves. The floor was uneven and stretched into the darkness, sloping lower as they moved deeper, with the surface slick in places from water dripping from the ceiling and leaching through the walls.

“At least it's cool in here,” Sam said as they pressed forward.

“But no crates,” Remi said.

“Look at the bright side. No skeletons, either.”

Lazlo slowed as the passage turned to the right and he held his light up. Stalactites hung from above like giant fossilized icicles, dripping relentlessly, as they had since the cave's birth. The team edged around piles of debris, where sections of the ceiling had collapsed over time, and soon found themselves in a larger natural chamber.

“But still no treasure,” Leonid reminded, his expression sour.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Sam said, turning slowly, his lamp raised in his hand.

“Look over here,” Lazlo called from their right. Their heads turned to where he was gazing into yet another cave through a smaller opening. “This appears to continue for some distance.”

“That would make sense. Remember that the legends of the giants claim there's an entire system that stretches across the island. Those tales are likely based in some sort of fact,” Remi said.

“Then how do we find the right cave? This could take forever,” Leonid griped.

“What happened to Raging Bull?” Sam teased.

“
Wounded
Bull,” Lazlo corrected.

As they continued down through the caves, the temperature dropped steadily, and soon the oppressive heat at the cave mouth was a distant memory, replaced by a dank chill. Lazlo continued leading the way, Sam and Remi behind him, and Leonid bringing up the rear, as they edged along a narrow rise that stretched along the side of a tunnel-like passage, easily fifty yards long, the darkness at either end absolute.

The crash of Leonid's light hitting the stone cave floor shattered the stillness as he cried out. The group spun to where he'd slipped on a slick spot and gone over the edge, dropping down the steep slope into the chasm below.

“Leonid,” Sam cried out, dropping to his knees, careful to avoid the wet patch. Lichen clinging to the stone made it as slippery as ice.

“Can you see down there?” Lazlo asked, his light trained into the black depths.

“No. It looks like it twists around,” Sam said, transferring his lamp to his right hand. “Remi, hand me one of the rope bundles. I'll tie it off and go after him.”

“Sam?” Remi said, her voice low.

“What? Didn't you hear me? He's probably hurt.”

“Sam . . .”

Sam exhaled loudly and twisted around and froze when he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol held by a tall islander a dozen yards away.

Three men stood in the gloom beyond the gunman, machetes in hand. The islander with the pistol grinned malevolently and thumbed back the hammer on his weapon. The snick was as loud as a firecracker in the sudden quiet.

“Well, took you long enough,” the gunman said, and pointed the weapon at where Lazlo was trying to inch away. “Don't any of you move.”

“We don't mean you any harm. Our friend slipped and fell,” Sam said. “We have to get him. He could be badly injured.”

“Saves me a bullet. Now, don't you be trying anything or I'll blow your fool heads off. Any of you give me trouble, the little lady gets it first. Boys? Search them.”

The thugs made short work of a cursory frisking, confiscating their machetes and kicking their bags aside. The gunman kept the pistol
trained unwaveringly at Remi the entire time, watching as she glared at him. When the islanders were finished, they manhandled everyone, pushing them forward. The gunman backed up, a flashlight in his other hand, while his companions directed them toward a dim glow at the far end of the massive space.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded as he passed the gunman.

“Your worst nightmare,” the gunman snarled. “You been sticking your nose into business that don't concern you. Causing a heap of worry. That all over now.”

“What are you talking about? What is this place?”

“Shut up. No more talk,” the thug nearest Sam ordered, and gave him a hard push between the shoulder blades, causing him to stumble. Sam barely maintained his balance, his equilibrium thrown by the lack of a reference point in the gloom, and he could hear Remi's breathing quicken.

“Don't worry,” Sam said. His captor clipped the back of his head with the handle of his machete, knocking him to his knees.

“I say shut up, I mean it,” the man snarled. “Up,” he growled, kicking Sam in the ribs.

Sam struggled to his feet and felt the back of his skull. His fingers came away with a smear of blood.

“Sam,” Remi whispered.

He shook his head, instantly regretting the abrupt gesture and wincing in pain. The thug stepped back and raised his machete, the muscles in his arm bulging. “Move or I chop you right here.”

Sam staggered forward in the faint light. The others trailed him, as their captors radiated menace, machete blades glinting, as they made their way to a gap in the cave wall. Another armed islander stood to one side of the opening, watching them.

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.

“Here's a hatchet. Grab a light and let's get out of here.”

“What about that bloke?” Lazlo asked, tilting his head at the downed guard.

“I'll make short work of him,” Sam said. He scrounged among their discarded bindings and found a length of cord that looked promising. A minute later, he'd bound the man's wrists and ankles and stuffed a rag in his mouth. “That should keep him out of trouble for a while.”

A faint clank sounded from the passage they'd come down. Sam's head swiveled toward it and then he gestured to Remi and Lazlo. “Follow me, and don't make a sound.”

“Sam. A machete's no match for a gun,” Remi whispered.

“A gun's only as good as the shooter,” he said, his face serious. “Come on.”

Sam crept to the far end of the cave, where a cavity led deeper into the mountain. He waited until it was too dark in the passage to see from the glow behind them and then switched on the flashlight he'd grabbed. To their right, the narrow cave forked in two directions, and he stopped, listening. He sniffed at the dank air and pointed to the right branch. “It smells fresher this way. More humid,” he said.

“What if it dead-ends?” Lazlo asked.

Sam shrugged. “That would be bad.”

They kept moving, the ground angling lower before leveling out. A faint hiss ahead of them grew louder as they crept forward, and, after another minute, they arrived at a rushing torrent of black water. They eyed the current and Sam directed his beam beyond it. “Looks like this continues on the other side. But the water's moving pretty fast.”

“The good news is, it's not that wide,” Remi said.

Lazlo frowned. “The bad news is, I haven't swum since I was a teenager.”

Sam glanced at him. “It's like riding a bike.”

“Haven't done that in forever, either.”

“I don't see any way around it,” Sam said. “Remi? Hand me the rope.”

Remi did as asked. “No telling how deep it is.”

“It's only the last few inches that'll kill you.”

“Very comforting, Fargo. Be careful.”

He uncoiled the rope. “You and Lazlo hold on to this end. Wish me luck.”

The sound of angry voices reverberated from the other end of the cave. Sam frowned and quickly tied one end of the line around his waist. “Here goes nothing.”

The water was surprisingly cold and stronger than he'd imagined. Almost immediately, it pulled at his ankles like an angry dog. The soles
of his boots slipped along the smooth stone riverbed, polished by thousands of years of rushing torrent, and he fought to stay upright as he inched farther into the current. Spray splashed his thighs as he tested the bottom, moving cautiously, and then suddenly the current pulled him down and he was tumbling into the river, stunned by the force.

Water rushed into his nose and mouth and he choked as he lost his bearings, the lack of light now deadly. He fought to reach the surface, thrashing with all his might—but in the dark there was no hint of which way the surface was.

The cord went taut, stopping him from being washed into oblivion. Remi and Lazlo had reacted quickly and were holding him—but even their combined strength wouldn't be a match for the river for long.