The Solomon Curse (7 page)

La Jolla, California

Selma looked up from her computer screen at the sound of the front door opening. Her assistants, Pete and Wendy, were at lunch, and Zoltán bristled at her feet at the intrusion. She reassured him with a stroke of her hand and then relaxed when she saw it was only Lazlo.

The bedraggled English academic had taken to stopping by regularly, she strongly suspected, because he had nothing better to do with his time now that his Laos expedition was formally over with and no treasure discovered. He'd been dejected by the outcome but had recovered when he'd gotten wind of a recently surfaced document that was purported to be written in the notorious pirate Captain Kidd's hand—in code.

“Selma, my dear woman, may I say you look breathtaking this fine day,” Lazlo announced to her amused gaze. “And Zoltán, you handsome beast, what a fine specimen of canine corpulence you are.”

“He's not even close to being fat,” Selma said, defending the dog's
honor. Zoltán tilted his head as he regarded Lazlo and then lay back down and closed his eyes, dismissing the visitor with the disdain only a purebred can master.

“Merely a term of endearment. I adore the bloodthirsty killer.” He looked at her screen. “And what are we working on?”

She pressed the power button and the monitor blinked off. “Nothing of interest to you, I'm sure.”

“One never knows. I suspect that if you're involved, I could muster some enthusiasm.”

Lazlo had been increasingly flirtatious since returning from his trek, which amused Selma.

“Well, at your age, I suppose enthusiasm's all one could hope for.” She paused. “What brings you by, Lazlo?”

“I was hoping I might help you. Do you have anything I could be of assistance with? Perhaps an unbreakable cipher? A riddle that's baffled the brightest minds of our time?”

“Still haven't decided whether you're going to chase down the Captain Kidd thing, have you?” she said knowingly.

“I'm looking into it. The owner of the letter believes it's somehow related to his lost pirate treasure, but I think that's overly optimistic.”

“And of course those trying to convince others to buy obscure documents have been known to exaggerate the importance of the contents,” Selma observed.

“Which is why I'm not willing to trust and need to verify. Right now I'm hopeful, but cautiously so, absent any further substantiation. However, if it turns out to be what the owner purports it to be, it could be a magnificent opportunity—and a profitable one, to be sure.”

Selma shook her head. “Don't quit your day job.”

“Yes, well, this rather is my day job.” He glanced away. “And how are our benefactors, the Fargos, faring? What are they up to now?”

Selma filled him in on the Solomons find. “I'm researching the area for them. Volcanoes, earthquakes, a history of tidal waves—you name
it. I haven't heard from them since they were going to dive the site and confirm whether there's anything to the accounts.”

“Hmm. Most intriguing. There aren't many areas of the world that haven't been thoroughly explored. But I'd venture a guess that's one of them.”

“True. And with all the social unrest, it's likely to remain that way. There was a civil war in the early millennium, and then widespread rioting in 2006, and then again in 2014. The poverty's off the scale, and the Australians have basically had to station a small occupation force there to keep the peace. Not really an area conducive to exploration.”

“Leave it to the Fargos to find something right under everyone's noses. Amazing, that.”

“If that's indeed what they've done, it's actually their colleague Leonid Vasyev who made the discovery. They're helping out.”

“Leonid, eh? Good Irish name.”

“Well, Laz-lo,” Selma said, stressing the second syllable of his name. “Can't jump to conclusions. That's the first rule the Fargos have. A good one, I'd say,” she cautioned.

“Then he's not Russian?”

She cracked a small smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He stood, taking the hint. “No, no. I was just stopping in to ensure you hadn't been swept off your feet by some rakish pretender.” He nodded at Zoltán, then to Selma. “Good day to you, then, Selma. I'm only a phone call away should you need my considerable skills.”

“How reassuring. I trust I won't today.”

“Nevertheless, I'm at your beck and call.”

She watched him retreat, his head held high, and smiled to herself. He definitely had a certain charm, even if he was full of himself and completely amoral as they came. Mad dogs and Englishmen indeed.

The front door closed and she returned to her duties, a small part of her registering that the room seemed empty now that Lazlo had left. A
blur of motion from outside the floor-to-ceiling picture window facing the Pacific Ocean caught her eye and she watched as a white gull rode an updraft, effortlessly soaring into the clear sky. Lazlo was a menace, she told herself with conviction, a scoundrel, and she'd have no part in his shenanigans, but the small smile remained even as she turned back to her monitor. Zoltán shifted at her feet and she reached down and petted his massive head.

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

Breakfast at the hotel restaurant with Leonid was a somber affair, the Russian sullen. He'd asked around the waterfront, trying to find another boat for the next day, but word had spread about the attack and nobody wanted to sign on regardless of how much money he offered.

“Look at it this way, Leonid,” Sam said. “There's not a lot we could accomplish on quick dives by ourselves. We're better off waiting for the research ship to arrive anyway so that we have all the equipment and manpower we need. We've already confirmed the ruins are man-made. That's more than I expected on a first look.”

“And it gives you time to learn to dive yourself,” Remi pressed. “Who knows? You may even enjoy it.”

“I highly doubt that,” Leonid grumbled into his coffee.

“Not all is lost, my friend,” Sam said. “While we're landlocked, we'll nose around and see what we can come up with in terms of local
lore. It's hard to believe there are no stories or legends surrounding a sunken city.”

“Good luck. I could barely get the locals to talk to me. Tight-lipped bunch.”

“Well, my beautiful wife's powers of persuasion might be more compelling than your Russian charm.”

Leonid had to concede the point. “I'm not great with people.”

“Which is why we'll divide and conquer. You take scuba lessons and we'll talk to some people and see what we come up with,” Remi said. “Sound good?”

“Except for the part where I have to get in the water.”

They parted ways, and Sam and Remi walked to the hospital, the morning heat building as they neared it. When they arrived, they asked for Dr. Vanya, and she seemed delighted to see them when she came through the emergency room doors.

“Well, this is a nice surprise. I didn't expect you so soon.”

“We were just in the neighborhood . . .” Sam said.

“When you live in a town the size of Honiara, you're always in the neighborhood.”

“How's he doing?” Remi asked.

“He's stable, but probably not up to seeing anyone yet. We have him sedated. I'm sorry. But I'll tell him you stopped by.”

“Thanks. We don't even know him, so he might not understand who we are,” Remi said.

“I'll just tell him the people who saved his life came by to check on him.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I am going to put the bite on you for a donation, so it's the least I can do,” Vanya joked.

“You offered to help us last night. I hope you don't mind if we take you up on that,” Sam said.

“Of course not. What can I do?”

“Keep a secret, for starters,” Remi said, looking around the area.

“My lips are sealed.”

“The anomalies we're here researching? They appear to be the remains of a sunken city.”

She blinked twice. “A what?”

“An ancient city off the coast.”

“Off Guadalcanal? You can't be serious.”

Sam nodded. “We are. And we want to know if there are any legends about such a place. I'd imagine there would have to be. One of the old captains said something about a curse? We'd like to find out what's behind it.”

Vanya took a seat in the empty patient lounge and stared at the two of them as though they'd appeared from another universe. “I was born here and I've never heard of a cursed sunken city. That sounds like science fiction. No offense.”

“None taken. I know it sounds far-fetched. But we're sort of in the legends business and this isn't the first time that the seemingly impossible has turned out to be real,” Remi explained.

“Oh, I don't doubt that you found something. I just can't believe that . . . that you found ruins around here. I mean, no disrespect, but it's not like the Solomons are known for their advanced civilization stretching back to ancient times. Look around. That someone built a city that's now underwater . . .”

“Well, city may be a bit grandiose. More like a complex,” Sam conceded. “But, still, is there anyone you can think of who might be able to answer some questions for us? Maybe an elder? Someone who's well versed in all the oral traditions?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps Orwen might know. He socializes a lot more than I do. But, off the top of my head, nobody springs to mind.”

Sam frowned. “He seemed rather down on foreigners coming to the
islands and taking advantage. He might not be receptive to an overture for help.”

“Oh, don't let Orwen's bluster put you off. He'll help if I ask him to.”

“We'd really rather keep the circle that knows as small as possible,” Remi cautioned.

“Well, if you're going to mount any kind of real expedition, you're going to need permission from the government and that's Orwen. I can't see the administration just allowing you to go around disturbing our heritage even if they don't know it exists just yet. Orwen's your best shot at getting their okay.”

“We don't even know what it is we found. It might be premature.”

“And better to ask forgiveness than permission? I wouldn't try that here. As you probably surmised at dinner, the islanders can be touchy when it comes to their territory. I'd do it properly from the beginning.”

Sam nodded. “Good advice. Could you touch base with him?”

“I'll call right now. Do you mind waiting?” Vanya asked, rising.

She disappeared back into the hospital. Sam leaned into Remi, his voice low. “I wish we didn't have to share anything about the find.”

“I know. But it's not like anyone can do anything about it even if it was on the nightly news. Look at the equipment on the island. At best, they could dive and confirm it's man-made. No harm there.”

“Still, force of habit.”

“The boat will be here soon enough and whatever it is will still be there. Besides, it seems like the locals are so spooked by the area that we won't have much to worry about.”

Vanya returned, a smile on her face. “Orwen can see you this morning if you'll go to his office. Here's the address,” she said, and handed Sam a business card with handwriting on the back.

“Thanks so much for this,” Remi said.

“My pleasure. Good luck with your mystery. What an exciting life you must lead if it's always like this.”

“Well, there's a lot of hurry up and wait, too,” Sam said.

Manchester's office was in one of the nicer buildings on the main street, two stories that looked like they had at least seen paint within the last ten years. A pleasant woman greeted them and showed them back to where Manchester was sitting, resplendent in his suit, behind a desk the size of an economy car.

“Please, sit. Vanya was very secretive on the phone. Said you're on an adventure and need some help?”

“Well, I'm not sure about the adventure part,” Remi said.

Sam told him about the sunken ruins and Manchester's eyes widened. When Sam concluded, the big man rose and moved to look out his window at the ocean.

“That's quite a tale. I'm not sure what to make of it.” He hesitated. “What would you like me to do?”

“A couple of things. There has to be some kind of evidence of what the ruins are. Some historical reference, or at least a legend.”

“Perhaps. But we have no written history, so I wouldn't expect much. I've never heard anything.”

“Maybe an elder who knows all the old stories?”

Manchester appeared to think. “There are a few relics who might be able to help you. But they're out in the middle of nowhere. City life isn't for them—they prefer the traditional ways.”

“Could you make any introductions?”

Manchester laughed. “It's not like I can send them an e-mail. But I can give you directions and a note to show them. Although they probably can't read, they might recognize the stationery.”

“That would be perfect.” Sam paused. “There's also the question of how to get the government's approval to investigate the site.”

“That I'll need to think about. We've never really had anyone approach us to do anything resembling archaeology here, so it's a first, at least as long as I've been a MP. I'm not sure there's a procedure to follow.”

“That can be both good and bad,” Remi said.

“Yes. I understand. Wouldn't want to run afoul of anyone's sensibilities. I'll have lunch with some of the other members of parliament and see what I can come up with. It's not like you want mineral rights or anything, just to poke around in some sunken stones. Am I correct?”

“Absolutely. Anything we find would be the property of the Solomon people. We're here merely out of curiosity.”

“I think that will go a long way to engendering support, then. You're basically working for free, helping us catalog a piece of history we didn't even know existed until today.”

“That's how I'd present it,” Sam agreed.

Manchester smiled. “Well, I can't guarantee a permit, but I'll do what I can,” he said doubtfully.

“That's all we can ask.”

“As for the oldsters, I have two people in mind. One lives down by Mbinu, halfway to the eastern tip of the island, and the other is more remote—he has a shack on a dirt road by the river east of the village of Aola. What are you driving?”

Sam and Remi exchanged a glance. “We have to find something to rent.”

“Get an SUV with good tires and four-wheel drive. You'll need it.”

“Where's the best place to find one?”

Manchester sat back down in his executive chair and wrote out a brief letter on official stationery with the Solomon Islands crest at the top and then scribbled several names and addresses on a separate sheet of ordinary paper. He slid both to Remi with a flourish.

“Rubo is about a hundred years old. He's the one on the dirt road. The superstitious think he's a shaman—a holy man. Tom's a former logger who knows everyone. Not as old, but he's plugged in to everything that happens around here. He probably already knows you're looking for him,” Manchester said with a grin. “Both speak some English, so you shouldn't need a translator. As for the car, this guy's
honest and his vehicles aren't bad. Tell him I sent you and he'll treat you well.”

They stood and shook hands and Sam's was again crushed as he forced a tight smile. Once out in the swelter, he read the directions to the car rental company and shook his head.

“Quite an adventure, all right. Look at these directions. ‘Take dirt road east, past washed-out bridge, look for a hut on left near big banyan tree.' How badly do you want to do this?” he asked.

Remi shrugged. “We don't have anything better to do. Might as well see the sights.”

“Right. What could go wrong?”

Remi froze and then slowly shook her head. “How many times . . .”

“Oops. Sorry. I take it back. I never said it.”

“Too late. The universe heard you.”

“Let's hope it's not paying much attention to the Solomons today.” He looked around at the shabby storefronts and sparse traffic. A rooster eyed them from across the street before darting around a corner.

“Looks like a fairly safe bet.”