Read The Solomon Curse Online

Authors: Clive Cussler

The Solomon Curse (10 page)

“Then gold mine it is.”

—

The drive back
to the main road seemed longer, if anything, and by the time they made it to the asphalt they were both over the thrill of rural off-roading.

The pavement degraded after they turned off the coastal road until soon it was loose gravel over potholes and ruts deep enough to break an axle. Acres of trees of a palm oil plantation lined the way, one of the island's principal industries. As they climbed into the mountains, Sam checked his rearview mirror several times.

“Looks like we're not the only ones out for a drive,” he said.

“I wonder if that's the one we heard back by Rubo's? That's the first car we've seen today outside of town, and this is a pretty rural area.”

“In a way, it's reassuring. At least if we break down, we won't be walking twenty miles for help.”

“Why do you have to jinx us by thinking negative thoughts like that?”

“Sorry. Just the way my mind works.”

They passed a lagoon with a small traditional village and then a small company town of abandoned Quonset huts.

“Ghost town, isn't it?” Remi said.

“Makes sense if the mine's shut down. Not like there are dozens of ways to make a living out here.”

They continued south and, when they came over the crest of a hill, saw an expanse below them that looked like a giant hand had scraped the jungle from the mountaintop, leaving only bare earth. A security gate blocked the road in front of them, but the buildings behind it were empty, their glass shattered, and the gate broken.

“Are you sure about this, Sam?” Remi asked.

“Looks like we're not the first to want to poke around.”

“Right, but it's private property.”

“Well, maybe, but since the mine's closed, I'm not sure that matters. Besides, it's not like we cut chains or jumped the fence. And we're not here to steal anything.”

“Save it for the cops.”

“I don't think they have any outside of town.”

“And that's a good thing?”

Sam coaxed the Nissan forward and farther up the mountain road until they were above the main processing plant. He stopped by the massive conveyor system that had once hauled ore to the crushers and eyed the line of abandoned ore trucks.

“Not a soul around. A little eerie, isn't it?” he said, his voice low. “You want to get out or keep going?”

“Keep going.”

The road twisted along the ridge, and when they rounded a curve, they came face to face with the open pits, where the land had been methodically excavated and hauled to the plant for processing. The road ended at the southernmost, largest pit, and this time when Sam stopped, Remi agreed to look around. They got out of the vehicle and the heat immediately assaulted them.

Remi turned to Sam. “It's like they cut off the top of the mountain. I've never seen anything like it. It's . . . it just seems so destructive.”

A hot wind gusted across the mountain, carrying with it a low moan
from the plant as it blew through the towers. Eventually, Sam led Remi back to the truck. They buckled up and Remi shook her head. “I don't know what I was expecting to see, but it wasn't that.”

Sam twisted the wheel and they backtracked down the grade. When they passed the security gate, they accelerated, kicking up dust as they rolled down the mountain. Remi closed her eyes, enjoying the cool air blowing from the vents, and then Sam's voice jogged her out of her thoughts.

“We've got company.”

She sat up, eyes wide. “And?”

“And either they want to race or they want to pass.”

Remi glanced in the passenger-side mirror as they bounced along. “Well, slow down so they can get by. We're in no hurry.”

Sam rolled his window down and motioned for the truck to pass as he slowed down. They both heard the roar of the vehicle's big engine before they felt the jarring blow as the truck's front bumper struck the rear quarter panel. Sam floored the gas and downshifted, fighting to stay on the narrow road, the tires slipping and sliding before regaining their grip.

“Hang on,” he yelled as he eyed the rearview mirror, cursing silently at the coating of mud that obscured all but a hazy outline of the truck. He returned his attention to the road in front of him and glanced at the speedometer, trying to gauge how much more speed he could squeeze out of the Xterra without flipping it on one of the hairpin curves.

The truck accelerated, keeping pace, and as it tried to pull alongside, Sam twisted the SUV's steering wheel, blocking the move. They approached a winding stretch of road and he gunned the gas, hoping their smaller vehicle's agility would enable him to gain some valuable distance from the madman in the truck. The Xterra slalomed around the turns, Sam's knuckles tightened on the wheel as he piloted the SUV to within inches of its limits.

Remi craned her neck to better see their pursuers, but her side
mirror, like the rear window, was coated in mud from the earlier slog down the river road. Sam swerved again as they hit a straightaway, trying to keep the truck behind him as its larger engine kicked in and it pulled closer.

Sam tapped the brakes and downshifted as he neared a tight turn, and then things happened fast. The big pickup truck rammed the rear bumper of the Nissan hard enough to snap their necks back against the headrests, and the Xterra fishtailed out of control as Sam battled with the steering wheel. Remi wedged her feet up against the dashboard as the truck rammed them again, and then the Nissan was flipping, tumbling down the steep gorge toward the river far below.

CHAPTER 13

Steam hissed from beneath the ruined hood as Sam fought to free himself from the seat belt. The SUV had come to rest on its side. River water rushed around it and through the shattered windows. Remi sputtered as she groped for the seat belt's release, but Sam got to it first and she fell against him as the water level rose, soaking them both.

“You okay?” he asked as he pushed deflated air bags aside.

She nodded. “A few bumps and bruises.”

Sam tested his limbs and then gazed around the submerged cabin. “How do you want to do this?”

“Out my window.”

“Okay.”

Remi hoisted herself toward her door and then up through the gap where her passenger window had been as the cabin filled. Sam followed her to where she was clinging to the side of the Nissan, and then a fountain of spray exploded from the river's surface, followed almost
instantly by the sharp crack of a gun from the road above. They released their hold on the SUV and slid into the river as another shot punched a hole in its roof, and then they were carried downstream in the brown current, the river only six feet deep but swollen from the rains.

Sam yelled at Remi, whose head bobbed above the surface. “First bend, climb out at the far shore and take cover.”

“Got it.”

He could barely hear her above the rush of the water.

Their speed increased as they approached a narrower section that churned with white froth. Rapids. Rocks beneath the surface, most likely sharp. He began pulling for the shore as the water deepened and found that he could beat the current. Remi followed his lead, and Sam helped Remi onto the bank near the rapids, gasping for breath.

Sam listened for more shots as he peered up at where the road followed the ridge, now several hundred yards away. If the shooter had a pistol, they were so far out of range they had no worries. If a rifle with a scope, they were still in trouble.

“I thought there were no guns on the island,” Remi whispered.

“Apparently, gun laws only work with law-abiding citizens. We can assume whoever was shooting at us doesn't fit that description.”

They both saw motion at the bend in the river and ducked low. Two islanders were making their way along the bank, one clutching a revolver. They were still a good hundred yards away and apparently hadn't spotted Sam and Remi.

Sam whispered to her, “Slide back into the brush. As long as they're on that side, they'll never spot us.”

Soon they were hidden by the dense vegetation. They watched as the men followed the river south. Both Sam and Remi held still as their pursuers eyed the foliage on both sides of the river and then faltered as they neared the rapids. The pair was close enough that their voices carried over the sound of the rushing water. The one with the pistol gestured with it downriver as though emphasizing his point, and then
they turned and made their way back to the bend. Remi exhaled softly when they disappeared from view, but neither she nor Sam dared move in case the men had gone in search of reinforcements.

They waited ten minutes, ears straining for any sound of pursuit, but heard and saw nothing.

“Looks like they're gone,” Remi whispered.

“Right. But the question is who ‘they' are.”

“Maybe someone associated with the mine? Or a group of the militia Manchester was warning us about?”

“Could be. But the way he described their territory, they were in the central part of the island, by the caves.”

She stared up the river and shook her head. “I don't get it. Why would anyone want to run us off the road and shoot at us? Even if they were militia?”

“That's a good question.”

“All we've done is talk to a couple of old men about some legendary ruins.”

“Don't forget the giants.” Sam took a final look at where the men had disappeared beyond the bend and then stood. “Looks like it's just you and me, kid.” He inspected his wet clothes. “The only good part about this weather is that we won't freeze. In fact, once we're out in the sun, we'll be dry in a few minutes.”

“That's great. But the main road's at least, what, six or seven miles away?”

“Probably. Assuming it's safe to walk to it. Didn't someone say there were crocodiles along most of the rivers?”

“Not exactly positive thinking, Fargo.”

“Okay. I'm
positive
there are crocodiles along most of the rivers.”

Remi smiled in spite of herself. “That's better. See how easy that was?” She struggled to her feet and felt her neck. Sam eyed her with concern.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“Probably a touch of whiplash. But God bless whoever invented the air bag and seat belt.”

Sam glanced back up to where the car was wrecked. “I'm glad I took the extra insurance. Think it covers running off a cliff?”

“Probably an exception in the fine print.” She felt the side of her face, which was swelling.

“There are two ways to go—the road or the river. Which would you rather face—a thug with a gun or twenty feet of hungry croc?” Sam asked.

“What's the middle choice?”

Sam offered a pained smile in response.

Remi eyed the rushing water. “If I were our attackers, I'd have hightailed it out of here once we disappeared. That looks like what they did.”

“I hope you're right.”

Remi followed Sam's gaze up the river. “Me too.”

“It'll probably be shallower after the rapids. We can try crossing there and find the road,” suggested Sam.

“Lead the way. Mind the crocodiles.”

“Thanks. I'd almost forgotten.”

Sam carefully moved along the bank as they worked their way downstream. The roar of the rapids increased, and, as he'd hoped, after a deep pool with eddies swirling along the surface, the river widened and he could see the bottom. Crossing was still tricky. They held hands as they waded up to their waists, Sam feeling along the bottom with his feet as they gingerly made their way to the far shore.

Once on dry land again, they waited for their clothes to dry, and in fifteen minutes were on the dirt track that led back to the seashore road. Two hours later, a farmer heading into town with a half-loaded pickup gave them a ride. The man's wizened face showed no surprise at finding two Americans hitchhiking on a road to nowhere who looked like they'd gone over the falls in a barrel.

Remi leaned her head against Sam's arm as the truck bumped along.

“How's the neck?” he asked over the noise of the wind.

“I could seriously use a massage, but, other than that, I'll live.”

“Maybe we can find you a spa in town,” Sam said hopefully.

“Sure. I could see that as a viable business here.”

“Maybe settle for an amateur massage after a long shower?”

“You really don't think of anything else, do you?”

“That was completely innocent, Remi. I swear.”

She shifted her head and stared up at him with a hint of amusement. “It always starts that way.”

As they neared Honiara, Sam grew quiet.

Remi nudged him. “What now?”

“We need to find the police and report this.”

“Okay. Ask the driver to take us to the station, or at least give us directions.”

Sam rapped on the rear window, startling the farmer, who slammed on the brakes, causing both Sam and Remi to bang into the rear of the cab.

Sam leaned toward the driver's-side window. “Can you take us to the police station?”

The farmer seemed to understand the word “police” and nodded before giving the old truck gas. Sam slid toward the tailgate and came to rest next to Remi.

“I think that went well.”

She gave him a wide grin. “You're my hero. Crocodile Fargo, the great white hunter.”

“I just hope the police can do something other than commiserate. I think it was a Dodge truck, but it all happened so fast I can't be sure.”

The duty officer showed them to a waiting area, where a sergeant took down their report, nodding and asking polite questions now and again. By the end of the hour, two things were apparent to the Fargos: the police were concerned and meant well, and the likelihood of
anything happening soon, or ever, was low. The officer explained the problem as politically as he could.

“We'll check on all the trucks registered on the island, but it could be a long process. And if the driver is any good with sandpaper and paint, we may never find the culprits.”

“But they shot at us. It was deliberate. We saw two of them after we crashed. They were looking for us.”

“Yes, I wrote down the descriptions—two men, islanders, medium height, no distinguishing marks, wearing jean shorts and T-shirts, one brown or burgundy, the other pale blue,” the officer said. “The problem, as you can probably appreciate, is that describes about half the population. We'll do our best, but it's not much to go on.” He shook his head. “Your rental vehicle will tell the story, I'm sure. There will be evidence you were rammed, and you say that a shot hit it, so there will be a bullet hole.”

“Yes,” Remi agreed, her heart sinking as she listened.

The policeman regarded both of them. “Why are you in the islands?”

“We're on vacation,” Sam said, which was close enough to the truth.

“Have you gotten into any fights? A disagreement with someone here?” the officer asked, and they shook their heads.

“No. Everyone's been nice,” Remi said.

“So you can't think of anyone who would try to kill you.” It wasn't a question.

“No. It makes no sense,” Sam said.

The man stared hard at him. “Well, it must to someone. We just don't have this kind of thing happen here, Mr. Fargo. We're generally a peaceful island. It's not like we have roving gangs of criminals going after our tourists.”

It was clear from his tone that the policeman wasn't buying the tourist explanation, and neither Sam nor Remi wanted to push the issue. When they finished with the questioning, they were close enough
to their hotel to walk, and once again the front desk staff seemed horrified by their appearance as they strode through the lobby.

“We're making quite an impression,” Remi said under her breath. “Next time you want to go sightseeing, I'm out.”

He smiled at the clerk, whose face was frozen in a disapproving expression, and leaned into Remi.

“Next time I suggest it, hit me on the head with a brick.”

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