Read The Solomon Curse Online

Authors: Clive Cussler

The Solomon Curse (23 page)

CHAPTER 36

Three hours later, they had returned the diary to Chiyoko and were sitting in the Narita Airport departure lounge, awaiting their flight. They had e-mailed the scans of the pages to Selma with the instruction to find a translator as soon as possible. Both were quiet. Chiyoko's story weighed heavily on their minds. Remi intently paged through a site on her tablet, preoccupied.

Sam studied her face. “You okay?”

“I suppose so.”

“A lot to think about, isn't it?”

“Yes. I can't shake her description of the firebombing. Imagine what that must have been like—to lose your mother at such an early age. And the scars . . .”

“According to Selma's research, Chiyoko never married. I can't help but think that the scarring might have played a role,” Sam said. “It had to have been terrible to grow up like that.”

“I'd bet the external damage is nothing compared to the baggage she's carrying around inside.”

“No question.”

They watched the busy crowd rush through the terminal, countless anonymous faces on their busy way to important destinations. Remi shifted in her seat and edged closer to Sam.

“Anything interesting online?” he asked, peering at the tablet screen.

“Oh, just a litany of horror. One historian estimates that the Japanese killed thirty million. It's mind-boggling.”

“Hard to comprehend,” Sam agreed. He sat back in his chair and checked the time. “I wonder if I can get a clear line of sight for the sat phone over by the window?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Sam retrieved the phone from his bag. After half a minute, the device had acquired a satellite and he dialed Selma's number. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Same to you.”

“Did you get the file we sent?”

“Of course. We're already working on it.”

“You found someone who can translate it that quickly?”

“Call it serendipity. Lazlo was here first thing today, nosing around, and he volunteered. Apparently, he reads and writes it fluently. He's a man of many surprises.”

“So I've heard,” Sam said drily. “Did he give you any feeling for when he'd have it done?”

“He said he'd get right on it. Poor man seems bored out of his mind. He practically ran out of here with the file.” Selma hesitated. “Your new boat's on its way.”

“Super. What's the ETA?”

“Four days.”

“Leonid will be ecstatic.”

“Then my life has meaning. Is he still as cheery as ever?”

“Practically giddy with good humor.”

An announcement for the flight blared over the speakers in three different languages. Sam finished up with Selma, and a few minutes later the Fargos were aboard the plane.

Their connection in Australia put them back into Honiara midafternoon the following day, the flight almost empty. Apparently, there was little rush to vacation on an island on the brink of civil war. The hotel was equally quiet, the clerks eager to please, the manager typically reserved when he saw them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. Welcome back,” he greeted, sounding unenthusiastic.

“Thanks. Any new developments?” Sam asked.

“No. All is quiet, thank goodness.”

“That's a bit of luck, right?” Remi said.

“Let's hope it holds,” the manager agreed.

Once settled in their room, Sam powered up the sat phone and called Selma.

“We're back in Guadalcanal. What's the good word?” he asked.

“Good timing on your part. Lazlo's right here. You want to talk to him?”

“Sure.”

Lazlo's British-accented voice came on the line. “Sam, my good man. Globe-trotting around the world, I hear?”

“Hardly. More like puddle-jumping from island to island. How's the translation going?”

“About halfway through. Tedious stuff, for the most part. Bad haikus, dreadful poetry, long passages lamenting living in captivity.”

“Anything catch your eye?”

“Since you mention it, yes, there's something odd about the prose. I can't be certain, but it seems like there's an underlying pattern to some
of the entries that's deeper than the maudlin sentiments the author is expressing.”

“A pattern?”

“Too soon to say for certain of course, but my sniffer is on alert.”

“You think there could be some sort of code embedded in the text?”

“That would be my first guess, but it's just a hunch. Let me get the entire text translated and I'll run it through some of my programs and see what I can spot. I'm hoping to have it done by late tonight.”

“Keep us informed.”

“As always. Enjoy the swaying palms and tropical breeze.”

“Thanks. We'll try.”

Remi eyed Sam expectantly when he returned from the terrace. “Well?”

“Lazlo's hard at work. Thinks there might be a code. Or there might not.”

“That sounds promising. Or not.”

Sam grinned. “If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.” He checked the time. “You want to go for a ride?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want to pay Rubo another visit. Probe him for more info and see if his story stays the same—if his buddy told him more than he let on, he might slip up now that it's been a few days.”

When they pulled up to the shack, two vehicles blocked the way: a police truck and an ambulance. Sam and Remi exchanged a worried glance and stepped out of the Pathfinder, only to find themselves facing a burly island policeman, hands on his hips, his eyes inscrutable behind aviator sunglasses.

“What happened? Is Rubo all right?” Remi asked as they approached.

“I'm afraid this is as far as you go,” the officer said.

“We're here to see him. What happened?” Sam explained.

“Accident. Looks like he slipped and hit his head.”

They were interrupted by two paramedics pushing a gurney onto Rubo's porch from inside the house. A sheet pulled over Rubo's slight frame, provided all the explanation necessary. The policeman glanced over at the body as the men carted the gurney across the uneven muddy terrain to the ambulance and then turned to Sam and Remi. “Was there anything else?” he asked.

“No. Poor man. I hope he didn't suffer,” Remi said.

“No way of knowing for sure, but the techs say he probably didn't,” the cop said.

Sam and Remi walked slowly back to the car. Sam slid behind the wheel and glanced over at Remi as he started the engine. “Old Rubo managed to live to be nearly a hundred without any issues, and right after he goes with us to ask about the past, he has a fatal accident. Am I being paranoid or is the timing suspicious?”

“You're asking the woman you were in the river with, dodging gunmen after being run off the road, whether you're paranoid?”

Sam's grin was humorless. “Good point.”

CHAPTER 37

The next morning, Selma called as Sam and Remi sat on the oceanfront veranda, enjoying their coffee, the fishing fleet rocking at anchor in the harbor as the sun rose out of the sea. Sam lifted the handset to his ear and punched it to life.

“Selma! Tell me you have good news. We could use some.”

“Why? What happened?”

Sam told her about Rubo's demise.

Selma's voice quieted. “I'm sorry to hear about it. Definitely sounds fishy. Although you did say he was old . . . Still, I hope you and Remi are watching your backs.”

“There isn't a lot else to do here, Selma. Now, how about your news?”

“I have Lazlo with me. He wants to tell you.”

“Put him on.”

When Lazlo spoke, he sounded exuberant. “Greetings and salutations. Your Japanese diary definitely held some surprises.”

“I presume you're not talking about particularly resonant poems, Lazlo.”

“Actually, the prose was agonizing—a lot of bloodred sunsets and still water, that sort of thing. Terribly amateur. But the substitution cypher wasn't.”

“Substitution cypher,” Sam repeated.

“That's correct. But even once I cracked it with my program, I'm not sure it makes a huge amount of sense. It's rather oblique.”

“Why don't you tell me what it says?”

“I'll do one better. I've shot my findings to your e-mail. Check it as soon as you can and see if it means anything to you. It's possible I missed some key parts. I'll continue checking, but I doubt it.”

“Can you summarize?”

“Rather a lot of blather about a village, a waterfall, that sort of thing. Seems like directions, but I'd think longitude and latitude would have been more useful.”

“It's possible he didn't have access to his notes or a GPS when he wrote it,” Sam joked.

“That's certainly one explanation. The other is that he was wary that someone would crack the code. I should say that's unlikely, given the technology in use during the war, but it's a possibility. Nowadays, of course, a car has more computing power than the entire Allied cryptology effort, so for a seasoned pro like me it's child's play.”

“Which is why we're glad you're on our team, Lazlo,” Sam assured him.

“Take a gander at it and call Selma or me if you have any questions. Meanwhile, I'll stay on it.”

“Thank you, Lazlo. Nice work.”

“I hope it helps. Selma is as tight-lipped as the Sphinx when it comes to what you two are up to over there. It's all I could do to drag a few tidbits out of her.”

“We've located a sunken city, and it looks like there was a treasure of some sort the Japanese located and hid before they evacuated the island. Your contribution may be the key to finding it.” Sam smiled at Remi. “Lazlo, are you busy with anything at the moment?”

“I'm debating writing the great American novel. But then I remember I'm British and watch the telly instead.”

“Think you could stomach a flight to the lovely Solomon Islands to help us on our treasure hunt?”

Remi gave Sam a sidelong glance and sighed. There was no hesitation when Lazlo answered. “I'll be on the next plane out.”

“That would put you here in a couple of days.”

“Don't go and find the treasure without me.”

“Might want to have Selma get you a can of crocodile repellent and some giant spray. Oh, and a Kevlar vest in case there's more rioting or assassinations.”

“What's that you say?”

“Never mind. Dress for the tropics. Let us know when your flight arrives so we can roll out the welcome committee.”

“Will do.”

Remi signaled to the waiter for a refill of coffee as Sam hung up and she fixed him with a skeptical eye. “We really need Lazlo here?”

“He's bouncing off the walls with nothing to do. And he did decode the diary.” He told her about the cypher and the e-mail.

“So our suspicions were correct. Kumasaka hid the treasure, planning to come back for it after the war,” Remi said.

“Or once the Allies were driven back by the might of the Axis powers.”

“That didn't quite work out as planned.” She waited as the server topped off her cup. “But why Lazlo, at this stage? It sounds like we're close.”

“I think it would lift his spirits to be in on the hunt.”

She gazed at a gull, riding an updraft over the water. “I don't know, Sam. With the rebels knocking people off left and right . . .”

“He can always hop on a plane out just as easily as we can. Or join us on the boat.”

“Speaking of which, are we heading out there today?”

“I think it would be good to show our faces. Moral support for Leonid and all.”

Back in their room, Remi pulled up the e-mail and they read Lazlo's attachment. When they were done, Remi shook her head. “Just once, I'd like to have a clear set of directions. Just once. Is that too much to ask?”

“It would take all the fun out of it.”

“Maybe, but come on. This could be anywhere. He doesn't even identify which village he used as his starting point.”

“Lazlo did say he might have missed something. Could be a starting point yet to surface. Even so, we're way ahead of where we were just a few days ago. He places the cave near a waterfall.”

“There's some ambiguity there, I think. Lazlo makes a point of indicating that it could be plural, as in caves.”

“Cave, caves, at least we have something to follow now.”

“I know.” She checked her watch. “How hard do you think it will be to round up some decent spelunking gear on the island?”

“Basics? Shouldn't be too bad. I'll make out a list and send it to Selma, just in case. Lazlo can bring anything we can't locate.”

There was only one police checkpoint just outside of town and little traffic as they followed the winding road to the turnoff that led to the bay. They were again the only vehicle parked by the shore and there were no fresh tire tracks, their old ones long since washed away by the regular cloudbursts. Des arrived in the skiff five minutes after they arrived and gave them a progress report as they bounced over the mild waves toward the
Darwin
.

Once on board, Des led them to the bridge, where Leonid was in his customary position in front of the monitor display, watching the divers
go about their work. He glanced up when Sam and Remi entered and then went back to staring at the screens.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sam said as he neared.

“More like afternoon now, isn't it?” Leonid said.

“When you're in the islands, time slows down. Don't you know that?” Remi said with a smile. “How's it going?”

“Agonizing. It'll be years, at this rate,” Leonid said.

“I have good news for you, my aquatic friend,” Sam announced. “There's a much larger ship en route. It should be here in no time.” Sam told him about the research vessel and, uncharacteristically, a hint of a smile played across the Russian's taciturn face.

“Won't be a minute too soon,” Leonid said.

“But, in the meantime, we have a related project to which we need you to bring your considerable skills.” Sam described the encrypted clues Lazlo had discovered. “We were hoping you might want to get off the boat for a little while and help us find King Loc's treasure. Unless you've got your hands full here,” Sam said, eyeing the cloudy images on the monitors.

“Back on solid ground? When do we leave?”

“Shortly. We have an associate coming from San Diego with some supplies we'll need. Figure in two days, tops.” Sam smiled. “In the meantime, we can do a little diving together. Remi's been bugging me about seeing you in action. I hate to deprive her of anything.”

Remi nodded enthusiastically. “That's right. We'll stay overnight so we can get in some morning dives, too. You ready to suit up and put those newfound skills of yours to work?”

Leonid closed his eyes and shook his head. “I hope you're joking.”

Remi waited until his eyes flittered open and gave him a wicked grin. “I never joke about diving.”

Sam shrugged. “She's the boss. Come on, Aquaman. Time to get wet.”

Other books

Holiday in Cambodia by Laura Jean McKay
Out of the Mist by EvergreenWritersGroup
B00JX4CVBU EBOK by Peter Joison
Home by Another Way by Robert Benson
Daughter of the Sword by Jeanne Williams
Hide Away by Iris Johansen
Liberty Street by Dianne Warren
Perfectly Unpredictable by Linda O'Connor
Gravewriter by Mark Arsenault