The Solomon Curse (30 page)

“I'll bear that in mind.”

Remi came first and, not unexpectedly, made it to Sam's position in just a few minutes. Sam helped her climb through the aperture, ignoring the trickle of small rocks knocked loose by her passage, and she pushed through the vines into the night.

Lazlo took three times longer, climbing gingerly toward Sam and freezing in place every time a stone gave way and tumbled below. When he finally made it to Sam, he was panting like he'd run a marathon and he had to stop to rest before making the final effort to clamber through the gap.

Sam followed him out, the temperature increasing at least thirty degrees once he was in the jungle air. A thin scythe of moon hung
overhead, bathing the area in a pale wash. Sam brushed dirt off his shirt and then moved to Remi and hugged her close, whispering in her ear as he held her.

“That didn't go exactly as planned.”

She pulled away and held his gaze. “But we're out. And Leonid could be lying in a crevice with a broken back.” She glanced around the hillside. “Time to earn your keep, Fargo. Which way do you think the road is?”

Sam thought for a moment and then tilted his head to their right. “That way. I caught a glimpse of ocean through the trees as I climbed out.”

“Then let's get going. Vengeance may be a dish best served cold, but after being kidnapped, tied up, threatened, and chased, I'm impatient for a little payback.”

Sam nodded. “Me too.”

Sydney, Australia

Jeffrey Grimes sat on the terrace of his lavish contemporary home on the waterfront of Sydney Harbor, watching the sun sink into the southern ocean. Smooth jazz pulsed from hidden speakers near the floor-to-ceiling pocket doors as he admired the play of light on the waves that stretched to South Head and the Hornsby Lighthouse in the distance. He took a long pull on his Cuban Montecristo Gran Corona cigar and studied the glowing ember with satisfaction before resting it in a crystal ashtray and leaning back in his chair.

The call he'd received earlier had put a smile on his face. Guadalcanal was in turmoil: rioting and looting had started shortly after the most recent rebel action, and several pliant MPs had advanced a bill in an emergency meeting of Parliament that effectively nationalized the key industries he was interested in. His mystery partner had assured him that now the primary opponents to nationalization had been neutralized (he liked that word—“neutralized”—a term that was far more civilized
and professional than the more vulgar “murdered” or “assassinated”), it was just a matter of a little more time, and a few more dollars spread in the right places, and their scheme would come to successful fruition.

The entire exercise had been stressful for him and he was glad it was finally ending. Grimes was accustomed to having total control over his projects and taking a backseat to a disembodied voice on the telephone had gone against the grain. He told people what to do, he didn't listen quietly like a serving girl being issued her day's chores. Playing nice with his partner had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but it looked like his high-stakes gamble was about to pay off as handsomely as he had hoped.

“Jeffrey? Are you going to sit out there all night?” a female voice called from inside the house.

Grimes glanced over his shoulder to where a young woman with impossibly long tanned legs, wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else, stood by the picture window, a frown of discontent on her flawless face. Another expensive vice, he thought, as he took a small sip of the port and rolled the mahogany nectar in his mouth, savoring the toffee and hazelnut notes, before rising with a final look at the waning sunset, cigar clutched in his hand.

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

Finding a trail that led toward the coastal road proved more difficult than Sam had hoped. He led Remi and Lazlo down the uneven slope, taking care to avoid the area near the ridge for fear of running across a rebel search party. The memory of dozens of skeletons tossed into the caverns like so much firewood was still vivid in all their minds and their passage through the brush was quieter for their recollection.

“Wish we had one of those machetes right about now,” Lazlo complained under his breath as a branch pulled at his shirt.

“If we're going to wish, I'd want a few AK-47s and some grenades,” Sam replied.

“And a helicopter. Don't forget the helicopter,” Remi said.

“Never,” Sam assured her and then slowed. “I think there's a trail ahead,” he whispered.

They approached the opening in the underbrush cautiously. Sam eyed the trail and nodded. “This looks good. Hopefully, it will get us close.”

They hadn't discussed what to do next, other than find the logging road and pray that Greg was still there. Everyone knew it was a long shot, but there was a chance that the rebels wouldn't move against Greg until the situation in the caves was resolved, in which case the Mitsubishi was their best shot. The alternative was to try to hitch a ride on the coastal road—an ugly proposition under the best of circumstances, given that they hadn't seen another vehicle on the way there.

Their progress was slow, and more than once they almost lost their footing to an unseen rut or a lurking vine, obstacles nearly invisible with the clouds obscuring the moonlight.

After hours following the wandering trail, they emerged in a clearing, where the first dim pink of dawn was lighting the sky through gaps in the canopy. Remi pointed at the strip of asphalt beyond the tree line and sighed. “There's the road.”

“Thank goodness,” Lazlo said. “I don't suppose either of you has a fully charged sat phone in your back pocket, do you?”

“Afraid not, old badger,” Sam said, affecting his best British accent. “But maybe we'll get lucky.”

“That's been rather a poor expectation so far, hasn't it?” Lazlo countered.

“Killjoy.”

Remi cocked her head, listening intently. Sam raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I hear a motor. Faint, but there.”

Remi took off at a dead run, making for the road, Sam close behind her, and Lazlo, as was customary in the bush, bringing up the rear from a considerable distance. Sam caught up to her and grabbed her arm as they neared the road. “Let's stay out of sight until we're sure it's not rebels.”

She nodded, her eyes fatigued but acknowledging the wisdom in his words. They crouched behind a large banyan tree as Lazlo caught up. Remi's face lit up with relief when she saw the source of the engine noise approaching on the road.

“Look. It's an ambulance, from town,” she said.

Sam stepped from behind the tree as the ambulance neared, waving his hands over his head. The ambulance slowed, its emergency lights flashing red and blue, the driver probably surprised to come across three foreigners in the middle of nowhere just after dawn. The vehicle rolled to a stop on the roadside ten yards from where they stood.

“It should have a radio. Finally, a lucky break—we can get help a lot faster,” Sam said, and then his voice trailed off when the doors at the rear of the ambulance swung open and a familiar figure stepped onto the pavement. The shape of the pistol in the man's hand was unmistakable, in the unlikely event any of them had forgotten the lead gunman's face.

“Oh no . . .” Remi said, preparing to bolt. A second gunman descended from the rear of the ambulance with an ancient rifle, an evil grin twisting his features, stopping her in her tracks. At that distance, a pistol shot might miss, but not a rifle.

“Well, well, well. Look what we found,” the gunman said, approaching them with his weapon held casually by his side. “Small world, no?” he asked as he neared, and slammed Sam in the side of the head with a brutal blow from the pistol's stock before he could raise his hands to defend himself.

“No!” Remi screamed, lunging at the gunman, but it was too late.

The sky spun and the world faded from Sam as he crumpled to the road, unconscious.

Sam shifted on the hard stone floor as awareness seeped back into his brutalized cranium. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and then the blur of indistinct objects resolved itself into the concerned face of Remi, staring down at him, Lazlo looking over her shoulder. Sam blinked, and his head felt like someone had broken a two-by-four over it. He raised a tentative hand to his temple and drew a sharp breath when pain radiated through his skull from the swollen bump, crusted over with blood where the pistol had broken skin.

Sam tried to sit up, but the room spun, and a sound like a freight train roaring through a tunnel filled his ears. He thought better of it, deciding that a few more moments remaining supine wouldn't hurt, and then his brain began processing the words that Remi was urgently whispering.

“We're back in the caves. But this one's different,” she said. He tried
to make sense out of that. Last thing he remembered, he was on the road, waving down an ambulance . . .

His memory came rushing back in a jumble of images. The gunmen. A blow to the head. Darkness.

Sam struggled up, leaning on one elbow, and regarded Remi. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a croak.

“Yes. They roughed us up some, but you got the worst of it.”

“I feel like I wrestled a bear.” He blinked again. “The bear won.”

“Not far from the truth,” Lazlo said. “You look a trifle played.”

“That's what happens when they use your head for a punching bag,” Sam said, and sat up. This time, the room didn't spin—it tilted—and the nausea that accompanied that sensation surged before slowly receding. He looked back at Remi. “What do you mean, this cave's different?”

“It's not the same one we were in. It's better lit, and has multiple chambers . . . one of which has some hospital beds in it, along with medical equipment.”

“Medical equipment?” Sam asked, trying to make sense out of hospital beds in caves. “What kind of medical equipment?”

A rusting iron slab at the far end of their empty chamber creaked open and Carol Vanya stepped in, a pleasant smile on her face like she'd dropped by to chat. Two gunmen followed her, brandishing their weapons with ugly expressions.

“Oh, mostly vital signs monitors, IVs, oxygen tanks, that sort of thing,” Vanya said. “We've got a solar array set up in a clearing with a considerable battery bank, and a wind generator, as well as a water-driven generator that's surprisingly powerful.”

Remi glared at her in shock. “You! Why have you kidnapped us?”

Vanya shrugged. “I did try to warn you to leave the island. Several times. But you wouldn't pay heed. This is what happens when you think you're so superior that you don't have to listen to the well-intentioned advice of those who care about you.”

“That's not an answer,” Sam managed. Vanya shrugged again.

“You stuck your noses where they didn't belong. That created a problem. Again, you were warned.”

“What are you talking about?” Remi demanded.

“Apparently, you believe I'm here to answer your questions. You've got that backwards. So let's start with why you were rooting around in the caves. What were you looking for?”

“We weren't looking for anything,” Lazlo lied unconvincingly. “Just exploring.”

Vanya sighed. “My associates here are waiting to take you apart, limb by limb. I'd hoped to have a civilized discussion, but if you want to progress to the ugliness, so be it . . .”

Remi shook her head. “We were looking for artifacts. Some of the evidence we found in the sunken city pointed to the caves,” she said, offering a partial truth.

“Ah, yes. The infamous sunken city.” She regarded them curiously. “What artifacts?”

“Items of potential archaeological significance,” Remi fired back.

“Well, I hope it was worth it to you because it cost you your lives.”

Sam fixed her with a hard stare. “You'll never get away with this. Too many people know we're here.”

Vanya laughed. “In case you haven't noticed, the island's awash with rebels. Foreigners and politicians are falling like bowling pins. So a few misguided, pampered dilettantes disappear into the jungle in the midst of a civil war? I'm sure the memorial service will be touching. Perhaps I'll deliver the eulogy—about troubled times, adventurous souls, generous spirits.”

“Why are you doing this?” Remi whispered.

“You've intruded into matters that are none of your concern. Unfortunately, once seen, your discoveries can never be unseen, so even if you swore to remain silent, there's no way I could allow you to leave.”

Sam's eyes widened. “You're involved in the skeletons? The children?”

“Regrettably, some of the more aggressive medical treatments result in terminal side effects. When dealing with incurable illnesses like malaria, it's often necessary to try experimental approaches in order to advance the human condition. It's a necessary by-product of discovery, of developing new cures.”

“You'd kill some of your patients,” Lazlo said, almost in awe. “The disappearing village children . . .”

“I've been fortunate enough to work in an unofficial capacity with some visionary pharmaceutical companies. But, as with most industries, they're hamstrung by arcane rules and regulations that prevent them from creating cures that could save millions. So they seek out medical professionals who understand that the greater good sometimes requires regrettable sacrifices.” Vanya offered another smile, but instead of warming her face, the effect was chilling. “Don't look at me like that. I assure you it's nothing new. For decades, Africa has been a testing ground for new vaccines and treatments. Nobody cares what happens over there—or even knows anything is happening at all. A few villages nobody's heard of suffer casualties, but disastrous human plagues are averted. It's the way of the world.”

“It's monstrous. A violation of international law,” Remi stated flatly.

“Spare me your high moral tone. Your country refuses to abide by international law and flouts it constantly. Why should I be any more bound by it than you?”

“You're insane,” Sam said, his voice quiet.

“Oh, right. Of course I am. That's always the reaction of the uninformed when you confront reality. You don't want to know the truth, preferring to live in a dreamworld.” Her face darkened. “In Guinea and Liberia, there are ‘defensive' bioweapons laboratories that are funded by your country. Why? Because those nations never signed the bioweapons proliferation treaties your government did, so your military-industrial complex can develop nightmares there without technically
violating the treaties. It's a shell game designed for one purpose—to carry out research the civilized world has agreed shouldn't be continued. But how much outrage does that cause in you? None. What I'm doing is far more benign.”

“It isn't the same as murdering children,” Remi spat.

“Are you kidding me? I just told you that the same thing has been done in Africa for most of the twentieth century.”

“That's a rationalization for taking money from the same drug companies you claim to despise and conducting research that would land you in prison for life. It's got nothing to do with idealism, and everything with money,” Sam countered.

“You can't be that blind. This is the way the world works. The appetite for medical miracles is insatiable, and there are large tracts of the planet that are off the radar, where shortcuts can be had, saving years, and sometimes decades, so developed nations can enjoy breakthroughs. Do you really believe that ethics and morality, which shift depending on which side of a border you're on, guide behavior all over the world?”

She frowned. “Your government, your corporations, are guilty of so-called crimes as bad, or worse, than anything I've done here. For all your self-righteousness, you're no better than I am. You want the benefits—you just don't want to hear about how the sausage is made.”

“You swore an oath—the Hippocratic oath. Which you're violating every day,” Lazlo said.

“I merely grasp that in order to progress, one needs to make accommodations. Compromises. I'm focused on results. We're no different at all. I simply admit what I have to do in order to get things done. You want to remain ignorant.” She snapped her fingers and the gunmen stepped forward. “I'm tired of this. Good job capturing them. You have my permission to use whatever means necessary to obtain the information I'm after.” The chilling smile returned as she fixed Sam with a hard stare. “Artifacts indeed. Before you join the skeletons in the cave, you'll tell my men the truth about what you were doing here.”

“We told you the truth.”

“You told me fairy tales. But we'll get to the bottom of it.”

“So now you're going to have your rebel associates torture us? Is that also in the interests of medical expediency?” Lazlo demanded.

“Think of that as a fringe benefit of being the leader of the so-called rebels.”

Understanding settled over Remi's face. “You're behind all this? But Manchester was your friend . . .”

“Orwen was a drunk and a fool. For the only time in his life—in death—he served a productive purpose.”

“You sat with him, ate with him, joked with him . . .”

“And enjoyed myself. But he was standing in the way of progress. That's always a dangerous stance to take and he paid the price.”

“You really are nuts,” Sam muttered disgustedly.

“Perhaps. But your opinion on the matter is irrelevant. Soon you'll be part of the boneyard, dead and forgotten in a mass grave.”

“Then you're nothing but a common murderer,” Remi said. “After all the lofty rhetoric, you'll murder to protect yourself, to keep your evil from becoming known.”

“Don't forget to make money,” Sam said. “Why do I suspect that this whole popular rebellion is nothing but a pretense for a swindle? Remember who's talking—a woman who will experiment on her fellow islanders for a buck while coloring it as some noble way of getting cures to market.”

Vanya sneered at them. “Say what you like. This discussion is finished. It was nice knowing you. I would have enjoyed taking your money for the clinics, if that's any consolation.”

“You won't be able to keep your crimes secret,” Sam said. “We've made a find that will put Guadalcanal on the national news and have scientists swarming over the island. It's just a matter of time until they come across your misdeeds and then you'll be judged harshly by the same laws you believe don't apply to you.”

“Right. Assuming the Solomon Islands government allows them access to the island. Which is doubtful at this point in light of the antiforeigner sentiment ruling the day.” She eyed Sam like an owl would a mouse. “And at some point soon I can see the caves being destroyed by demolition charges I've already had placed, erasing any evidence. And before long I'm going to be rich beyond anyone's wildest dreams, so I won't have to bother with chasing pennies from pharmaceutical companies for doing their dirty work. I'll be a billionaire many times over, at which point all this becomes an unnecessary distraction.”

“You don't have to do this,” Sam tried, struggling to hide the distaste he felt. “Once the caves are destroyed, there's no proof of anything. You said so yourself.”

“True, but I don't need a pair of multimillionaires claiming I'm the Antichrist. I'm not so provincial that I don't understand you could stir up enough interest to drive an investigation. No, I'm afraid there's only one way this ends. You and your colleagues must die. Think of it as a noble sacrifice, if it makes you feel any better, makes your deaths seem meaningful to you.” She checked her watch. “And now I'm afraid I have a hospital to run and politicians to counsel. Good-bye, Sam and Remi Fargo. And you—whatever your name is,” she said, eyeing Lazlo.

The nearest gunman held the iron barrier open for her and both men followed her out, shutting the heavy door and locking it behind them. The sound of the bolt sliding into place was as final as the closing of a coffin lid. As Vanya's and the men's footsteps echoed down the passageway, Sam and Remi shared a bleak look with Lazlo.

Sam was the first to speak. “Tell me about what you saw when they brought us in here.”

Remi collected her thoughts and eyed the door. “This cave is farther down the ridge from the one with the bodies and the one we were ambushed in. This is probably all part of the same cave system, though—maybe the fork we didn't take when we were making our escape.”

“How far in are we?”

“We went through two smaller caves after we entered the mountain.” Remi shuddered. “The one on the other side of the door has the medical equipment and beds in it. It smelled like death.”

Sam nodded. “Think hard. Is there anything we can use, anything either of you saw, that could help us?”

Remi and Lazlo were silent for several moments and then Lazlo shook his head. “I'm afraid not. Bit of a bind this time, I'd say.”

Sam looked at Remi. “Anything at all?”

“If we could get into the next room, some of the equipment could be used as weapons. The oxygen tanks. Some of the cleansers and solvents . . .”

Sam grunted. “Help me up. I want to look at the door.”

Remi and Lazlo did as Sam asked and they approached the iron door, Remi supporting Sam. He ran his fingers over the hinges, examined where rust was bleeding down the seams, and gave Remi a sour look. He didn't have to say that there was no way they could work the oversized pins loose—the door had to weigh hundreds of pounds and had been competently installed, framed by concrete rather than the softer limestone of the cave walls.

“They built quite a bunker here,” Lazlo said. “The door and the cement look old. Might have been the Japanese.”