Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

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.”

CHAPTER 38

The next morning, after breakfast with the crew, Sam and Remi returned to shore accompanied by Leonid, whose relief to be off the Darwin was obvious. He trudged up the sand toward the Nissan with the enthusiasm of a prisoner released from death row, and Sam exchanged a smile with Remi.

“Be sure to make plenty of noise, Leonid. Remember the crocodiles,” Sam warned.

Leonid slowed and glanced around. “Are you making jokes again?”

“No, he’s serious. It’s a well-established fact that crocodiles are sensitive to sound. I usually sing and flap my arms. Better than being eaten alive,” Remi assured him.

“That’s right. Remember Benji. He was quiet and paid for it with his leg,” said Sam.

Leonid stopped. “I think you’re pulling on mine. My leg, I mean.”

“Did you know a male crocodile can run faster than a racehorse?” Remi shared. “I don’t know where I read that, but they’re called land barracudas by the natives.”

Once at the SUV, Sam did his usual inspection of the exterior as Leonid and Remi climbed in. After confirming that there were no new tire tracks or footprints around the vehicle, he slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled onto the rutted track and made for the main road.

Getting Leonid a room at the hotel proved easy. It was almost completely empty now, the news of the assassination and the murder of the aid workers having chilled interest in vacationing on Guadalcanal.

“We got Lazlo’s itinerary and confirmation,” Remi said. “He’ll be in at eight-ten tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Assuming he’s up to it, we can head into the mountains by noon. I’m anxious to see whether we can find that cave.”

“That makes two of us. We can expect to keep news of Leonid’s find secret for only so long, and once it becomes public knowledge the island will be swarmed by researchers who’ll want to study it. You know the kind of speculation our continued presence here would cause at that point. We’d be followed everywhere by speculators convinced we were in search of treasure.”

“I really hope for Lazlo’s sake we find something. Leonid’s going to be a rock star for the city discovery. Lazlo could use a win, if only for his reputation’s sake.”

“I doubt there’s much that could redeem him after his little adventure with his student and the resulting scandal,” Remi said.

“Discovering a lost treasure would go a long way.”

“You don’t have to convince me. Now we just need to get to the part where we find it.”

“Always more difficult than it sounds,” Sam agreed.

They spent the afternoon wandering Honiara with Leonid, gathering supplies for their cave expedition. They were able to locate rubber boots and strong rope, as well as LED flashlights, but unsurprisingly had no luck with carabiners or any specialized hardware. Fortunately, Lazlo was bringing the more obscure elements so that when he arrived they would be ready to hit the ground running.

The mood of the city was apparently back to normal, with none of the brooding menace that had been present earlier in the week. There had been no further violence since the machete attack, and despite lingering tension, life went on. The arrival of the Australian-led civil defense force was largely met with welcome by the locals, although there was still a vocal segment of the population that viewed it as a further subversion of the islands’ autonomy.

Sam and Remi were up early the next day, waiting outside the small arrivals terminal at the Honiara Airport while Lazlo cleared customs. When he appeared through a double doorway, followed by a porter with an overloaded cart piled high, he looked every bit the stereotypical Englishman, in a crisp khaki shirt and matching shorts, desert boots below scrawny white calves, and a pith helmet perched precariously on his head.

“There you are! Buggers nearly didn’t let me through with all the equipment. I’m fortunate they didn’t strip-search me for pitons or whatnot,” he called out as he approached.

Sam grasped his hand and shook it, then released him so Remi could give him a tentative hug.

“Were you planning on auditioning for the local production of Lawrence of Arabia?” Sam asked.

Lazlo looked down at his outfit. “What? You’ve never seen proper tropical wear before? I should think you’d be happy your associates are trying to set a good example for the natives.”

Remi eyed him. “I thought it might be Halloween and nobody told us. It’s easy to lose track of time in the islands.”

“The last time I saw one of those hats was on Katharine Hepburn in a film,” Sam added.

Lazlo’s face could have been carved from stone. “I’m glad that I’m able to provide amusement for you two.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “We’re just having a little fun, Lazlo. How was the flight?”

“Over twenty hours of white-knuckle flying, stone-cold sober. It was so turbulent from Hawaii on that I was afraid I’d lose a filling. Need I say more?”

“Well, you’re here on terra firma now. Are you adequately rested to go spelunking?” Remi asked.

“It’s been a long time since a woman made me an offer like that,” Lazlo quipped, but then his expression grew serious. “I’m sure I can muster some energy. I trust that my directions meant something to you?”

“That remains to be seen. We think we know the starting village Kumasaka refers to as his orientation marker, but there’s no way of confirming it other than going for a hike,” Sam said.

“Lovely day for it. What is it, about a hundred degrees and ninety percent humidity?”

“I thought the Brits used Celsius,” Remi corrected.

“Just tell me it gets more comfortable inland,” Lazlo said.

“Oh, between the mosquitoes, the crocodiles, the rebel forces, and the giants, it feels positively breezy,” Sam assured him.

“I don’t suppose there’s a chance you’re joking about any of that lot?”

“Maybe the bit about the giants. But the rest . . . haven’t you been following the news about the area?”

“Now that you mention it, Selma did say something about rebels, but I thought she was just trying to dissuade me from a cracking good adventure.” He paused and lowered his voice. “The woman’s mad about me. I don’t think she can bear for me to be away, you know. But don’t let on I said anything. I’d hate to embarrass her.”

Remi rolled her eyes as Sam led the way to the parking area. Lazlo’s luggage occupied the entire cargo area and much of the backseat, and he looked cramped in the rear, with barely enough room for his helmet, his knobby knees pressed nearly to his chest.

“I hope the air-conditioning works in this relic,” he said as Sam and Remi climbed in.

“Like a charm. This is the fourth vehicle we’ve gone through since we arrived and easily the hardiest,” Remi said.

“Really? Dare I ask what happened to the others?”

Remi and Sam exchanged a glance and she eyed Lazlo in the rearview mirror. “You don’t want to know.”

“Ah. Quite. I’ll just content myself with swatting at insects, then. Carry on.”

Remi perked up. “Oh, you don’t know Leonid, do you?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Then you’re really in for a treat. He makes you look like a starry-eyed optimist.”

“Given the line of work I’ve taken up, a deluded dreamer might be more accurate,” Lazlo said. “Laos was a bust, and I’m not confident that the letter purported to be from Cooke is genuine. So right now my prospects aren’t stellar.”

“That’s all going to change, Lazlo. Without your decrypting the diary, we wouldn’t have anything, so if we find a treasure at the end of this rainbow, it will be credited to you.”

Lazlo frowned as they hit another rut and he was jarred sideways in his seat. “Well, then. I’m practically already rich, aren’t I?”

Remi couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what we like about you, Lazlo. Ever the optimist.”