Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 41

Sydney, Australia

Jeffrey Grimes sat back in his executive chair, his shirt collar open, his Armani jacket hanging from a coat rack in the corner of his office. He smiled at the young blond journalist sitting across his desk from him, her aqua eyes intelligent and quick, her bone structure a testament to fortunate genetics, her slim form a tribute to long hours in the gym.

“I’m afraid that the rumors are always more interesting than the truth,” Grimes said with a wave of his hand. “We’ve had a few difficult quarters, but all businesses experience ups and downs. It’s impossible to operate with sustained growth every quarter in this business. Any thinking person realizes that—it’s only the stock market that focuses on short-term profitability rather than long-term sustainability.”

“Your critics say that you’ve lost your Midas touch and that the recent quarters are more attributable to risky strategies gone wrong than normal business fluctuations,” she parried, her smile lighting the room even as her eyes remained locked on his.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a cadre of hopeful short sellers who are spreading all sorts of alarming rumors. After all, they profit only if the stock loses value. So it’s in their best interests to make it seem as though the world’s ending for us.” Grimes chuckled at the thought. “To hear them talk, every day is a new nail in our coffin.”

“Right, but what do you have to say about the specific criticisms? That you were caught overextended when the value of the derivatives you were speculating in lost much of their value?” she asked, her tone reasonable.

“Anyone familiar with our operations understands that we’re always adequately hedged. That the doors are still open underscores that we were in that instance as well.”

The woman nodded and shut off her recorder, then slipped it into her purse before smoothing her dress and standing. “I think that should do it. You’ve given me more than enough to work with.”

Grimes took in her long tanned legs with a quick glance and offered a sparkling, chemically augmented smile. “Ms. Donovan, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, rising and offering his hand.

“Likewise, Mr. Grimes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she said, shaking it.

“A refreshing departure from the usual drudgery of my day,” he assured her, his hand lingering on hers. “I hope you got what you wanted out of it.”

“I think my readers will be fascinated with the human face of the ruthless corporate raider portrayed by your critics.”

“There are two sides to every story,” he said, and then glanced at his watch. “If you’d like to get together after my day’s over, perhaps to have a drink and tie up any loose ends, I’d be delighted to answer any further questions you might have.”

She batted her eyes and appraised him with interest. “Why, Mr. Grimes, that’s very . . . generous of you. I know how valuable your time is.”

“Please. It’s Jeffrey. And I make time for the things I find important,” he said, squeezing her hand slightly before releasing it. “It would be my pleasure. I’m planning to take my boat out for a sunset cocktail cruise—something, regrettably, I don’t get the chance to do nearly enough. Would you join me in watching the sun set over the city?”

She smiled broadly. “You’re very persuasive, Jeffrey. And it’s Cynthia. What time were you thinking?”

“Six-thirty at the dock. My assistant will give you all the information and security codes.” His eyes roved over her figure before his gaze locked on hers. “Do you have any favorite beverages?”

Cynthia blinked and shook her head slightly. “Surprise me.”

Grimes escorted her out of his offices and instructed his assistant to arrange for her access to his dock. She was beaming as she left, and Grimes congratulated himself on another conquest, only hours away. He’d successfully converted a potentially hostile interview into a romantic pursuit, the conclusion of which was foregone for a wealthy, handsome bachelor like himself.

He pulled his door closed behind him and was startled out of his reverie by the chirping of his cell phone—a tone he’d programmed that chilled his blood whenever it sounded. He rushed to his desk and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Yes,” he answered.

“There will be another event tomorrow that should seal the island’s fate,” the robotic voice announced without preamble.

“It’s taking too bloody long. I thought the last ‘event’ was supposed to be the tipping point,” Grimes complained.

“This isn’t an exact science. It’s more of a cumulative process. Each drip of water wears the stone away.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m being eaten alive here by margin calls and demands from my bankers. Something needs to happen fast or there will be hell to pay.”

“There should be substantial progress within forty-eight hours, at the outside. I’m alerting you so you can be ready to move quickly, as discussed.”

“I’ve been ready for a week,” Grimes snapped.

“Then your wait is almost over,” the voice said, and the line went dead with a click.

Grimes punched the phone off and tossed it on his desk before taking a seat. The call was good news. He was juggling a lot of balls and running short on both maneuvering room and time.

When it would be announced that he’d negotiated deals with the supposedly nationally owned shell corporations that would soon have most of the islands’ mineral rights in their portfolios, his company’s stock price would skyrocket. There was literally incalculable value locked beneath the jungle and the sea for the fortunate group that was granted permission to exploit those rights—in this case, Grimes being the sole member of that exclusive group.

He’d doubled down on his bet by buying call options on his own stock, and part of his impatience centered on their expiration date—they’d expire worthless within three more weeks. But if he was able to announce the news of the deals, his million-dollar option play would net him an easy six or seven—not a bad payday for idle speculation.

He smirked as he sent a short message to his captain and alerted him to have the yacht fully stocked and ready to sail that evening. He suspected he would get ample opportunity to explore the nubile Ms. Donovan’s charms before the night was through and he wanted everything in place for another perfect evening on the water.

Grimes eyed the sparkle of Sydney Harbor from his picture window, his thoughts once more on his mystery caller. To the victor in this struggle would go impossible spoils. That he would be the victor was preordained. He’d made sure of it. Although it was taking longer than he’d been assured, which had his fortune, and nerves, teetering on the brink.

His intercom buzzed and he pushed the doubts from his mind, donned his jacket, and marched to his conference room for another awkward meeting with several of his largest creditors. There would be time enough to revel in victory in the days ahead. Right now, he needed to keep the wolves at bay for just a little longer.

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

“They were captives?” Leonid blurted, eyeing the bindings that loosely ringed the skeletons’ wrists.

“I’d say that’s a given,” Sam said quietly as he crouched by the remains.

“The question is, whose?” Remi finished the thought for him.

“Maybe . . . rebels?” Leonid said.

“Could be,” Lazlo said. “How long have they been active here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “But I got the impression that they were a relatively recent development.”

“That’s my understanding,” Remi said. “There was no mention of them in any of the accounts from the civil war in 2000.”

Lazlo shined the light beam on the far wall of the cave, which stretched into darkness beyond the water’s edge. “Not to be a materialistic pig, but back to the immediate concern—the treasure. Shall we continue into the void and see what we find?”

Leonid stared at the skeletons. “They certainly aren’t going anywhere.”

“Lead on, Lazlo,” Remi said.

“Wait,” Sam said, eyeing the surface of the pool. “I want to see how deep this is.”

“Why?” Leonid asked.

“In case our Japanese friends decided the best place to hide a treasure was back underwater.” Sam approached the pool, knelt, and probed at it with his machete. The blade hit stone. He continued until he was standing near the center of the pool in no more than three inches of water. “I think it’s safe to say there’s no treasure here.”

The group moved to the other side of the cavern, the walls lit with the eerie blue-white of their flashlights, and Lazlo took careful steps into the narrower passage at the far end. A few moments later, he stopped, speechless.

“What is it, Lazlo?” Remi whispered.

When he found his voice, it was tremulous. “Rather a lot more dead in here.”

The scene in the second, smaller chamber was one straight out of a nightmare: at least thirty skeletons of all sizes were strewn around the cave, their dead grins greeting the newcomers in humorless welcome. Sam stepped past Remi and focused his flashlight on the piles of bones. Remi shuddered at the grim spectacle.

“It’s a massacre,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Look at the size of them,” Leonid murmured.

Sam shook his head. “They were children.” He examined several of the skeletons. “But these weren’t bound when they died.”

“Some of them were,” Lazlo said from the wall near the entry, where he was regarding three more skeletons. “Same treatment here—zip ties, wrists bound behind them.”

“But no sign of what killed them,” Sam said under his breath. “That’s odd. Maybe there was some sort of deadly outbreak and the natives decided to take care of their own? A mass grave?”

“Doesn’t explain why some of them were tied up,” Remi said.

“There are a few shoes in here, too. Modern,” Sam said.

“Why would the rebels kill mostly children? That makes no sense,” Lazlo said.

They stood, puzzled, at a loss for words. Eventually, Sam edged to the narrowest section of the cave and peered into it, and then he called out, “Look at this.”

They moved to where he was staring at another skeleton, this one not completely decomposed. A swarm of maggots were finishing with their meal in the corpse’s rib cage. Remi frowned in revulsion. “Recent,” she said, her voice tight.

“Yes, and an adult, male probably, judging by his size—or, if not an adult, at least older than the rest of them.” Sam crouched by the bones and pointed at the skeleton’s shattered spine. “But check out the vertebrae . . . I’d bet money that was the cause of death. He died from a broken neck. Although look at his ribs and his left arm—also broken. And his ankle.”

Sam stood and played his light farther into the cave. He gasped at the spectacle before him and took a step back. Remi drew close to him and took his hand. Hundreds of skeletons were collected in a pit, the bones dull in the flashlight beams.

Lazlo’s intake of breath was a groan. “Good heavens . . . it is a massacre.”

They took careful steps into the new section of cave, Sam leading the way. When he neared the edge of the bone pit, he paused and examined the skulls closest to him. “These look older. And they’re adults. Larger.” He peered at the nearest skull. “This one died of a gunshot wound to the head. See the entry wound?”

“This one, too,” Remi said.

“Look at this chap,” Lazlo called out from their left. “Both his legs were broken, looks like, and only partially healed. You can see the calcification.”

“What’s that?” Remi said, directing her light at one of the skeletons. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he regarded where she was indicating.

“Looks like manacles. Rusted beyond recognition. They’ve been here a long time—probably from the war years,” Sam said.

“The murdered villagers?” Lazlo asked.

“Doubt it,” Sam said. “They were left where they fell, according to Nauru’s account. And I don’t think the Japanese would have found much use for slave labor that couldn’t walk because of broken legs. No . . . this is something different.”

“Maybe this is where the victims of the medical experimentations wound up?” Remi said softly.

“That makes more sense.” Sam shuddered involuntarily at the thought, the sheer number of dead difficult to comprehend. He moved around the edge of the pit to where the cave continued deeper and lit the connecting passage. After several moments, he turned back to them.

“The ceiling drops to next to nothing and it gets impassible. Looks like there might be another cavern on the other side, but if there is, we aren’t getting in through here.”

“If we can’t get through, neither could the Japanese. Whatever horror this is, it doesn’t have anything to do with the treasure,” Remi said.

“No, I don’t think it does,” Sam agreed. “But it does create several more mysteries.”

“Ones we need to get to the bottom of,” Remi whispered.

“Agreed,” said Sam, his expression grave.

Lazlo glanced at Sam. “I understand the war dead, at least intellectually. But the children are more than puzzling.” He stood, lost in thought, and then continued, his words quiet. “I wonder if there’s any truth to the stories of the giants. Didn’t you say that the legends have them stealing villagers and eating them?”

Remi stared at him. “Lazlo. There are no such things as giants. Come on.”

“Right. Of course. But what I’m suggesting is that perhaps the stories are based on some sort of fact. That perhaps there’s an element of truth to them. I don’t know . . . maybe there are surviving soldiers from the war who never surrendered, who went mad and became mass murderers. I remember a movie like that—the blighter was still going years after the war had ended because nobody ever told him it ended.”

Remi gave him a perplexed look. “They’d be in their eighties or nineties. You really think that’s realistic?”

“Preposterous,” Leonid spat.

“I agree, although one might have said the same thing about a sunken city just off the coast.”

They retraced their steps until they were back in the sunlight, the mass grave left behind, and Sam checked the time. “There have to be other openings along this ridge if the diary is accurate.”

Lazlo nodded. “It makes sense. We have the water sources to create the cave system, we have the right sort of limestone . . . but how do we proceed from here? And what about the skeletons? Surely we have to report them to someone.”

“When we do, we can expect the authorities to take this area apart,” Leonid observed. “Any chance of us locating the treasure is lost at that point.”

“But this is mass murder,” Lazlo said.

“Yes, it is. And we’ll report it.” Sam hesitated, his gaze locked with Remi’s. “In due time. For now, we’re here, but we haven’t found what we came for. I think we have to stay focused on our objective. Once we find the treasure, we’ll have every cop in the islands crawling through these caves. But we need to continue our search before that happens.” He stared at Lazlo. “Agreed?”

Lazlo nodded. “How much more daylight do we have left?”

“At least half a day. It’s only eleven-thirty.”

“‘The way lies beyond the fall,’” Remi quoted, gesturing at the waterfalls. “There are the falls. We need to keep going along this ridge until we find the right cave.”

As Sam glanced at the jungle, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He scanned the dense brush for any signs of a threat but saw nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake an uncomfortable sensation as they continued hiking along the ridge, following the creek that paralleled the rise, Remi leading the way.

A feeling like they were being watched.

“I know it’s a little strange, but I can’t help but feel like we’re not alone,” he said softly.

Remi turned and fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Are you hearing voices again?”

“I’m serious,” he said, glancing around.

“Sam, honestly. There’s nobody out here but us giants.”

“Very funny.”

CHAPTER 42

After another half hour of hard going, the jungle thickening as they made their way east, Remi stopped and pointed. “Look. Another cave,” she said, indicating a dark area between two groves of trees midway up the ridge. The group regarded the opening—small, by any measure, barely large enough for a human to squeeze through.

“You’re right,” Sam said. “Come on, gang. This could be it.”

They worked their way up the rocky slope, the terrain rough underfoot. Sam slowed after nearly going down when his foot shifted an unstable rock. “Be careful. Some of this is loose. Probably a recent landslide,” he warned.

“We’re right with you,” Remi said.

Sam continued up to a small flat area just outside the cave and waited for them to make it up. Lazlo was huffing by the time he arrived, and Sam was about to say something, when Leonid cried out from down the slope.

“Gah!”

Sam and Remi hurried to where Leonid was face down on the rocks, his left leg bleeding where it was wedged between two flat boulders. “Are you all right?” Remi asked.

“Stupid. I should have been watching where I was stepping instead of looking around,” Leonid said through clenched teeth as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

“How bad is it?” Sam asked.

“Hurts. But I don’t think it’s broken.” He winced as he tried to pull his ankle free. “It’s stuck in there pretty well.”

“Lazlo, we can use the machetes to shift the smaller of these rocks so he can get loose,” Sam said, and then looked to Leonid. “When you feel the pressure ease, try to pull your foot out.”

“I understand the concept,” Leonid muttered as his eyes teared.

Using both blades, they were able to move the flat rock enough so Leonid could pull his leg free. Blood ran down his calf to his ankle where the rough edge had savaged the skin, and the white sock and tan boot were now crimson. Leonid tried to stand, testing his weight, and grimaced. “Not broken, but it hurts like hell.”

“Let’s get it bandaged and stop the bleeding,” Remi said, reaching into her pack for the first-aid kit. Two minutes later, she’d cleaned the abrasions and, using butterfly strips, closed the worst of the gash. Eyeing her work, she swabbed the entire area with antiseptic and wound gauze around it. “There.”

“Think you’ll live?” Sam asked as he helped Leonid to his feet.

“You’ll still have me around to torture for a while longer.”

“Can you walk?” Remi asked.

Leonid tried, pain obvious on his face. “Barely.”

Sam looked up at the cave mouth. “Lazlo, you and Remi have a look in the cave and let us know if you find anything. But be careful.”

Leonid grimaced again. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

“No worries. We’ll be back in a jiffy, treasure in hand, I’m sure,” Lazlo said brightly. Remi looked less confident but offered a wan smile.

“You’re going to wait here?”

“Unless you need me,” Sam said.

“I think I can manage,” Remi replied.

“Go on,” Leonid said to Sam. “I can be trusted to sit here without killing myself.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

“If you’re not back in a few days, I’ll make sure a suitable memorial is erected.”

“Thoughtful, as always,” Remi said. With a final glance at the morose Russian, she resumed her ascent, Lazlo and Sam close behind, all of them eyeing the rocks underfoot with renewed caution.

At the cave mouth, they switched on their lights and directed the beams inside. Remi sniffed and crinkled her nose. “Stinks. Sulfur.”

“They don’t have bears here, do they?” Lazlo asked in a whisper.

“I don’t think so. But you never know. Could be some of those octogenarian Japanese holdouts in there, too.”

“Right,” Remi said. “They probably trained the bears to attack.”

“Very amusing, as always,” Lazlo said with a sidelong glance at them.

“Remi?” Sam asked.

“You can go first this time,” she said.

Sam stepped forward and ducked down. The gap was no more than four feet high, and, stooped over like an old woman, he inched forward with careful steps. The space widened but the ceiling was still low. The main cave was tiny compared to the first one, barely more than ten feet wide and twice that length. Sam glanced around the area and shook his head as his light bounced off the flat walls. There was no continuation like in the first cave. Just the one area.

Remi shuffled in next to him, followed by Lazlo, and Sam turned to them. “Well, the good news is, there are no skeletons.”

Lazlo took in the cavern. “Not much to it, is there?”

“No. We can scratch this one off our list,” Remi said.

They did a cursory inspection to ensure they weren’t missing anything and filed back out, blinking in the bright sunlight as they exited.

“Now what?” Lazlo asked.

Sam’s gaze roamed over the ridge stretching into the distance and drifted down the slope to where Leonid sat. He checked his watch and sighed. “Much as I’d like to keep looking, it will be dark in about five hours, and with Leonid’s leg cut up like that, he’ll be risking infection if we stay out here. So I’d say we head back to the truck, get him taken care of, and live to fight another day. Now that we have the GPS coordinates, we can easily return later and resume the search.”

Remi smiled. “I don’t know that I’d agree with the term ‘easily,’ but the rest of it makes sense.”

“Which I take to mean that we don’t report the killing field we stumbled across just yet,” Lazlo said.

“Correct,” Sam said. “But we will. First things first.”

They returned to Leonid and helped him to his feet. Sam explained his reasoning for calling it quits and Leonid offered only a token objection. They set off back down the hill, following the stream again, Lazlo and Sam taking turns supporting Leonid as he limped along, his discomfort obvious.

When they got back to the village, the sky’s vibrant blue was turning purple as dusk approached. The villagers watched as they made their way to the Nissan and Sam stopped short before they reached it, hands on his hips.

“That’s not good news,” he said, staring at four flat tires. He crouched down and examined the nearest one. “Someone cut the valve stems off. This was deliberate.”

“Why on earth would they do that? And who is ‘they’?” Remi demanded.

“Obviously, someone who doesn’t like us, for whatever reason,” Lazlo said. “Could also be kids amusing themselves—”

“What are we going to do now?” Leonid interrupted, beads of sweat rolling down his pale face. The journey had obviously taken its toll on him.

“Not to worry,” Sam said. “I’ll call Des and see if he can get one of the lads to go into town and rent a vehicle to pick us up. Leonid, do you think you can make it another mile or so to the main road?”

“Why didn’t you call earlier?”

“It’s not like there was any way to get to us. That area’s impassible,” Remi explained. “Worst case, we can give Des directions and hope he can find his way here to the village.” She eyed the trail they’d driven up. “Although he’s never been here before, so he might get lost.”

Leonid shook his head. “I can make it. We’re in no rush now, correct? So we can take our time?”

“I’d imagine it will take a few hours to take the skiff in to Honiara, rent a truck, then drive here, especially at night,” Sam said. “So you’re correct that we’re in no hurry. Although I don’t like the idea of trekking through the jungle at night.”

“We have flashlights,” Lazlo reminded.

“Which will make us great targets for any predators,” Remi said. “Let’s just hope there are no rebels around.”

“Did you have to say that?” Lazlo said.

Sam powered on the sat phone and reached Des. After explaining the situation and agreeing that the Aussie would embark for town while it was still light out, he hung up and turned to them. “We should stay quiet as we hike to the road. Whoever did this might be waiting for us to try to get back that way.”

“Maybe it would be worth another twenty to have our escort show us an alternate route to the main road?” Remi suggested.

Sam smiled. “Excellent idea.” He looked over his shoulder to where the youth was sitting with several others, watching them, and waved him over. The young man practically bolted to them and for an instant Sam wondered whether the vandalism wasn’t part of his moneymaking enterprise and then dismissed the thought. They’d never know for sure so no point in wasting energy on speculations.

After a quick negotiation, they set off down the slope, taking a game trail rather than the main track. Half an hour into it, the sky rumbled ominously and rain began pelting them, making the ground slippery and slowing their progress even further. Leonid’s limp was more pronounced as time stretched on and he cried out in pain several times when he misstepped in the darkness, twisting his ankle, punctuating his intakes of breath with a Russian curse.

When they finally made it to the pavement, their surroundings were pitch-black. Leonid sat by the road shoulder with a sigh of relief and Lazlo and Remi joined him, their energy spent. Sam called the Darwin and confirmed that Des had gone to town, and after paying their escort and watching him disappear back into the jungle, they settled in for a long wait on the desolate road.