Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 49

They stood frozen in the pitch black, afraid to move. A muffled thump echoed from the other side of the door, followed by silence.

“What do you think this is? Desensitization technique?” Sam whispered to Remi.

“Could be they just want to save their power for more important things than prisoners they plan to torture and kill,” Remi said.

“Doesn’t sound optimistic,” Lazlo said.

Their speculations were cut short by a scrape, followed by the bolt sliding free. They stepped back just as the heavy door swung wide, hinges creaking. The cave beyond was also dark and they couldn’t make anything out.

“Which one of you is the better shot?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway. “I managed to relieve one of the natives of his pistol, but there are more where that came from,” Leonid said.

“Leonid! You’re alive!” Lazlo whispered in surprise.

“Barely. So who’s best with a pistol?” Leonid repeated.

“Remi is,” Sam said.

“Where is she?” Leonid asked.

“I’m right here,” Remi offered from Sam’s left.

Leonid took a step into the room and held out the gun, which Remi felt for and then took from him.

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked.

“Nothing broken, but I’m not going to win any beauty contests.”

“You killed the lights?” Lazlo asked.

“Yes. Machete to the main power cable. Took three tries.”

“Where’s the machete?” Sam asked.

“Buried in a guard.” He paused. “I have a flashlight, but I don’t want to turn it on. Better to wait for the others to return and shoot at their lights.”

“I keep forgetting that you were in the Russian army,” Sam said.

“And I’ve been married three times,” said Leonid.

A glow bounced from the far end of the cave as a flashlight approached. Remi stepped in front of Sam and pointed beyond a row of beds at the oxygen tanks lined up against the wall. She held her fingers to her lips as the light drew closer and said softly to Sam, “Take cover. I’m going to close the door so they don’t see anything wrong. It might buy us a few seconds.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

There was no time to argue. She and Sam moved into the cave with the medical equipment, pulled the door shut, and bolted it. Remi ducked behind a wooden crate and Sam hurried to a portable monitoring system near the beds, hoping the apparatus would hide him.

They didn’t have long to wait. A flashlight appeared in the opening at the other side of the cave and they could make out three islanders toting pistols. The beam moved directly to the door, as Remi had hoped, stopping at the bolted lock. The men muttered unintelligibly among themselves and took cautious steps toward it, and both Sam and Remi held their breaths as the gunmen moved past them to the door.

Remi’s shots were as loud as cannon fire in the cave. The first caught the flashlight bearer between the shoulders and the second hit his companion as he was spinning to shoot at her. She squeezed off two more shots at the third gunman as he threw himself behind another crate. Hers missed as he fired two of his, one of which splintered the wood by her head, the other ricocheting harmlessly off the stone walls.

The flashlight lay on the ground, shining into nothingness, providing just enough illumination for Remi to make out the far crate. The gunman’s leg shot out and kicked the flashlight into the wall, shattering the bulb and plunging the cave back into darkness. Remi’s night vision took several seconds to adjust and her reaction was too slow as the gunman rolled from behind the crate, pistol in hand.

Sam pushed the cart over and the heavy monitor landed on the stone floor with an explosive crash, buying Remi critical moments for her eyes to fully adjust. The gunman froze at the unexpected commotion fifteen feet from where he thought the threat lay, exposing himself for an instant.

Which was all the opportunity Remi needed. She fired two more times, emptying the revolver. The gunman slumped over and his gun clattered harmlessly to the floor. Sam moved from behind the cart to where the first two islanders lay dead by the door and groped around until his fingers found one of their guns—another revolver.

“See if you can find the other pistol,” Sam whispered to Remi. “I’m going to get the door open so we can use Leonid’s flashlight. After this, we’ve lost any element of surprise.”

“Okay,” Remi agreed, moving cautiously toward the sound of his voice.

Sam worked the bolt free and swung the door wide as Remi neared. Lazlo and Leonid were crouched inside. “Time for your flashlight,” Sam told Leonid, who switched it on.

Remi located the other gun, a Beretta 9mm semiautomatic, and scooped it up. She quickly checked the magazine, which was full, as Sam retrieved a fallen flashlight. She felt in the gunman’s shorts for a spare and noted without emotion that the dead man was the lead islander who’d captured them, the one who had brutalized Sam’s head with the same weapon she now held.

Now that there was light in the cell, they could see the extent of Leonid’s injuries. Sam didn’t react to the Russian’s appearance, but his stomach tightened when he saw the patchwork of scabs and cuts covering his face and arms. It was a minor miracle Leonid had managed to recover from his spill into the chasm, but he was clearly the worse for wear and every visible inch of skin sported a contusion or scrape.

Lazlo followed Sam and Leonid out of the cell and moved to where the third gunman’s weapon lay near his dead hand. Lazlo leaned over and picked it up, distaste written across his face, and held it out to Leonid. “I suspect you might be able to make more productive use of this than I,” he said. Leonid took the revolver without comment and quickly checked the cylinder.

“Only two rounds,” he said, then grunted and directed the beam at the cave entry. “Who wants to take the lead?”

“I will,” Sam said, but Remi shook her head.

“You’re hurt. I’ll do it. Leonid, give me your flashlight.”

Leonid nodded and handed her the light. Sam looked ready to challenge her, but she cut him off with a determined look. “No arguments, Fargo. I’ve got the most firepower with the automatic. Back me up.” She glanced at Lazlo. “Give him a hand, would you please?”

Remi shone the light around the chamber and froze when a moan drifted from another doorway—which was bolted shut. They moved to the heavy door and Sam pulled loose from Lazlo, a determined expression on his face. Remi stood by the side of the door, pistol at the ready, as Sam worked the bolt loose.

They exchanged a glance and Sam nodded. He swung the door wide as Remi aimed into the darkness, Sam shining his beam into the gloom. When no attack came, he took a cautious step toward the threshold, and then another moan came from inside the chamber.

It sounded like a girl.

“What on earth . . .” Remi whispered as she moved into the cavern. She scanned the interior with her light, holding the pistol in one hand and the flashlight in the other, and then gasped when her beam settled on one of a dozen beds along the wall. A figure lay prone there, one thin arm shackled to a chain dangling from the stone wall.

Sam played his beam along the surface, where manacles hung from rusting chains clasped to iron rings. In one corner, an iron box stood open and he shuddered when he saw what it was—a coffin-shaped contrivance just large enough to imprison a human. Next to it stood a metal cage backed against the wall, its surface grooved from hands scratching at the stone in a futile effort to get free. Rust-colored streaks ran down the wall and again Sam shuddered—it was dried blood, some of it probably decades old, but enough of it relatively fresh to send chills up his spine.

Remi moved to the bed, where a young female islander was laboring for breath. Empty IV bags littered the stone floor, along with discarded syringes and medicine vials. A cockroach scuttled near Remi’s foot and she grimaced.

“It’s . . . it’s like some kind of medieval torture chamber,” she murmured.

“I think we’ve found where the Japanese did their dirty work,” Sam agreed, leaning over to examine the girl. He touched her forehead and looked at Remi. “She’s burning up.”

“We have to take her with us, Sam.”

He took a deep breath and nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned again, a pitiful sound filled with pain and fear, and her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused as it settled on Remi.

“Sweetheart . . . Do you understand me?” Remi asked quietly.

The girl managed a weak nod.

“We’re going to get you out of here. What’s your name?”

She struggled to form a word, and both Sam and Remi leaned closer in an effort to make it out.

“Lil . . . ly . . .”

Sam stepped away from the bed and Remi joined him. “She’s too sick to walk, Remi.”

“Then we’ll have to carry her.”

“We need to come back for her.”

“I’m not leaving her in this living hell, Sam. Look at the poor thing. She’s skin and bones.” Remi thought briefly. “I’ll ask Lazlo to help me, if you think you can make it on your own.”

Sam winced as he nodded. “I can try.” He glanced back at the shackle. “How do you plan to free her?”

“One of the guards must have keys. Stay with her while I go check.”

Remi returned several long moments later with a key ring. She tried two keys before finding one that worked. The manacle opened with a metallic click and Lilly’s arm fell across her thin body. Sam moved aside as Lazlo approached the bed and, together with Remi, lifted her frail form.

“Will you be able to manage her?” Sam asked.

“She’s light as a feather. Between us, we’ll do it,” Lazlo said, his voice confident.

Lazlo carried Lilly in his arms as Remi walked beside him, helping Sam. Leonid brought up the rear, weapon in hand. As they emerged from the chamber of horrors, Remi moved into the lead, but then stopped short at the passage that connected the chamber with the medical equipment to the entry cave, pausing to glance at the dead islander lying on the ground with a machete buried in his chest before continuing past—evidence of Leonid’s resilience even when injured.

When they reached the entry cave, a blur of motion flew at them from the shadows. Gunfire exploded as Remi and Sam fired at the attackers. Seconds later, four islanders lay dying, machetes and axes no match for quick reflexes and bullets. Remi stood, sweeping the space with her pistol, wary of another attempt—just because these islanders hadn’t had guns didn’t mean there weren’t more gunmen nearby, waiting for their chance.

Sam pointed to the entry, a gap in the stone, with five yards of passageway leading to the outside. Light streamed through the curtain of vegetation that covered it. Remi nodded and moved to the side of the opening, gun at the ready, while Sam crept to the opposite side of the entry and listened for any hint of ambush, his ears still ringing from the gunfire. Lazlo hung back with Lilly as Leonid eyed Sam and Remi, who gestured for him to move into the passage while they covered him.

At the opening, sensing nothing, Sam whispered to them. “There could be more out there, waiting for us to show ourselves. Anyone have any ideas about how to keep from being sitting ducks?”

Remi regarded the vegetation that hid the opening. “We wait them out.”

“We can’t wait here all day,” Leonid said.

“Why not?” Remi asked. “Let time work against them. Assuming there are any of them left.”

They settled in near the entrance, guns clenched in tired hands. Soon they heard the thump of footsteps on stone approaching—faint, but clear. Remi squeezed her body into a depression along one side of the entry, her pistol trained on the gap, as Sam and Leonid took cover behind rocks deeper in the passageway.

The vines rustled and Remi cocked the hammer back on the Beretta, willing her breathing to slow as her pulse pounded in her ears. She relaxed and lowered the gun when Greg’s head poked through the vines and smiled as she called out to him.

“You scared the—”

Sam’s gun bucked in his hand twice, deafening in the confined space. The gunman who had been holding his pistol in the small of Greg’s back fell backward, his skull obliterated as the first shot caught him in the forehead, and Greg dove to the side. Leonid’s pistol barked once and a round tore through the man’s torso and he dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

Remi’s voice had a tremor in it as she regarded Greg. “Was that it?”

“No. One more by the car, but he only has a machete. Might be long gone by now, with all the shooting,” Greg answered, struggling to his feet. She eyed the gash on his head and the dried blood in his hair and nodded. “They ambushed me.”

“Can you make it back?”

“Sure.”

She turned to Sam and Leonid. “Nice shooting.”

“I only have one bullet left,” Leonid complained.

“Hopefully, you won’t need to use it,” Sam said, rising unsteadily.

They moved to the entrance and pushed through the vines into a clearing. A dead islander lay sprawled a few feet from the opening. Greg knelt and retrieved the man’s gun—another revolver easily as old as he was—and then pointed to a trail. “We’re about five minutes south of the logging road.”

“Did you see a woman there?” Remi asked.

Greg nodded. “She’s gone. Left before the fireworks started.”

“Damn,” Sam said.

Remi glared at the trail. “Don’t worry. This isn’t over. She’s not going to get away with it.”

Sam studied her face and nodded grimly. “I believe you.”

CHAPTER 50

Carol Vanya looked up as her assistant entered her office. The heavyset woman’s face was ashen and her hands shook as she fidgeted. Vanya bit back her annoyance and sighed impatiently. The long day patching up islanders injured in the increasing looting was wearing at her nerves. “Yes, Maggie? I thought I left instructions that I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“I know, Doctor. I’m sorry. But the police need to talk to you.”

Vanya put down her pen and gave Maggie a withering glare. “Can’t you deal with anything? What do I pay you for?” she snapped irritably.

The police had left a half dozen officers at the hospital to protect it in the latest round of civil unrest driven by the rebel instigators. The impoverished islanders were easy to manipulate into looting, the class anger like dry kindling for her agents’ sparks. The plan was working perfectly: the violence was increasing throughout the day, and by midnight she expected a vote of no confidence in Parliament for the current administration, creating the opportunity for a swift regime change.

“I think you need to see them,” Maggie repeated, obviously shaken.

Vanya stood up behind her desk and was rounding it when the imposing figure of Chief Fleming filled the doorway, his face impassive. Maggie stepped around him and scurried off as Vanya approached him, her professional smile firmly in place.

“Yes, Sebastian? Another emergency?” She was used to charming the chief of police, as she charmed most of the island males, with a combination of flirtation and flattery. She drew closer but stopped at the hardness of his stare. “What is it?”

“You’re under arrest. Turn around. You have the right to remain silent—” Fleming began, the disgust in his voice barely contained as he held up a pair of handcuffs.

“What? Have you gone mad, Sebastian? What is the meaning of this?”

“Turn around. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Her eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, her lips a thin line as she submitted to the indignity. She had no idea what had gone wrong, but she was confident she’d be able to talk her way out of whatever the confusion was. She was, after years of thankless public service, one of the most respected figures on the island, with many allies in the government.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sebastian—”

“I’d keep my mouth closed, if I were you,” Fleming said as he locked the cuffs in place on her wrists and turned her to face the doorway. She gasped, and her vision swam, at the sight of four officers, glowering in the corridor, waiting to take her into custody—and Sam and Remi standing behind them. Her mouth worked like a beached fish, producing nothing but a choking sound, as realization dawned on her.

The two nearest officers pulled her roughly into the hallway. Sam and Remi watched wordlessly, Lazlo by their side. Vanya finally found her voice as she neared them, managing only a single word.

“You . . .”

“Name’s Lazlo. I don’t think we were formally introduced when you were telling your pet killers to murder us,” Lazlo said, his British clipping of each syllable joyous in its precision.

“What’s that old expression about he who laughs last?” Remi asked Sam as the doctor was dragged away.

“Something about laughs best,” Sam replied, watching Vanya’s humiliating final exit from the hospital she’d ruled with absolute authority for years.

Fleming shook his head as he approached. “I have to apologize again. I’m sorry I was so rude in our meeting . . .”

Remi shrugged and took Sam’s hand. “We’ve all been under a lot of stress. Apology accepted.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Berry, waiting in the doorway of one of the exam rooms, and turned his attention back to the police chief. “How’s the crowd control going?”

“Better. The Prime Minister was on the radio a few minutes ago, exposing the bones of Carol’s scheme, alerting the islanders that they had been duped. He didn’t name names, but distress calls from my men have already slowed. I’d expect that our forces will make short work of any remaining looters, once word spreads.”

“And the exhumation of the skeletons?”

“I have two forensic teams at the caves as we speak, but, because of the scope, it will be a while before they’re done and we can begin removing the bones and identifying the remains.” He shook his head in disbelief at the memory from earlier that afternoon when he’d arrived at the scene with two dozen of his top officers, led to the caves by Sam and Remi after they’d barged into his office and confronted him with their evidence. “What kind of a monster could do that . . . ? I still don’t understand any of it.”

“She’s not like you or me,” Remi said. “She’s a sociopath. No sense of right or wrong, only an instinct for manipulation, and a ruthlessness unlike anything you’ve probably ever seen before.”

“Or ever again, if you’re lucky,” Sam said softly. “She’s a serial killer, plain and simple. Perhaps with a more structured mechanism for her killing, but, make no mistake, that’s what you’re dealing with. Someone who has zero compunction or remorse about taking lives.”

“I’m partly to blame,” Fleming growled, and his voice caught. “She’s obviously been getting away with it for years on my watch. I’ll never forgive myself—I didn’t pursue the disappearances with nearly the vigor I should have . . .”

Dr. Berry glanced at his watch and signaled to them. It was busy at the hospital and he had an unending stream of patients continuing to arrive with every variety of trauma from the rioting. They left Fleming to his recriminations and approached Berry, who needed to finish stitching up Sam’s head now that the results of the CT scan were in.

“I wish I was seeing you again under more pleasant circumstances,” Berry said, and then his demeanor changed to all business. “As I suspected, you’ve suffered a minor concussion from the blows, but nothing you won’t recover from. You may experience dizziness and weakness over the next few days, but it should pass.” He eyed Sam disapprovingly. “I wish you’d consent to staying overnight for observation like your Russian friend.”

“How is he?”

“He also has a concussion, more severe than yours, but nothing terminal. And, as you know, many cuts and bruises. I’ve given him painkillers and antibiotics and he’s resting comfortably.”

“After complaining every step of the way, I’ll bet,” Lazlo said. “What about the girl?”

Berry scowled. “She’s in pretty bad shape, but I think she’ll make it. We’ve got to figure out what poison they were pumping into her and take measures to counteract it, but right now we’re focusing on keeping her hydrated.” He studied Sam’s head with a disapproving expression. “Sit down here and I’ll finish cleaning this gash up and stitch it closed. It’s clotted, but it will need sutures.”

Remi offered Sam a smile and looked to the doctor. “While you’re busy with him, do you have a phone I can use for a long-distance call?”

Berry fished under his exam coat and handed her a cell phone. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, then he’ll be right as rain again.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” Lazlo said. “Bit squeamish and all.”

Remi went into the hall and nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the remaining police sealing Vanya’s office with crime scene tape in anticipation of evidence collection. She was raising the phone to her ear when Lilly’s mother materialized at the end of the hall and rushed toward her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving my baby,” she said, hugging Remi, tears in her eyes. “I knew she not run off like that evil woman say.”

“I hope she’ll be okay,” Remi managed between heartfelt squeezes from Lilly’s mother.

“God will provide. Lilly’s one of His children. He not send you if He not want her to live.”

Remi offered a smile. “She’s a beautiful girl. You’re very lucky.”

“Today a good day for everyone, I say. ’Cept that demon woman. Devil stokin’ hellfire for her, that for sure.”

Remi nodded in agreement, and then a nurse waved to Lilly’s mother from the other end of the corridor. The relieved island woman gasped and hurried to the nurse, leaving Remi to make her call. She dialed Selma’s private line from memory and waited as it rang.

“Oh, good. Did you get everything sorted out?” Selma answered. Remi had phoned her earlier to give her a hurried update.

“Sort of. They just took Carol Vanya into custody. Sam’s being tended to, and Leonid’s in the hospital for the night.”

“And Lazlo?” Selma asked, a slight softness in her voice.

“Hardly a scratch on him. The man has the luck of the devil,” Remi said.

Selma chuckled. “That he does.” Her tone grew serious. “I’ve been researching your doctor’s background and I’ve found something you’ll be interested in.”

“Nothing would surprise me about her.”

“This might.” Selma paused. “It’s actually about her grandfather. Apparently, he was charged with war crimes by the Allies, but once the war was over, the charges were dropped. There aren’t many records, but, near as I can tell, he had been working with the Japanese and was accused of coordinating medical experimentation on his fellow islanders, as well as on prisoners.” Selma let that sink in. “He was also a doctor.”

“My God . . . the other bodies—the older ones. Hundreds of them. Her grandfather . . .”

“That’s my guess. He probably took her into his confidence when he recognized the psychopathology ran in her, too.”

“What about the father?”

“Died a decade ago. It appears he spent his entire life trying to atone for his father’s sins, doing community work for free, tending to islanders . . .”

“And the grandfather?”

“I haven’t found anything about his passing yet. It’s like he disappeared once the war was over.”

“You . . . you don’t suspect he’s still alive, do you?”

“I’m not going to speculate. He’d be older than Moses, though, if he is, so it’s unlikely.”

“Keep on it, Selma.”

“Oh, you can depend on that. I’m sorry you didn’t find the treasure.”

“Don’t be. We’ve been able to confirm a remarkable historical discovery and we foiled a monstrous plot in the bargain. I’d say that’s a full day’s work, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’m thinking more of Lazlo. He must be dejected.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He’ll recover easily enough. He’s nothing if not resilient, I’ll give him that,” Remi conceded.

“Still. It’s out there somewhere.”

Remi stared off down the hallway at the police going about their grim business and nodded to herself.

“Yes, it is, Selma. Yes, it is. But you can’t win them all, right?”

“I’m sorry. You must have dropped out, I didn’t catch that last bit . . .”

They laughed together, the sound musical and easy, and Selma reminded Remi again to call that evening and let her know how Sam was faring, and to be careful—she’d been following news of the rioting online and was clearly worried.

“I will, Selma.” Remi smiled. “And thank you. For everything.”

“What did I do now?” Selma asked warily.

“Just for being you.”