Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"
Автор книги: Clive Cussler
Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 5
Leonid’s pickup truck rolled into the lot several minutes later and pulled up next to the SUV. Leonid got out and waved to the driver, who gunned the engine and veered back onto the main road in a cloud of exhaust. The Russian approached Sam with a hangdog expression on his face.
“Did he make it?” he asked.
“Barely,” Sam said. “It’ll be touch and go, that’s for sure.”
“Poor guy. What a way to go.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t warn you about the crocodiles,” Remi said.
“They did. That’s why they had the machetes and axes.”
Sam eyed Leonid. “Couple of AK-47s would have been a better idea.”
“Believe me, my friend, if there were any on the island, I would have had them.”
“Where’s your crew?” Remi asked.
“Back at the bay. They’re packing up and returning by sea with the boats and gear. Nobody wanted to ride with me. I have a feeling they blame me for their friend’s misfortune for some reason.” He paused. “Did you see the size of that creature? It was longer than the truck.”
“And it may have family in the area,” Sam said.
Remi nodded. “Yes, and the relatives might hold a grudge. Take your butchering of their friend personally.”
Leonid looked alarmed. “I didn’t do anything.”
Sam gave Remi a sad smile. “You don’t need to explain it to us. Save it for the crocs.”
They trooped into the building, which was as primitive as the exterior promised. The emergency room lounge was a squalid rectangle with poor ventilation and a dozen sick or injured waiting on a row of shabby benches. Ricky had claimed an empty area on the far end and was staring off into space. They moved to the bench and sat beside him as the overhead fans orbited in a futile attempt to cool the stifling interior. After a few minutes of sweating, Remi stood again. “I’ll wait outside.”
Sam rose and Leonid followed suit. “We’ll keep you company.”
Remi turned to Ricky. “Will you come get us when you hear something?”
“Yes.” Ricky looked unfazed by the heat. “Dr. Vanya’s the best we have, so he’s in good hands.”
“That’s a little bit of luck, at any rate,” Remi said, wiping her brow.
An old man sitting nearby coughed with a wet, thick sound, and Sam took Remi’s hand and led her to the exit. Outside, the temperature was baking, but, even so, it felt refreshing after the hotbox that was the hospital’s waiting room. They found a shaded area near the side of the building, and Sam inspected his shirt.
“Probably not a bad idea to get back to the hotel to change.” He looked at Remi, who also had dried blood on her. “Want to make a quick run?”
Remi glanced at the Land Rover. “If we pass a car wash, you’ve got my vote.”
Leonid nodded. “I’ll give you a lift. No point standing here cooking.”
They piled into the SUV, and Leonid took the wheel. After the breakneck ride from the bay, the Russian’s conservative driving felt like they were standing still. Leonid’s face looked like he’d been drinking vinegar as he navigated the busy streets, surprisingly clogged with cars.
“We’re pretty much shut down now,” he said. “There’s no way that crew’s going to want to return to the bay after this.”
“Have you talked to them?”
“Only two indicated any willingness to go back tomorrow.”
“What about boats?”
“None of the captains want anything to do with us now. Bad luck, that.”
“Especially for the uncle,” Remi said, eyeing her shirt. “I can’t even imagine what he’s going through.”
“He’s lucky you two were there. If we’d had to wait for the others to do something, he’d be dead,” Leonid stated flatly.
“Ricky said that’s cultural. Nothing moves fast on the island.”
“Except the crocodiles,” Leonid said.
They got to the hotel and, ignoring the horrified looks of staff and the few other guests, went directly to their room. After quick showers and a change of clothes, they were ready to return to the hospital. Leonid was waiting for them in the cool lobby, where he was studying the photographs he’d salvaged in the chaos. Sam and Remi took seats on either side of him, enjoying the slight chill of the air-conditioning.
“If you look at this one, you can see another structure in the background. The head of the dive team said he thought there were at least six of these, maybe more,” Leonid said, holding up a photo.
“If he’s right, it’s an incredible find. Not only an ancient ruin but one that’s been lost for long enough that nobody remembers it. Never mind that its location presents an intriguing mystery,” Remi said.
“Obviously, some sort of natural disaster,” Sam speculated. “This area has a history of earthquakes. That’s got to be how it wound up underwater.”
“Yes, but more interesting to me is the construction. Stone. There’s no history of stone building here. This is an important clue to a past we never imagined,” Leonid said.
“It is odd that there’s no record of it, isn’t it?” Remi asked softly.
Leonid put the photos down. “Not to me. This is a fragmented society that relies on oral tradition. There are over seventy languages in the islands. That speaks to separatism. It could be that everyone who knew about it was wiped out. Imagine how big an earthquake would have been required to sink the entire shore to that depth.”
An idea occurred to Sam. “Assuming it was built on the shore.”
Remi gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you think any differently?”
Sam sat forward. “Have you ever heard of Nan Madol?”
“No.”
“The ruling dynasty built islands out of big rocks on top of the coral reefs there—a similar approach to Venice—with a series of interconnected canals,” Sam explained. Leonid stared at him thoughtfully. “If it was built in a lagoon or on a reef, that would better explain why it’s submerged. If the shelf collapsed in a big earthquake—”
“Exactly. Anyway, without diving the find, that would be my first guess. We’ll know more once Selma finds us a research vessel.”
They rose and reluctantly traded the comfort of the hotel lobby for the muggy heat outside. The squall line that had been lingering on the horizon was approaching, pushing humid air ahead of it, and as they made their way back to the hospital, the sky was darkening.
Leonid had been on Guadalcanal for a week and was by now used to the schizophrenic weather. He glanced up at the clouds without interest. The interior of the SUV smelled like a slaughterhouse, and he pulled over at a car wash being operated out of an empty field next to a grocery, its water supplied by runners with buckets, the workers shirtless and shoeless, laughing as they worked on a short line of vehicles.
The good humor abruptly died when the lead youth got a glimpse of the Land Rover’s interior. Remi, Sam, and Leonid spent the next half hour beneath a banyan tree, watching the washers work in nervous silence. A police car appeared at the curb halfway through, and two officers approached them and questioned them briefly before radioing the hospital and getting confirmation of their account.
Leonid exhaled a sigh of relief once the police left. His gaze moved to the clouds when distant thunder boomed across the sea.
“Sounds like it’s coming on fast,” he commented.
“That will stir up the water and decrease visibility if we try to dive tomorrow,” Sam said. “Presuming you’re still game.”
“Did you not see the crocodile the size of a freight car back on the beach?” Remi asked.
“Right. So we know where he is.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said.
“What’s life without a little stimulation?”
She frowned. “The word you’re looking for is ‘safe.’ Or maybe ‘long.’”
Sam waved a hand at the sky. “Bah. Let’s head over to the hospital and check on the uncle and then see about reserving some gear. I want to get a close-up look, now that we’re here. I don’t do well sitting on the sidelines. Besides, the attack happened on the beach, so the safest place in that bay is anywhere but where we were.”
Leonid nodded. “The hard part will be getting boats. The ones I rented today won’t be back.”
“Drop us off at the hospital while you nose around for some others. Leave a message for us at the hotel with the details if you’re successful,” Sam said.
“And see if you can find someone with a nice, lightly used .50 caliber machine gun, while you’re at it. In case our reptilian guest wasn’t alone,” Remi said.
The thunder was nearing when Leonid left them at the hospital and they barely made it inside before the heavens opened and sheets of rain poured down. Drops the size of golf balls hammered a rapid-fire tattoo on the corrugated metal roof of the waiting area, where Ricky was sitting immobile as a statue, his eyes closed. The crowd had thinned and now only the old man with the cough, a laborer with an obviously broken arm, and a fisherman with a gash on his hand remained.
They took seats on the bench next to Ricky. He stirred and cracked an eye open. Remi smiled at him and he returned the favor with a tentative grin of his own.
“Any word?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. But it’s only been a couple of hours. I don’t expect anything yet.”
Neither had to voice the probability that, at the very least, his uncle would lose the leg. That he was still alive after the savage attack was miracle enough. Hopefully, that questionable luck would hold.
Another hour went by and then Dr. Vanya pushed through the emergency room’s double doors, still wearing surgical scrubs. Ricky stood, and Sam and Remi joined him as she approached.
“Well, the good news is, he’s stable. We managed to get enough blood into him so his chances look reasonable. But the next twenty-four hours will tell. The biggest risk now is that he succumbs to shock or that infection sets in. He’s in decent physical shape and fairly young, but there are no guarantees.”
“And the leg?” Ricky asked softly.
“The bones were splintered into a hundred slivers by the jaws, so even if I’d been right there, we’d still have had to amputate. I’m sorry,” she said.
“Can we see him?” Ricky asked.
Dr. Vanya shook her head. “Let’s give him some time, shall we? Maybe this evening.” She turned her attention to Sam and Remi. “How did you happen to be so close when the attack happened? The crocodiles generally stay away from the tourist beaches. Hopefully, that hasn’t changed.”
“We were on the other side of the island with him. Pretty remote,” Sam explained, keeping it vague. It wasn’t his place to share the details of Leonid’s expedition, even though by now word of the attack had probably spread like wildfire, along with gossip about the buildings beneath the sea.
“What on earth were you doing there?” she asked.
“Helping a friend with a project,” Sam said.
“A project?” Vanya pressed.
“Archaeology.”
“Ah,” Vanya said as though that explained everything. “You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Our accents give us away?” Remi asked.
“Well, yes. Most of our visitors are from Australia and New Zealand. We don’t get nearly as many Americans as we did when I was growing up. Back then, there were still a lot of veterans who came to revisit the old battlegrounds and pay their respect. But no longer,” she explained.
“Oh, you’re an islander?” Remi said, surprised. There was no trace of the local pidgin accent in her speech.
“Until I was ten. Then my family moved to Sydney, where I went to school. Somewhere in all that I lost my accent.” She smiled. “But you know what they say: you can take the islander off the island, but you can’t take the island out of the islander. After I graduated and completed my residency, I wanted to give back to my people, so I returned nine years ago.”
“That’s a wonderful thing to do,” Sam said.
“Well, it’s where I was born. My current project is raising funds for several rural clinics around the island. It may seem like a small place, but when you cut yourself or have an accident, traversing the roads can take a lifetime. And also for vaccinations and the like. Unfortunately, the government’s always been a disaster, so fate leaves it up to the private sector to do what it can.”
“That sounds like a noble calling,” Sam said. “Maybe you can give us some information about it?”
Vanya appraised him. “Why? Feel like donating?” she asked bluntly.
Remi stepped in. “We oversee a foundation that does charitable work all over the world.”
Vanya blinked twice and then smiled, the tiny stress lines around her eyes crinkling. “Well, in that case, you must have dinner with me. How long will you be on Guadalcanal?”
Remi shrugged. “We haven’t decided.”
Sam chuckled. “Until they throw us off.”
Everyone laughed. Vanya nodded. “Given your recent act of heroism, that’s unlikely. Seriously. If you’re free this evening, I’d love to show you one of the local hideaways. I’m having dinner with a colleague and I’m sure he’d be interested in discussing your project. We don’t get a lot of archaeologists nosing around. And of course I want to tell you all about my clinics.”
Remi exchanged a glance with Sam. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”
“Absolutely,” Vanya said. “The truth is, I get bored out of my skull around here after a time. I could use some time with fresh faces, hear some new stories. I’m afraid after my time in Sydney, Honiara doesn’t have quite the interest it did when I was ten. I assure you my invitation is purely driven by selfishness.”
“Well, then, it’s a date,” Sam said. “Shall we meet you here?”
“If you like.” She paused, thinking. “Or I can swing by wherever you’re staying. That way, I can go home and freshen up, and, if it’s still pouring, you won’t have to brave the rain to get here. What hotel?”
Sam gave her their information and they agreed to meet in the lobby at eight. Vanya spent another minute with Ricky, explaining his uncle’s condition to him, and then returned to the bowels of the hospital after stopping to briefly examine the man with the broken arm.
CHAPTER 6
When Sam and Remi checked at the front desk for Dr. Vanya, the clerk handed them a message slip.
“Looks like we’re in business,” Sam said as he read the note. “Leonid’s going to be picking us up at nine tomorrow morning.”
“I have mixed feelings about diving in a crocodile-infested swamp,” Remi said.
“It’s not a swamp. And it was only one crocodile.”
“What’s the exact procedure for fending off an underwater crocodile attack? I wonder if it’s like a shark?”
“Not to worry. I have the tactical skills necessary.”
“That’s very thoughtful. But it does raise the question of what your plan would be if one attacked.”
“Oh. Simple,” Sam said. “I’m a fast swimmer.”
“Not faster than one of those things.”
“I don’t have to be.” He smiled. “I just have to be faster than you.”
Remi returned the smile. “Touché.”
“Thing about saltwater crocs is they’re solitary and territorial, so it’s unlikely another will move into the area so soon. We’ll keep an eye peeled, but where we’re diving we should be safe.”
Remi gave him a sidelong glance. “Let’s hope someone told the crocs all that.”
The doctor pulled up in a silver Mitsubishi SUV that was covered in mud. They piled into the backseat and buckled in. The rain had stopped with the approach of dusk, but the roads were still flooded in many places, and Vanya drove cautiously to the waterfront.
“I hope you like seafood. This is the best place on the island. Very authentic, but not fancy,” she said. “It’s been here for twenty years, so they’re doing something right.”
“That’s perfect,” Remi said. “I love fish.”
“Me too,” Sam chimed in.
The exterior of the restaurant showed fading blue paint peeling from crooked wooden planks. A simple hand-lettered sign over the door featured a stylized depiction of a crab and the restaurant name: Eleanor’s.
“She owns the place. A magician with recipes. Whatever the fresh catch is, you can’t go wrong with it,” Vanya assured them.
The interior matched the outside—simple and run-down, but with heady aromas drifting from the kitchen. The dining area was packed with locals, conversing boisterously over their seafood platters. Vanya waved at a table near the back, where a heavyset man with skin the color of coal grinned at them, his suit and tie out of place in the surroundings. They approached and he stood, hand outstretched in greeting, and he was so tall that his head almost hit the ceiling. Vanya made the introductions.
“Sam and Remi Fargo, meet Orwen Manchester. Orwen is a genuine celebrity here—he’s one of the few members of parliament who’s survived for more than fifteen minutes in the confusion that’s our system.”
“Well, that’s too kind, Vanya. You really should consider government work with that silver tongue of yours,” Manchester said, his voice deep and good-humored. “Halo olketa,” he intoned, the traditional island greeting. Remi shook his hand, which was twice as large as hers, and Sam did the same, noting that the man was careful about his grip, given his stature.
“Nonsense, Orwen, your humility doesn’t become you. You’re a venerated Solomon Islands icon. And that takes some doing, given how often the administrations are booted with votes of no confidence every other week.”
“I’ve been very fortunate,” Manchester said with a practiced smile. “And the good doctor exaggerates. I like to say I have one of the jobs nobody sane would want, so the competition for my seat isn’t particularly stiff.”
Manchester’s English was as polished as Vanya’s, and his accent marked him as a product of the Australian education system. Everyone took seats around the table, and a server approached, looking harried with the packed house. The man spoke rapidly, his pidgin thick as tar, and then repeated his question more clearly when Sam and Remi looked at each other with puzzled expressions.
Vanya saved them from embarrassment. “If you like beer, the local SolBrew is quite good, and I understand from my friend here that it’s kept very cold by the management. They also have a nice selection of sodas.”
Remi asked for a cola, and Manchester and Sam ordered beer. Vanya requested a bottle of water, explaining that the caffeine and sugar would keep her awake all night if she went with soda. “Women don’t drink alcohol in the islands—or, at least, almost none do. Everyone would be scandalized if they saw me having one with you,” she said. “One of many things I miss from my days in Australia. Cold beer and good wine.”
“I don’t envy you,” Sam said as the server returned with their drinks and four laminated, single-page menus.
“Fortunately, that quaint custom doesn’t apply to men. Cheers!” Manchester said, and raised his sweating bottle in a toast. Sam clinked his against the big man’s beer and took a cautious pull.
“That’s quite good. I could see making a habit of this,” he said.
“Sam’s never met a beer he didn’t like,” Remi said, studying the menu. “You recommended the catch of the day?”
“Oh, yes. It’s always excellent,” Vanya assured them, and Manchester nodded in agreement.
Sam’s attention was drawn to a nearby table where the islanders were feasting on fish, eating with their fingers. Manchester followed his gaze and smiled. “That’s tradition for you. Don’t worry. Everyone at this table uses a proper knife and fork.”
They ordered four servings of the fresh mahi mahi, and the server took their menus. Once he was gone, Vanya offered the table a smile and sat back. “The Fargos are here doing something archaeology related. Isn’t that right?”
Remi nodded. “We’re helping a friend.”
“When did you arrive in Guadalcanal?” Manchester asked.
“This morning.”
“And quite a first day they had, Orwen. I met them when they were bringing a crocodile attack victim to the hospital.”
“Good Lord! You’re joking!” Manchester said, genuinely shocked.
“I wish she was,” Sam said. “Although our man won the fight, he paid for it in blood.”
“Shocking. I’m sorry that was your first experience with the islands. We normally try to keep the crocodiles and attorneys away from the tourists, at least in the beginning. It’s bad for business.” Manchester paused. “You can tell which ones are the crocodiles because they’re friendlier.”
Everyone laughed, and he continued. “So this is a two-time-loser of a day. First a crocodile and then dinner with a politician.”
Vanya grinned. “But you’re one of the good ones, right?” She looked at Sam. “Of course Orwen’s also an attorney. So you got all three local hazards in one fell swoop.” She reached across the table and patted Manchester’s hand.
Manchester finished his beer and held up the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” He looked over at Sam, who was only halfway done with his, before gesturing to the server with two fingers. “Being the resident evil is a thirsty business.” He studied Sam and leaned forward. “How bad was the attack?”
Vanya interjected. “He’ll live, minus a leg. His nephew said the creature was twenty feet long, so he’s fortunate it didn’t bite him in two.”
Another round of beer arrived, and Manchester grinned at Sam. “You learn in this heat to drink them fast or they get warm.”
Sam smiled back at him. “Maybe we can get a bucket with some ice? I’m a lightweight. Plus, I’m going to be diving tomorrow and even a trace of a hangover can make it a pretty unpleasant experience.”
“Diving, you say? Fascinating. What’s this all about? Vanya mentioned archaeology?” Manchester asked, and took a mammoth swig of his fresh beer before waving to the waiter, who scurried over. A hushed discussion ensued, and then Manchester returned his gaze to Sam. “What on earth could archaeology have to do with diving? Unless you’re talking about a sinkhole . . .”
“Our friend found some anomalies off the coast and asked us to take a look,” Remi said.
“Really? Are you archaeologists?”
“That’s one of our passions.”
“How remarkable. For some reason, I never associate the profession with such . . . vitality,” Manchester said, admiring Remi.
“The world’s changing. Full of surprises,” Sam said, and held his beer aloft in another toast, hoping to distract the politician, who was treading dangerously close to being rude.
“And what are these ‘anomalies,’ as you put it?” Vanya asked.
“We don’t know. We just got here and were sidetracked by the crocodile,” Remi said.
“Might it not be leftovers from the war? The place is littered with them,” Manchester said.
“Could be,” Sam agreed.
A bucket brimming with ice arrived, and Sam positioned his second beer in it. Manchester finished his and signaled for another. Vanya gave Remi a gentle roll of her eyes as if to say “What can you do with the big lug?”
“But enough about our little hobby,” Sam continued, then changed the subject. “What’s all this about setting up clinics?”
Vanya beamed at him. “It’s been a long time in the planning. I’ve given up on the government doing anything for its people but robbing them blind, so I’m taking matters into my own hands. Children are getting sick and not being treated. People are dying who could be saved. All for want of some remedial care. It doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m saying in the twenty-first century it shouldn’t be that way. We have the knowledge, all we need are the resources. Which is where our generous donors come in.”
“Sounds like a worthwhile cause. Do you already have many contributors?” Remi asked.
Manchester guffawed as the third beer materialized and the empties were whisked away. “I’ll say. She’s got every pharmaceutical company she can shame into pledging something.”
“Would that it were enough, Orwen. It’s just scratching the surface. Reality is, nobody much cares about our people, and, at best, I’ve been able to get them to commit to token charity. Any of these groups could easily write a check and solve most of our infrastructure issues with the stroke of a pen, but they don’t. Because we’re not high visibility. We’re stuck in a corner of the world nobody knows exists. So they commit to some crumbs, which is better than nothing, but not much.”
“How much do you still need to raise?”
“My target’s half a million U.S. dollars for the first year and then two hundred thousand every year thereafter. The first year will pay for simple buildings and some primitive equipment, but those costs won’t recur.” Vanya shook her head. “These companies spend more on a slow day advertising tooth whitener. But like I said, we’re not a revenue source, so we don’t matter. So far, I’ve marshaled a hundred and fifty of the first year’s requirement and a soft fifty for the second.”
Remi looked to Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “We’ll take it under advisement. Do you have a plan? A budget written out?”
“Of course. An entire presentation.”
“Could we get a copy?” Remi asked.
“I’d be delighted. Is it really something you think your foundation might be interested in supporting?” Vanya asked, her tone excited.
Sam finished his beer. “No promises, but let’s see what you have. I know the foundation has funded other worthwhile causes.”
Steaming platters of fish arrived, and Manchester made a point of studying his silverware for blemishes before digging in. By the size of his bites and the speed with which he ate, it was clear he was a man who didn’t miss any meals. Silence reigned at the table until the fish was gone. Sam sat back. “That was wonderful. Like they just caught it.”
Vanya nodded. “I’d be surprised if it was more than a few hours old. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of marine life here. One of the ways we’ve been blessed.”
“That and the mineral riches we can’t seem to get organized enough to pull out of the ground,” Manchester chimed in, sounding bitter.
“Really?” Sam asked. “Like what?”
“Good gracious, man. Oil. Tankers full of it. And every kind of rarity you can imagine. Gold by the truckload. Emeralds. Rubies. And on and on. We should be richer than the bloody Saudis, but instead all we do is bicker with each other and chase our own tails.”
“Don’t get Orwen started. It’s one of his pet peeves,” Vanya chided as the plates were cleared.
“We’ve had a history of corruption and of foreigners coming in and taking anything of value. How much do you know about our history?” Manchester asked with a slight slur.
“Not enough, obviously,” Sam said.
“We were a British protectorate for years and then the Japs invaded and took over the islands. Then the Yanks fought them off, only to hand us over to the Brits again after the war. We’ve been passed around like a pack of smokes at a rock concert, and, up until recently, nobody, including ourselves, thought that we might actually be entitled to self-determination rather than being somebody else’s possession.” He barked a humorless laugh. “Fat lot of good it’s done us. We might as well be destitute. We’re sitting on a fortune in natural resources and we can’t make a go of it. Saddest story you’ll ever hear.”
Vanya sighed, obviously having heard all this many times before. “Next, he’ll be railing about the gold mine.”
“So there’s still gold?” Remi asked.
“Of course there is. But you wouldn’t know it to look at us, would you? And as Vanya alluded to, people get frustrated at all the jockeying and ineptness, so they kick their administration out with regularity, so the mentality of most politicians is to grab what you can while you’re in office because chances are you won’t be much longer. It’s a vicious circle. One I’ve lived in the last twenty years.”
Vanya eyed the big man with a gentle gaze. “Orwen here is one of the last good ones. Don’t let him sour you on Guadalcanal. It’s got its share of problems, but it’s a beautiful place filled with warm-hearted people.”
Manchester drained his beer. “And crocodiles. Can’t forget them. Maybe we should let them have a turn at running the thing. Can’t do much worse than we have.”
The conversation stalled, and Vanya did her best to bring it back to center. “It’s confession time. I haven’t been completely honest with you two,” she said in a low voice.
“Really?” Remi said with arched eyebrows.
“Yes. I’m a bit of a research fanatic, and when I went home to change, I googled Sam and Remi Fargo. I suppose you know what I found.”
Sam looked sheepish. “Can’t believe everything you read on the web.”
“Perhaps.” She eyed Manchester. “Orwen, I’ll have you know you’re sitting with celebrities. Sam and Remi are renowned treasure hunters.”
Manchester’s face could have been carved from granite. “Treasure hunters?”
“A distortion the media loves. They sensationalize everything,” Remi explained. “We’ve been fortunate a few times in locating significant finds. Some of our archaeological projects have turned up some historically valuable items. But it’s not like we find treasure and keep it,” she said, frowning. “It goes to the rightful owners for charitable work and enrichment.”
“That’s right. It’s a case of man bites dog. Anything to sell papers,” Sam echoed.
“And modest as well as famous,” Vanya said. “The Fargos have discovered more hidden booty than anyone else on the planet, Orwen. Don’t let their humility fool you.”
Sam waved a hand. “Most people have better things to do than root around in old temples and the like. That’s a meaningless statistic,” he said. “It’s like having seen more ghosts than anyone. Doesn’t say much.”
“Where did you say you were diving?” Manchester asked, his tone polite but with a hint of frost to it.
Remi smiled megawatts at him. “We didn’t. It’s our friend’s expedition, so not ours to talk about. But I can assure you there’s no treasure involved.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s a small island. I’m sure everyone’s already talking about the attack. Secrets like that don’t stay that way very long around here.”
“Probably, but we have to respect our friend’s wishes. He’s an academic and these kinds of things are important to him. Bragging rights,” she said.
Manchester nodded. “I completely understand. I just thought that perhaps I could be of service if you need any help with permits or that sort of thing.”
Remi gave a polite yawn behind her hand, and Vanya took the hint and gestured for the check. When it came, Sam snatched it from the waiter’s hand before she could reach it. “Please. Let us buy dinner. That was the best fish and some of the most engaging company we’ve had in ages. It’s the least we can do.”
Vanya’s eyes flashed, but she smiled. “That’s very generous. Hopefully, that generosity will extend to helping my people.”
