Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"
Автор книги: Clive Cussler
Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 10
The car rental company was owned by a chubby man with a Buddha-like countenance who laughed at the end of each sentence he spoke like a form of punctuation. He showed them a silver Nissan Xterra that was more dents than not and they agreed on what seemed like a reasonable price per day.
It began raining as they climbed into the cab. Sam took the wheel and within minutes they headed east at a crawl, the main road having almost instantly become a river from the cloudburst. They passed beneath a pedestrian bridge and Sam paused to look at the elaborate graffiti murals adorning the concrete pylons. Depictions of islanders from the distant past and of primitive deities ringed the concrete, the detail impressive even in the heavy rain.
Within minutes, they had left the city limits and crossed the swollen Lor Lungga creek, its rushing brown water thick with floating branches from the mountains. They passed Henderson Field, the international airport that had been built by Allied forces during the war, and soon were barreling along through dense jungle. The rain blew across the asphalt in silver sheets, and the Nissan’s wipers struggled to keep up with the downpour.
After a few miles, the rain stopped as abruptly as it started. When the clouds parted, steam rose from the pavement as the water evaporated under the harsh glare of the blazing sun.
“Well, one good thing about this place,” Sam said as Remi fiddled with the dashboard knobs, trying to coax the reluctant air-conditioning to action.
“What’s that?”
“If you don’t like the weather, all you have to do is wait a little while and it will change.”
“Right. A choice of humid hot and raining hot. My hair’s hopeless,” Remi said, tugging at her limp locks.
“After we finish up here, I’ll take you anywhere you want. Rio, Milan, Nice. Spas, salons, shopping, pampering, the works.”
“Any chance we can skip straight to the fun part?”
“Didn’t I tell you? This is the fun part.” Sam chuckled.
A small roadside sign announced they were crossing Alligator River, and Remi gave Sam a dark look. “I’m noticing a theme to the local attractions.”
“Alligators are different from crocodiles.”
“A distinction that’s lost on this girl at the moment. They’ll both eat you.”
“Well, there’s that,” Sam conceded.
They arrived at another bridge, this one barely wide enough to accommodate the Nissan, and then drove past a sign pointing south that said “Gold Ridge.”
“I wonder if that’s the mine?” Remi said.
“We can take a look on the way back, if you want. We’re not on any pressing schedule.”
“Let’s see how we do in the wilds. If not today, there’s always tomorrow.”
“Whatever my lady wants,” Sam said.
“That’s a little more like it.”
When they arrived at Mbinu, they found the little hamlet was barely more than a few modest homes along a stretch of nothing. They stopped at a tiny market and were immediately assaulted by heat and bugs. Several islanders sat in the shade of a tree by the side of the road, staring at them curiously. Sam approached, the sheet of paper with the names and addresses in his hand.
“We’re looking for a man named Tom. Supposed to live around here?” he asked with a smile.
The islanders stared at him, and then one made a comment in a language neither Sam nor Remi understood and the others all laughed.
Remi stepped forward. “Do you know Tom?”
More muttered comments, more laughter, and one of the men shrugged. Remi turned to Sam. “This is going well.”
“I remember reading that even though English is the official language, only a fraction of the population speaks it.”
“Looks like this isn’t that fraction.”
They waved at the islanders, who waved back, friendly enough, and tried the market. There they had a slightly better result—the heavyset woman behind the ancient cash register spoke a little English.
“Tom? He by da church. Down da road a piece.”
“Church?” Sam asked.
“Back that way.”
“Oh, good. And where, exactly, is Tom’s?”
“Look for sign.”
“Sign?”
“Skink.”
“Excuse me?”
“Skink.” The woman pantomimed a crawling animal and Remi nodded.
“Ah.”
They got back into the car and backtracked. It took them two return trips before they spotted a muddy sign with the outline of a lizard on it. “Want to bet that’s a kink?” Sam asked.
“Skink. With an s. At least that’s what it sounded like,” Remi corrected.
They bounced down a rutted muddy drive for a hundred yards and then rounded a bend. A tired-looking house occupied the far side of a clearing ringed by trees. A sixties Toyota sedan, almost entirely rust, was parked at the edge of the drive. An elderly man wearing a dark green T-shirt and shorts sat on what served as a porch, staring at them as they parked and got out of the Nissan.
“Tom?” Remi asked with a smile.
“That’s me,” the man replied, smiling, his few yellow teeth standing out against his dark complexion like headlights.
“We’re friends of Orwen Manchester.”
“That thief? Always said no damned good would come of the boy,” Tom said with a cackle. “What can I do for you? Skink?” He held up a green lizard that had been slumbering in his lap and Remi resisted the urge to recoil. It was over two feet long, with a triangular head and beady black eyes.
“Um, no. We’re here to ask about some of the old stories. Orwen felt you might be able to help,” Remi said, returning his smile.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but no harm asking. Can I get you anything? Water? Maybe soda? I’m a little low on supplies, but I can probably find something.”
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s fine. We’re good.”
“Well, come on and have a seat, then. What stories you want to know about?”
They sat on a makeshift wooden bench, their backs to the front of the house, and Sam cleared his throat. “Anything that might have to do with a cursed bay on the other side of the island.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “‘Cursed bay,’ you say?”
“That’s what the captain of the boat we were on said.”
“Why you care about some old nonsense like that?”
“We’re just interested in why such a pretty area would be considered taboo by islanders.”
Tom stared off into the distance and then grunted. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
Remi’s face fell. “You don’t know any stories connected to the bay?”
Tom shook his head. “Afraid you wasted your time, folks.”
“That’s a shame. We saved a man’s life who was attacked by a crocodile there,” Sam said, hoping to score some points.
Tom showed no interest in the story. “Yeah, that happens. People go missing sometimes when they’re careless. Crocodiles are plenty dangerous around here.” He spat to the side. “’Course lots of danger around this place if you aren’t careful.”
“Really?” Remi said. “It doesn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.”
“Oh, it is. ’Specially you go poking your nose around where it don’t belong.”
“Like where?”
“Like that bay you talking about, for starters. And the caves.” His voice softened to a whisper. “Best not to get too close to the giants.”
Sam sat forward. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘giants’?”
Tom nodded. “That’s right. Plenty of them in the mountains. Best to stay away and mind your own business. Stay in Honiara. Enjoy yourself. Be safe.”
“You’re saying there are giants here?” Sam asked again, his tone skeptical.
Tom grunted again. “Been here forever. And then some.”
“As in ‘big people’?” Remi clarified, surprised by the unusual turn the conversation had taken.
“Not people. Giants. Huge. They live in the caves and eat people. People aren’t their friend. Most country people know about them. They see them all the time.”
“This is a legend, right?”
“Call it what you want, I’m just warning you so you don’t get into trouble. You friends with Orwen. Wouldn’t do to be eaten by giants.”
Sam chuckled. “You honestly believe in giants?”
“Hell, boy, I seen ’em. Plenty of ’em, in my time. Over twice as tall as you, covered in hair. Meaner than that crocodile that ate your mate.” Tom spat again and then seemed to lose interest in the conversation. Sam and Remi tried to get something more out of him, but, while polite, he answered their questions with cryptic comments and generalities.
“Is there anything else we should know about besides giants?” Sam asked with a good-natured smile.
“Laugh all you want, but there’s strange things going on. People are disappearing. Getting sick for no reason. Up in the hills, there are areas nobody will go because they’re poison. The island’s changing and giants are only one of the dangers. Never seen nothing like it before, and I know enough to understand none of it’s good.”
“Is that what people think about the bay, too? That it’s poison? Cursed?” Remi asked softly.
“I don’t know nothing about no bay.”
“What about stories from the old days. Anything about lost cities?”
Tom petted his skink and shook his head. “You talking nonsense now?”
“No, I just thought I’d heard something about a lost kingdom.”
“That’s a new one on me,” Tom said, but his tone sounded guarded.
After a few more minutes of stonewalling, Tom announced he was tired. Sam and Remi took the hint and made their way back to the car, the old man’s eyes boring through them as they walked.
Sam started the engine and turned to Remi. “Can you believe that?”
“What, the giants or not knowing about the bay?”
“Both. I watched his eyes. He knows more than he’s letting on. I think the giants were just to distract us.”
“It worked. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. But he described them with a straight face.”
“I’m getting the sense that the national pastime here is BS’ing the tourists. There’s no such thing as giants.”
“I know, but he was awfully convincing about there being danger around every turn and people disappearing. What do you make of that?”
“I honestly have no idea. But what I do know is that it tells us nothing about the bay or why it’s cursed. More like he was trying to scare us away from asking any more questions.”
A rumble of thunder sounded from the west and their eyes met. “Not again,” Remi said.
“You up for another old-timer? Maybe he’s friendlier than Tom.”
“If it’s pouring down rain, it could get awfully messy on a muddy road.”
“I say we go for it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Remi fluttered a hand. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Fifteen minutes later, the blue sky turned to roiling anthracite and dark clouds pummeled the island with driving rain. The potholes made a terrible road even slower going, and when they ran out of pavement, it quickly became obvious that their willingness to forge ahead was no substitute for a sunny day. After a quarter mile, the water neared the running boards and Sam conceded defeat. He turned around and the SUV slipped and slid back to the road, the muddy track almost unrecognizable with the flood coursing down its middle, the ruts from their tires filling only seconds after passing.
The rain didn’t let up, and the trip back to the hotel took twice as long. When they finally reached the hotel lot, they exhaled in relief as they parked. Dripping, they entered the lobby, and the front desk clerk beckoned to them. Remi went to see what she wanted while Sam continued to the room. There were two messages: one from Leonid, saying he’d had his first classroom lesson and would be doing a shallow dive in the afternoon, and the second from Manchester, inviting them to dinner.
“You want to go?” Sam asked when she made it back to the room.
“Sure. Why not? We can see what he thinks about the giants.”
“I know what I think about them. Boogeyman stories to scare children.”
“Probably. But you have to admit the whole discussion with Tom was unsettling. He really sounded like he believed that stuff.”
“He’s at an age where he might not be able to tell the difference between reality and hallucinations, Remi. What did you make him as? Eighty? Older?”
“Hard to tell, but he seemed pretty sharp to me.”
They met Manchester at another seaside restaurant, this one a little tonier than the prior night’s. A glance at the empties on the table and the bottle in his hand showed that the big man was already through his second beer when they arrived. He motioned them over with his ever-present smirk.
“Sorry the weather didn’t cooperate today. Should be fine tomorrow,” he said as though he was personally responsible for the storm.
“No problem. We got to see one of the two fellows you directed us to,” Remi said.
“Oh, good. Which one?”
“Tom.”
“He’s a character, isn’t he? Did you get anything useful out of him?” Manchester asked, draining his bottle.
“Just a shaggy-dog story about giants.”
“Ah, yes, the giants. A local tradition. Everyone knows someone who’s seen them, but when you start trying to nail the story down, it gets slipperier than a greased eel.”
“Tom said he’s seen them.”
“Of course he has. I mean, I’m sure he’s seen something he thought was a giant. A shadow in the rain forest. An unexplained blur. He doesn’t mean any harm. But did he know anything about your bay or the sunken ruins?”
Sam shook his head. “Regrettably, no. All he did was talk about people disappearing because of cannibal giants.”
Manchester signaled to the waiter for two beers and then raised an eyebrow at Remi. “And what would you like?”
“I’ll stick with water. The heat dehydrates me.”
Manchester called the waiter over to relay Remi’s request and then settled back in his chair. “So cannibal giants are running amok in the hills. I’ve heard that old wives’ tale since I was a boy and the funny thing is how enduring the story is. Coming in the dead of night and snatching the unwary. I always wondered how the legend started. There’s variations of it on most of the surrounding islands as well.”
When the waiter arrived with the drinks, Manchester ordered a seafood feast for them all that could feed ten people. They took their time eating as Manchester plowed through helping after helping with the commitment of a bulldog. When they finished, Sam turned the conversation to the gold mine.
“You mentioned the mine last night. How long has it been in operation?”
“On and off for a dozen years. Up until recently, it hasn’t done anything—ever since what we call the social unrest happened.”
“I never associated Guadalcanal with gold, for some reason.”
“Most Americans don’t. The only reason they’ve heard of the island is because of the big offensive against the Japanese in World War Two. But gold has been one of our defining characteristics—it’s how the Solomon Islands got their name.”
“Really?” Sam said.
“Yes. When the Spanish arrived in the sixteenth century, they found gold at the mouth of the Mataniko River. Their leader, an explorer named Álvaro de Mendaña de Neira, came to the unusual conclusion that this was one of the areas that the biblical King Solomon must have gotten some of his legendary gold from and named us after him. Let’s just say for an explorer, his sense of geography might have been a little off.”
“That’s funny,” Remi said. “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
Sam leaned forward. “Just to put our questions to rest, what do you make of Tom’s stories?”
“Well, people do go missing, and it seems like such incidents have been increasing, but I’m not sure what that means. It’s probably that the usual culprits are getting them—accidents, drownings, crocodiles—and that our reporting has gotten better so we’re tracking the disappearances more accurately. But it’s hardly an epidemic. We’re talking maybe twenty people a year. Hard to survive as a cannibal on that calorie count, I’d think.”
“I take it you’re not in the ‘giants are everywhere’ camp?” Remi asked.
“Tom’s a very nice bloke, but I prefer to stick to the physically possible, or at least probable. I’ll leave the unicorns and leprechauns to others.”
“What about his contention that certain areas of the island are cursed?”
“What does that mean? Because there’s more crocodiles in certain bays and near rivers there’s a curse? Or that because some of the inland cave systems are so treacherous that people disappear near them, never to be heard from again? For every curse, I can come up with a plausible explanation, and I don’t require flights of fancy to do it.”
“We were thinking about heading up to the gold mine tomorrow after we meet with Rubo.”
“Assuming he’s still alive and hasn’t washed away. As for the mine, there’s not a lot to see. It was closed down recently due to flooding and hasn’t reopened.”
“We’re running out of things to do in our off time. Where are these caves with all the giants located?”
“Up in the mountains,” Manchester said vaguely. “But there are no roads near them. And it’s treacherous terrain. I’m not sure I’d ever get bored enough to try to explore the caves. Too much other stimulation available. Diving, fishing . . .”
When they’d said their good-nights and were driving back to the hotel, Sam turned to Remi as they passed the waterfront.
“He didn’t seem impressed by Tom’s yarn, did he?”
“No. But there’s something off about him. Don’t ask me what.”
“You got that, too? I thought it was only me.”
CHAPTER 11
A utility truck rolled along the coastal road, and its engine labored to climb a grade on the dogleg leading away from the shore toward the mountains. The driver hummed along with the radio while his companion dozed in the passenger seat, khaki shirt soiled from a long workday.
The two Australians had been on Guadalcanal for six months, part of the ongoing aid effort since the 2006 riots. Now a much smaller group than during the upheaval, their duty was almost boring, with none of the danger of the previous years. The island had settled into a peaceful truce after much of Honiara had been destroyed during the unrest, and the focus was now on building a better future rather than fostering the cultural differences that had led to so much dissention.
The driver made his way around the curves with caution, alert to the possibility of coming head-on with a slow-moving vehicle without lights in the evening gloom. On the road, automobiles with questionable brakes and nonexistent safety equipment were only one of the many hazards. Domestic animals, fallen trees, broken-down cars—any and all could appear out of nowhere, and the driver was taking no chances.
“Crap. What’s this all about, then?” he muttered to himself as he came around a particularly sharp curve. A van was stopped in the middle of the road, its emergency lights flashing. “Alfred. Wake up.”
The passenger sat up straight and rubbed a hand over his face as they slowed. The road was blocked, so they couldn’t go around the vehicle.
“Bloody great, Simon. So much for getting back at a reasonable hour.”
The truck coasted to a stop and Simon peered at the rear of the van. “I hope the driver’s here. If he went walkabout to get help, we’re screwed.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Both men opened their doors and stepped out of the truck, leaving the engine running and their headlights illuminating the rusting van’s rear end. Simon walked to the driver’s door and peered inside and was turning to tell Alfred that it was empty when four dark forms ran from the bush at the side of the road, machete blades flashing in the dim light.
Simon held his arms up instinctively to block the blows, but his flesh and bone were no match for steel honed to a razor’s edge. Alfred went down in a heap as a blade severed his carotid artery, and the attackers continued to hack at him even when it was obvious he was dead.
Simon fell soundlessly from a sharp blow to his skull and crumpled lifelessly to the ground as his killer stood over him with a demented grin twisting his face. A voice called from the brush and the men stopped in their tracks.
“Enough. Get the truck off the road and drag the bodies into the bush so they aren’t discovered. The animals will take care of the rest.”
The men exchanged glances, their tattered clothes sprayed with blood that was already congealing in the warm night air. They sprang into action and within five minutes had cleared the scene, leaving no evidence of the massacre other than glistening black stains on the road.
“Go on, now. Get out of here. Stop at the shore and clean yourselves off, and take care to get all the blood off your weapons. And remember—not a word to anyone. I hear anything, I’ll cut your tongues out and have you staked over an anthill.”
The men shuddered. Nobody doubted the speaker’s sincerity. They nodded and climbed into the van, which started with a sputtering puff of blue exhaust, and were out of sight before the motor’s roar faded. The speaker walked to the bloody smudges on the road, considered them, and smiled. Everything was going according to plan, and the only thing that remained was to contact the papers and plant a statement saying that the rebel militia had kidnapped two aid workers and were demanding all foreign companies invested in the island relinquish their claims and leave—before lives were lost.
The surrounding jungle was quiet, the only sound the scurrying of nocturnal creatures moving toward the easy meal that awaited them. A black SUV pulled out from behind a thicket twenty yards down the road and headed for Honiara, leaving the Australians’ truck and their mutilated corpses at the bottom of a nameless ravine, two more casualties on an island whose soil ran red from battles fought for its control.
