Текст книги "The Solomon Curse"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Russel Blake
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 12

The next morning, Sam and Remi headed for the hospital. Dr. Vanya was there and this time allowed them into the depths of the building to see Benji, who thanked them profusely for their help in barely understandable English. It quickly became obvious that there wasn’t anything further to talk about, and after a few minutes of assurances that Leonid would help out with the hospital bills they moved back to the patient lounge with Vanya.

“What do you have planned for today?” she asked.

“We’re going to interview some locals about Guadalcanal legends and then maybe go see the mine,” Remi said.

“Oh, well, be careful. Once you get outside the city, the roads can be treacherous. And you’ve already seen what the jungle can hold. The crocodiles are only one of the dangers.”

“Yes, Manchester told us all about the giants,” Sam said.

Vanya slowed and smiled, but her expression seemed brittle. “There are some colorful beliefs here, that’s for sure.”

“As we’d expect in any isolated rural society,” Sam acknowledged. “We’re respectful of the traditions that fostered them, but still . . .”

“I’ve heard about giants ever since I was a toddler. I don’t even pay any attention to the stories anymore. I treat it sort of like religion—people are entitled to think what they think,” Vanya said.

“But he did say there’s been an increase in unexplained disappearances,” Remi reminded her.

“I’ve heard rumors that there are still pockets of militia in the mountains who are hiding out. I find that far more likely than the giant explanation.”

“Militia?”

“Ever since the social upheaval, when the Australians sent in an armed task force to keep the peace, there have been those who have agitated for a change in regime—who view foreign intervention as a disguised occupation of the country in order to control its natural resources. While the majority seems ambivalent about it, there are still groups of people who are angry, and some of them are militant. There have been clashes.”

“Then it actually is risky to go explore the caves?” said Sam.

She nodded. “Not because of giants. But does it matter what gets you if you’re never heard from again?”

Remi eyed Sam. “She has a point.”

“Thanks for taking the time to escort us to see Benji,” Sam said to Vanya. “What happened to the poor man is a tragedy.”

“My pleasure. Just take care that the same doesn’t happen to you. The island’s still largely wild, and, like I said, the crocs aren’t the only predators.”

“We’ll bear that in mind. Thanks again.”

Heat radiated off the parking lot as they walked to the Nissan, the equatorial sun already brutal in the late morning. This time, their drive east on the only paved road was fast and relatively easy until they passed the tiny village of Komunimboko and the road they’d had to quit the prior day. It wasn’t waist-deep in water any longer, but it was badly rutted and still mostly mud.

Sam dropped the drive train into four-wheel drive and they edged along, the car swaying and bouncing like an amusement park ride. The passage through the jungle narrowed until it more resembled a tunnel than a road. The canopy overhead blocked much of the sun, and the foliage framing the muddy track was dense and foreboding, brushing against the sides of the SUV as it rocked inland.

“And we don’t even know if this Rubo is still alive or living here?” Remi asked.

“There are no guarantees in life. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I think I left it back a mile ago, along with my sacroiliac and a few fillings.”

“We’ve been through worse.”

“I just hope I can keep breakfast down.”

Half an hour later, they rounded a particularly ugly switchback curve and entered a clearing by the river. A traditional thatch-roofed hut rested in the shade of a tall banyan tree, no evidence of power or phone lines to be found. They rolled to a stop in front, and Remi glanced at Sam.

“Nice. And you have me staying at that crappy hotel?”

“Every day brings new surprises, doesn’t it?”

“I think your quarry is peering out the doorway.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Maybe I’ll stay in the car. That way, if you take a blowgun dart to the neck, I’ll be able to get help.”

“Always thinking of me, aren’t you? It has nothing to do with the AC . . .”

“If you can even call it AC. To me, it feels like it’s just blowing the hot air around.”

“Stay, if you want. I’m going to talk to our new friend. You sure you saw someone there?” Sam asked, squinting at the hut.

“I think so. Movement. Could have been a crocodile or a skink, though, so be careful.”

“That makes me feel . . . really good.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Sam opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle and then slowly made his way toward the dwelling, which looked uninhabited. When he was a few yards away, a tremulous voice called out from inside in pidgin. Even though Sam didn’t understand it, from the tone it was clearly a warning, so he stopped.

“I’m looking for Rubo,” he said slowly. “Rubo,” he repeated for emphasis. “Do you speak English?”

All Sam could hear was the soft rumbling of the Nissan’s poorly muffled exhaust and the buzz of inquisitive insects that had taken an interest in him. He resisted the urge to swat at the air like an enraged bear and instead waited for a response.

A figure appeared in the doorway. It was an ancient man, stooped and thin, with sagging skin, and clad only in a pair of tattered shorts. The skeletal face studied Sam, the eyes dull in the shadows, and then the figure spoke.

“I speak some English. What you want?”

“I’m a friend of Orwen Manchester. I’m looking for Rubo.”

“I heard you fine. Why?”

“I need to ask some questions. About local legends.”

The old man emerged from the dark interior and regarded Sam with suspicion. “You come long way for questions.”

“They’re important.”

The old man grunted. “I’m Rubo.”

“I’m Sam. Sam Fargo.” Sam extended his hand, and Rubo stared at it like it was smeared with filth. Sam hesitated, wondering if he’d crossed some social line, and the old man grinned, exposing toothless gums.

“Don’t worry. Me don’t like shaking hands. Not taboo. Just don’t like.” Rubo asked, “You sit?” motioning to a log that ran along one of the thatched walls, thankfully in the shade.

“Thank you.”

They took seats, the old man’s watchful gaze roving from Sam’s shoes to his hair.

“What you want?” Rubo asked again, his voice quiet.

“I want to talk about the old days. Old stories. Orwen said you know more than anyone.”

Rubo nodded. “Could be. Lot of stories.”

“I’m interested in any about a curse. Or a lost city.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Lost city? Curse?”

Sam nodded. “About a bay on the other side of the island that’s cursed. Bad luck.”

“Why you ask ’bout city?”

“I heard from someone who’s exploring the island that there are ruins underwater.”

Rubo looked off into the distance, watching the river’s brown water surge past. When he returned his attention to Sam, his face was stony.

“There is story. Old. King who tempt gods. No good, tempt gods. He build temples in bay. But big wave destroy. Curse bay. No good go there.”

“When did this happen?”

The old man shrugged his bony shoulders. “Long time back. Before white man come.”

Sam waited for him to continue, but for a storyteller Rubo was short on details. After a half minute of silence, Sam tried a smile. “That’s it?”

Rubo nodded, then held out a gnarled finger, pointing at the car. “Who that?”

“Oh, sorry. My wife.” Sam waved to Remi and motioned for her to come over. She stepped down from the vehicle and approached.

Rubo’s vision seemed to improve and his eyes stayed locked on Remi as she neared before looking away at the last second.

“Remi? This is Rubo. He was just telling me about a legend. A king who built temples in a bay that the sea then reclaimed. Angry gods.”

“Nice to meet you,” Remi said, beaming a smile at the old man. He stood unsteadily and took her proffered hand and shook it. Sam didn’t say anything. Apparently, there were exceptions to every rule.

“Sit,” Rubo invited, and she offered him another smile. She took a seat next to Sam and waited expectantly. Sam cleared his throat.

“Sounds like our ruins, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s amazing that Rubo knows the story.”

The corners of Rubo’s lips tugged upward. “I know many. Stories.”

“I’m sure you do. And your English is very good. How did you learn to speak so well?”

“Big war. I help Uncle Sam.”

“Did you really? Those must have been rough days,” Remi said.

Rubo nodded. “Bad days. Many die. Hate Japanese.”

“They were bad to the islanders?”

“Some. One very bad. Colonel.”

“What did he do?” Sam asked.

“Bad things. Kill many of us. And do tests. Secret.”

Remi edged closer. “What? What kind of tests?”

Rubo looked away. “Med.”

“Med? You mean ‘medical’?”

He nodded. “Yes. With white man. But not American.”

Sam stared at Remi. “Japanese experimenting on locals with white men. Want to take two guesses what nationality they were?”

They turned their attention back to Rubo. “Why haven’t we heard anything about this before?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe nobody care?”

“Japanese engaging in war crimes here? I can’t believe that would be swept under the rug.”

Rubo gave her a blank look. “Rug?”

“Sorry. An expression.”

“Back to the king and his temples. Can you tell us the whole story?” encouraged Sam.

Rubo shrugged. “Old. Not much to tell. King build temples and palace. Gods angry, destroy it. Place cursed. Everyone forget about him.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

Sam sighed. “What about giants? What are the legends about them?”

Rubo’s eyes widened. “They real. Use to be lots. Now not same. But real.”

“How do you know? Have you seen them?”

“No. But many I know have.”

“Isn’t it a little strange to believe in something you’ve never seen? I mean, it’s like ghosts. Lots of people believe in them, but . . .” Sam stopped talking when he saw Rubo’s face.

“Ghosts real.”

Remi took over. “So you think there are really giants in the caves?”

“I don’t go there.” The old man shifted on the log. “Bad spirits in caves. Jap officer do things there. Many ghosts. Angry. And giants. No good in caves.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Remi. Rubo was clearly not a fan of the Japanese or the caves. And he seemed to have exhausted his limited repertoire of stories about the king.

Remi cocked her head and leaned toward Sam. “Did you hear that?”

“No. What?”

Rubo was lost in his thoughts, staring into space.

“I thought I heard an engine. Down the track.”

Sam shook his head. “Not me.” He returned his attention to Rubo. “How well known is the story about the king?”

The old islander shook his head. “Nobody talk about the old days. Just as well.”

A crack of branches sounded from the river, and Remi started. She and Sam peered into the brush but saw nothing. They listened, ears straining for any further sound, but the area was quiet other than the sound of the river rushing past and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Rubo didn’t seem to notice, and after several minutes they relaxed.

Remi took the lead in asking more questions about the legend of the lost city, but the old man’s responses became even more terse. When Remi took Sam’s hand and stood, he didn’t resist.

“Rubo, thanks so much for taking the time to tell us about the island’s history. We really appreciate it,” she said, her smile lighting up her face.

Rubo studied his feet with a shy expression. “Good to see people. Talk. Long time.”

They retraced their steps to the Xterra and were greeted by a blast of cool air when they opened the doors. The little motor was still chugging along and the AC with it. Remi strapped in and turned to Sam. “What did you make of that?”

“It’s another piece of the puzzle. Makes sense, though. Sounds like a natural disaster destroyed the king’s work and that that was interpreted by the locals as angry gods swatting him like a fly. Also explains the curse. Even if the specifics have been forgotten, legends like that have a way of lingering.”

“Leonid will be pleased to have more to go on than a question mark.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Leonid’s hard to please. Ever.”

“Leonid is a grumpy guy.”

“It goes with being Russian. All the snow. Or the cold soup.”

Remi eyed the shack. “He really did look like he was a hundred.”

“He’d have to be close to that if he was around during the war and old enough to help the Allies.”

“The bit about the Japanese colonel conducting experiments was more than a little creepy. I can’t believe something like that could happen and wouldn’t be recorded by history.”

“It’s a small island. History tends to miss a lot of the minor events. We more than anyone should know that.”

“Kind of our edge, isn’t it?”

“That and your charm. Judging by Rubo’s reaction, that can’t be underestimated.” Sam smiled and slid the transmission into gear. “So? What next? Gold mine sightseeing or back to town?”

“I say let’s look at the hole in the ground. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s easy to go stir-crazy sitting in a hotel room all day.”

“Then gold mine it is.”

–

The drive back to the main road seemed longer, if anything, and by the time they made it to the asphalt they were both over the thrill of rural off-roading.

The pavement degraded after they turned off the coastal road until soon it was loose gravel over potholes and ruts deep enough to break an axle. Acres of trees of a palm oil plantation lined the way, one of the island’s principal industries. As they climbed into the mountains, Sam checked his rearview mirror several times.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones out for a drive,” he said.

“I wonder if that’s the one we heard back by Rubo’s? That’s the first car we’ve seen today outside of town, and this is a pretty rural area.”

“In a way, it’s reassuring. At least if we break down, we won’t be walking twenty miles for help.”

“Why do you have to jinx us by thinking negative thoughts like that?”

“Sorry. Just the way my mind works.”

They passed a lagoon with a small traditional village and then a small company town of abandoned Quonset huts.

“Ghost town, isn’t it?” Remi said.

“Makes sense if the mine’s shut down. Not like there are dozens of ways to make a living out here.”

They continued south and, when they came over the crest of a hill, saw an expanse below them that looked like a giant hand had scraped the jungle from the mountaintop, leaving only bare earth. A security gate blocked the road in front of them, but the buildings behind it were empty, their glass shattered, and the gate broken.

“Are you sure about this, Sam?” Remi asked.

“Looks like we’re not the first to want to poke around.”

“Right, but it’s private property.”

“Well, maybe, but since the mine’s closed, I’m not sure that matters. Besides, it’s not like we cut chains or jumped the fence. And we’re not here to steal anything.”

“Save it for the cops.”

“I don’t think they have any outside of town.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

Sam coaxed the Nissan forward and farther up the mountain road until they were above the main processing plant. He stopped by the massive conveyor system that had once hauled ore to the crushers and eyed the line of abandoned ore trucks.

“Not a soul around. A little eerie, isn’t it?” he said, his voice low. “You want to get out or keep going?”

“Keep going.”

The road twisted along the ridge, and when they rounded a curve, they came face to face with the open pits, where the land had been methodically excavated and hauled to the plant for processing. The road ended at the southernmost, largest pit, and this time when Sam stopped, Remi agreed to look around. They got out of the vehicle and the heat immediately assaulted them.

Remi turned to Sam. “It’s like they cut off the top of the mountain. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s . . . it just seems so destructive.”

A hot wind gusted across the mountain, carrying with it a low moan from the plant as it blew through the towers. Eventually, Sam led Remi back to the truck. They buckled up and Remi shook her head. “I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but it wasn’t that.”

Sam twisted the wheel and they backtracked down the grade. When they passed the security gate, they accelerated, kicking up dust as they rolled down the mountain. Remi closed her eyes, enjoying the cool air blowing from the vents, and then Sam’s voice jogged her out of her thoughts.

“We’ve got company.”

She sat up, eyes wide. “And?”

“And either they want to race or they want to pass.”

Remi glanced in the passenger-side mirror as they bounced along. “Well, slow down so they can get by. We’re in no hurry.”

Sam rolled his window down and motioned for the truck to pass as he slowed down. They both heard the roar of the vehicle’s big engine before they felt the jarring blow as the truck’s front bumper struck the rear quarter panel. Sam floored the gas and downshifted, fighting to stay on the narrow road, the tires slipping and sliding before regaining their grip.

“Hang on,” he yelled as he eyed the rearview mirror, cursing silently at the coating of mud that obscured all but a hazy outline of the truck. He returned his attention to the road in front of him and glanced at the speedometer, trying to gauge how much more speed he could squeeze out of the Xterra without flipping it on one of the hairpin curves.

The truck accelerated, keeping pace, and as it tried to pull alongside, Sam twisted the SUV’s steering wheel, blocking the move. They approached a winding stretch of road and he gunned the gas, hoping their smaller vehicle’s agility would enable him to gain some valuable distance from the madman in the truck. The Xterra slalomed around the turns, Sam’s knuckles tightened on the wheel as he piloted the SUV to within inches of its limits.

Remi craned her neck to better see their pursuers, but her side mirror, like the rear window, was coated in mud from the earlier slog down the river road. Sam swerved again as they hit a straightaway, trying to keep the truck behind him as its larger engine kicked in and it pulled closer.

Sam tapped the brakes and downshifted as he neared a tight turn, and then things happened fast. The big pickup truck rammed the rear bumper of the Nissan hard enough to snap their necks back against the headrests, and the Xterra fishtailed out of control as Sam battled with the steering wheel. Remi wedged her feet up against the dashboard as the truck rammed them again, and then the Nissan was flipping, tumbling down the steep gorge toward the river far below.

CHAPTER 13

Steam hissed from beneath the ruined hood as Sam fought to free himself from the seat belt. The SUV had come to rest on its side. River water rushed around it and through the shattered windows. Remi sputtered as she groped for the seat belt’s release, but Sam got to it first and she fell against him as the water level rose, soaking them both.

“You okay?” he asked as he pushed deflated air bags aside.

She nodded. “A few bumps and bruises.”

Sam tested his limbs and then gazed around the submerged cabin. “How do you want to do this?”

“Out my window.”

“Okay.”

Remi hoisted herself toward her door and then up through the gap where her passenger window had been as the cabin filled. Sam followed her to where she was clinging to the side of the Nissan, and then a fountain of spray exploded from the river’s surface, followed almost instantly by the sharp crack of a gun from the road above. They released their hold on the SUV and slid into the river as another shot punched a hole in its roof, and then they were carried downstream in the brown current, the river only six feet deep but swollen from the rains.

Sam yelled at Remi, whose head bobbed above the surface. “First bend, climb out at the far shore and take cover.”

“Got it.”

He could barely hear her above the rush of the water.

Their speed increased as they approached a narrower section that churned with white froth. Rapids. Rocks beneath the surface, most likely sharp. He began pulling for the shore as the water deepened and found that he could beat the current. Remi followed his lead, and Sam helped Remi onto the bank near the rapids, gasping for breath.

Sam listened for more shots as he peered up at where the road followed the ridge, now several hundred yards away. If the shooter had a pistol, they were so far out of range they had no worries. If a rifle with a scope, they were still in trouble.

“I thought there were no guns on the island,” Remi whispered.

“Apparently, gun laws only work with law-abiding citizens. We can assume whoever was shooting at us doesn’t fit that description.”

They both saw motion at the bend in the river and ducked low. Two islanders were making their way along the bank, one clutching a revolver. They were still a good hundred yards away and apparently hadn’t spotted Sam and Remi.

Sam whispered to her, “Slide back into the brush. As long as they’re on that side, they’ll never spot us.”

Soon they were hidden by the dense vegetation. They watched as the men followed the river south. Both Sam and Remi held still as their pursuers eyed the foliage on both sides of the river and then faltered as they neared the rapids. The pair was close enough that their voices carried over the sound of the rushing water. The one with the pistol gestured with it downriver as though emphasizing his point, and then they turned and made their way back to the bend. Remi exhaled softly when they disappeared from view, but neither she nor Sam dared move in case the men had gone in search of reinforcements.

They waited ten minutes, ears straining for any sound of pursuit, but heard and saw nothing.

“Looks like they’re gone,” Remi whispered.

“Right. But the question is who ‘they’ are.”

“Maybe someone associated with the mine? Or a group of the militia Manchester was warning us about?”

“Could be. But the way he described their territory, they were in the central part of the island, by the caves.”

She stared up the river and shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone want to run us off the road and shoot at us? Even if they were militia?”

“That’s a good question.”

“All we’ve done is talk to a couple of old men about some legendary ruins.”

“Don’t forget the giants.” Sam took a final look at where the men had disappeared beyond the bend and then stood. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.” He inspected his wet clothes. “The only good part about this weather is that we won’t freeze. In fact, once we’re out in the sun, we’ll be dry in a few minutes.”

“That’s great. But the main road’s at least, what, six or seven miles away?”

“Probably. Assuming it’s safe to walk to it. Didn’t someone say there were crocodiles along most of the rivers?”

“Not exactly positive thinking, Fargo.”

“Okay. I’m positive there are crocodiles along most of the rivers.”

Remi smiled in spite of herself. “That’s better. See how easy that was?” She struggled to her feet and felt her neck. Sam eyed her with concern.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“Probably a touch of whiplash. But God bless whoever invented the air bag and seat belt.”

Sam glanced back up to where the car was wrecked. “I’m glad I took the extra insurance. Think it covers running off a cliff?”

“Probably an exception in the fine print.” She felt the side of her face, which was swelling.

“There are two ways to go—the road or the river. Which would you rather face—a thug with a gun or twenty feet of hungry croc?” Sam asked.

“What’s the middle choice?”

Sam offered a pained smile in response.

Remi eyed the rushing water. “If I were our attackers, I’d have hightailed it out of here once we disappeared. That looks like what they did.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Remi followed Sam’s gaze up the river. “Me too.”

“It’ll probably be shallower after the rapids. We can try crossing there and find the road,” suggested Sam.

“Lead the way. Mind the crocodiles.”

“Thanks. I’d almost forgotten.”

Sam carefully moved along the bank as they worked their way downstream. The roar of the rapids increased, and, as he’d hoped, after a deep pool with eddies swirling along the surface, the river widened and he could see the bottom. Crossing was still tricky. They held hands as they waded up to their waists, Sam feeling along the bottom with his feet as they gingerly made their way to the far shore.

Once on dry land again, they waited for their clothes to dry, and in fifteen minutes were on the dirt track that led back to the seashore road. Two hours later, a farmer heading into town with a half-loaded pickup gave them a ride. The man’s wizened face showed no surprise at finding two Americans hitchhiking on a road to nowhere who looked like they’d gone over the falls in a barrel.

Remi leaned her head against Sam’s arm as the truck bumped along.

“How’s the neck?” he asked over the noise of the wind.

“I could seriously use a massage, but, other than that, I’ll live.”

“Maybe we can find you a spa in town,” Sam said hopefully.

“Sure. I could see that as a viable business here.”

“Maybe settle for an amateur massage after a long shower?”

“You really don’t think of anything else, do you?”

“That was completely innocent, Remi. I swear.”

She shifted her head and stared up at him with a hint of amusement. “It always starts that way.”

As they neared Honiara, Sam grew quiet.

Remi nudged him. “What now?”

“We need to find the police and report this.”

“Okay. Ask the driver to take us to the station, or at least give us directions.”

Sam rapped on the rear window, startling the farmer, who slammed on the brakes, causing both Sam and Remi to bang into the rear of the cab.

Sam leaned toward the driver’s-side window. “Can you take us to the police station?”

The farmer seemed to understand the word “police” and nodded before giving the old truck gas. Sam slid toward the tailgate and came to rest next to Remi.

“I think that went well.”

She gave him a wide grin. “You’re my hero. Crocodile Fargo, the great white hunter.”

“I just hope the police can do something other than commiserate. I think it was a Dodge truck, but it all happened so fast I can’t be sure.”

The duty officer showed them to a waiting area, where a sergeant took down their report, nodding and asking polite questions now and again. By the end of the hour, two things were apparent to the Fargos: the police were concerned and meant well, and the likelihood of anything happening soon, or ever, was low. The officer explained the problem as politically as he could.

“We’ll check on all the trucks registered on the island, but it could be a long process. And if the driver is any good with sandpaper and paint, we may never find the culprits.”

“But they shot at us. It was deliberate. We saw two of them after we crashed. They were looking for us.”

“Yes, I wrote down the descriptions—two men, islanders, medium height, no distinguishing marks, wearing jean shorts and T-shirts, one brown or burgundy, the other pale blue,” the officer said. “The problem, as you can probably appreciate, is that describes about half the population. We’ll do our best, but it’s not much to go on.” He shook his head. “Your rental vehicle will tell the story, I’m sure. There will be evidence you were rammed, and you say that a shot hit it, so there will be a bullet hole.”

“Yes,” Remi agreed, her heart sinking as she listened.

The policeman regarded both of them. “Why are you in the islands?”

“We’re on vacation,” Sam said, which was close enough to the truth.

“Have you gotten into any fights? A disagreement with someone here?” the officer asked, and they shook their heads.

“No. Everyone’s been nice,” Remi said.

“So you can’t think of anyone who would try to kill you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. It makes no sense,” Sam said.

The man stared hard at him. “Well, it must to someone. We just don’t have this kind of thing happen here, Mr. Fargo. We’re generally a peaceful island. It’s not like we have roving gangs of criminals going after our tourists.”

It was clear from his tone that the policeman wasn’t buying the tourist explanation, and neither Sam nor Remi wanted to push the issue. When they finished with the questioning, they were close enough to their hotel to walk, and once again the front desk staff seemed horrified by their appearance as they strode through the lobby.

“We’re making quite an impression,” Remi said under her breath. “Next time you want to go sightseeing, I’m out.”

He smiled at the clerk, whose face was frozen in a disapproving expression, and leaned into Remi.

“Next time I suggest it, hit me on the head with a brick.”