“I wouldn’t want to go up against him,” Des confirmed with a nod. “You thinking about heading into the hills again today?”
“No, probably tomorrow. We need to coordinate a tow truck, and at the pace this island operates, that could be half the day. I’ll give you a buzz when we’re on our way.”
“Good enough,” Des said.
Upon Sam’s return to the hotel, he was surprised by the heated discussion under way between Leonid and Remi. She turned as he neared, a frustrated expression on her face—a look Sam knew to be cautious around.
“Would you tell your Russian friend he is under no circumstances going to try to go with us to the caves again?” she demanded.
“What? Of course he isn’t,” Sam said.
“You think I’m going to let you shut me out of finding the treasure? Not a chance, as you American capitalists say.”
“You heard the doctor. You’re to stay off your leg.”
“I have. For twelve full hours. Why, are you planning to go right now?”
“No, not until tomorrow . . .” Sam conceded.
“Then what’s the problem? I heal quickly. I’m Russian, remember? You can’t hurt me.”
Sam exchanged a glance with Remi. “It’s nothing personal, my friend, but we don’t want you injuring yourself further.”
He waved the concern away with a sneer. “A few scrapes and cuts. Nothing broken. I’ll be ready tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Remi said.
“He is an adult male,” Sam said.
“Who almost got himself killed.”
Leonid snorted. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Believe me, that won’t happen again.”
Remi shook her head, exasperated. “Fine. I’m not going to fight you on this. But if you slow us down, we’ll leave you to the crocodiles.”
“I hear they can smell blood a mile away,” Lazlo chipped in.
“Then it’s decided. What time do we leave?” Leonid asked.
“To be determined. Probably early,” Sam said.
“I’ll be ready.”
Remi stood and looked to Sam. “We going to deal with the tow truck?”
Sam sighed. “I suppose we have to, don’t we?” He glanced at Lazlo. “Can you keep our Russian friend here entertained for a few hours?”
“I think that’s within my considerable abilities,” Lazlo replied with a mischievous grin.
The trip to the rental car agency was as painful as they had expected. The owner of the lot was considerably agitated by the report that one of his prize vehicles was stuck in the middle of the rain forest with four flat tires.
After dealing with that chore, they headed over to the hospital, hoping to find Vanya. When they entered the now-familiar building, she was behind the reception counter, talking to the attendant, the waiting area empty.
“Well, hello! What brings you here?” she asked, smiling as she rounded the counter to greet them.
“We were just in the neighborhood.”
“I was looking over yesterday’s entries and I saw that you brought in your colleague. Dr. Berry left comprehensive notes.”
“Yes. He had a hiking mishap,” Remi said.
“Those happen all the time around here. I’m glad it was relatively benign. You should stick to the trails—the island can be dangerous. Where was he hiking?”
“Over on the other side of the island,” Remi replied vaguely.
“That can be especially challenging.”
“So we learned,” Sam agreed. “Listen, Dr. Vanya, we wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Fortunately, it’s a slow day. Although that can change at any time.” She motioned to the seats. “What can I help you with?”
They all sat, and Sam lowered his voice. “I remember you discussing that woman’s missing child the other day.”
“Ah, yes. The runaway. Always sad for the parents.”
“It sounded as though there have been others.”
“Constantly. All part of growing up and wanting to escape, I suppose.”
“Do you have any idea how many?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I’m a physician, not a social worker.” Her tone softened. “That sounds harsh, and I don’t mean it to be. What I meant is that I confine my activities to health care because otherwise there aren’t enough hours in the day. It’s a matter of priorities.”
Remi nodded. “I understand. We’re just trying to get an idea how many children have gone missing.”
Vanya’s eyes narrowed. “Put that way, it sounds sinister. What are you getting at? Do you suspect foul play?”
Sam leaned back. “Oh, no, nothing like that. We were just talking to some of the locals and it came up. Since we’re going to be funding the clinics, we’re trying to learn as much about the islands as possible while we’re here and we want to understand if there’s a dynamic we’re missing. That’s all.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. As I said, whenever a child runs off, the parent is sure it’s not what it obviously is. You can always check with the police. I’m sure they would know more than I do.”
“Of course. We just don’t have a contact there and it seems like they have their hands full with the social unrest of late . . . and the rebels . . .” Remi said.
Vanya rose. “The chief is named Fleming. If you like, I can make a call and let him know you’ll be stopping by. Although I have to warn you that he can be quite territorial.”
Sam and Remi stood as well and they all shook hands. “Any help you can offer, we’d appreciate.”
“I’ll make the call. No promises he can help, but, for my new patrons, nothing is out of the question,” Vanya said with a bright smile.
Heat waves distorted the surface of the parking lot as Sam and Remi trudged back to the Mitsubishi. Remi took Sam’s hand and sighed. “That didn’t tell us much, did it?”
“Not really. Think we’ll have any success with the cops?”
“Based on the lightning results we’ve seen to date on the theft investigation, much less being run off the road and shot at? Mmm . . . no.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. What’s our alternative?”
“Lunch.”
They had fresh fish at a simple waterfront restaurant that was packed with locals. The tables were plastic, the napkins paper, and the fresh yellowfin tuna seared to perfection and heaped on their plates. When they were done, Remi pushed back from the table. “Why don’t we see if Manchester knows anything more? He always seems willing to talk.”
“Assuming he’s not busy running the government. Or drinking lunch.”
Fortunately for them, the politician was free and welcomed them into his office like they were long-lost relatives.
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise. How’s the marine archaeology going?” he boomed at them.
“Slow, but we’re making progress,” Remi said. “We were hoping you could elaborate on something you said the other day—about the missing children?”
“Did I say something about that? I don’t recall,” Manchester said, his eyes darting to the side.
“Yes, I think so. What’s your take on it?” Sam pressed.
“I’m not sure I have one. I think in any society you’re going to have a few kids running off. I don’t necessarily see it as a Solomon Islands problem,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
“What have you heard, exactly?”
“Why the interest, if you don’t mind my asking?” Manchester parried.
“Just a few things we picked up here and there,” Remi said, keeping it vague. “We’re going to be funding Dr. Vanya’s clinics, so we want to understand any issues affecting the island. Disappearing children seems like an issu
e.”
“I’ll grant you, it sounds like one, but I don’t get the impression it’s nearly as large or as pressing as the rebel problem, or the crushing poverty endemic to the Solomons, or the lack of coherent responses to public health or social problems, or unemployment, or fiscal irresponsibility, or civil unrest . . .”
“No disagreement. We were just hoping to find someone who could give us an idea of how long it’s been going on and how large a problem it really is.”
“I don’t know that it’s even a real problem. Again, I hear a myriad of complaints about a multitude of issues every week and that was just one of many. If I made it seem like it was a substantial issue, I apologize. It must have been the beer talking.” He studied them, his smile as genuine as a mannequin’s. “As to who to direct you to, I have nothing to offer. Perhaps the police?”
“That’s already on our schedule. Do you have anyone specific we should speak with?” Remi asked, not telling him about Vanya’s offer.
Manchester suddenly seemed anxious to move on to other tasks. “I’ll look into it. I’m afraid I don’t know who would handle missing persons, off the top of my head.” He smoothed his hair with a bear-sized hand and changed the subject. “I’m delighted you’ve decided to play a large role in Dr. Vanya’s clinics. That should improve life for many on the island. It’s a sad state of affairs, at present.”
“Yes, so we gathered. It’s a worthwhile cause,” Sam agreed. “Anything more about the rebels? Any sense of how public opinion is running?”
“Most condemn their actions, if not their sentiment. At least so my colleagues would have me believe. Still, there are a few who are seriously considering the merits of nationalizing all exploration and prospecting efforts. Madness—but to some, attractive madness, it would seem.”
“Did you have any chance to discuss our archaeological project with your colleagues?”
“Unfortunately, not yet. As you might imagine, with the rebel crisis, that’s all anyone has time for. But I haven’t forgotten about it,” Manchester assured them.
When Sam and Remi left the politician’s office, Manchester watched them walk to their vehicle from his window, his expression troubled. His receptionist eyed him as she worked on a sheaf of documents. “Don’t forget you have a five o’clock meeting with Gordon Rollins,” she said.
“Oh. Right. That’s today, is it? Thanks for the reminder.” While Manchester had kept his clandestine meetings with Rollins secret, he couldn’t avoid all public contact with him or that, too, would seem suspicious. They’d agreed to continue to have periodic meetings, as before, so if scrutinized, their behavior would seem normal. So far, the plan was working perfectly.
Manchester checked his watch and, with a final glance at the Fargos pulling out of the parking lot, returned to his office, his footsteps heavy on the polished wooden floor.
CHAPTER 44
Gordon Rollins’s neighborhood was the very best in Honiara. His home, a sprawling affair sitting on a bluff overlooking the ocean, was an area landmark. When Orwen Manchester arrived in the brick drive, the gardening staff were finishing up for the day, their khaki shirts soaked through with sweat, their skin chocolate brown from the relentless sun’s rays.
A blue 1963 E-Type Jaguar roadster sat in the driveway, its chrome gleaming—one of Rollins’s eccentricities but one he could well afford, coming from old money as he did and having invested wisely during his long life. Rollins turned from the discussion he was having in front of the house with his assistant, a shapely island woman named Sandra who had been with him for a decade, and offered Manchester a wave. Manchester shut off the motor of his Honda sedan and smiled as he slipped from behind the wheel—Rollins had always had flair and he’d lost none of it as he’d aged. “Orwen, old man, good of you to come,” Rollins called, shaking his silver mane of hair. He leaned into Sandra and said something. She smiled at Manchester, displaying two rows of blindingly white teeth, and then sashayed up the steps to the front entrance, leaving Rollins and Manchester to their business.
“Always my pleasure, Gordon. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Not as hot as yesterday, fortunately.” He held up a silver key on a fob. “I was thinking we might want to nip down to one of the pubs and have a quiet draft. Have you joined the ranks of the temperate lately or can you fit that in?”
“I’ll do whatever I must to make you feel comfortable,” Manchester said, smiling.
“Good man. That’s the spirit,” Rollins said, approaching the Jaguar.
“I take it this isn’t entirely a social call?” Manchester asked quietly as he opened the passenger door.
“Regrettably, no. But I see no reason not to mix business with a little pleasure. Besides, all this seriousness is a thirsty affair. I’m parched.”
“We make the sacrifices that are necessary,” Manchester agreed. “What have you got up your sleeve now?”
“The Crown is concerned about our recent unrest and the direction these beastly rebels have taken—most alarming, I think you’ll agree. And if she who must not be mocked is concerned, that means that I am—and you should be as well.”
The Jaguar exploded in a blinding flash when Rollins turned the key. A fireball shot into the sky like an orange fist, and a door flipped lazily through the air before landing on the immaculately groomed lawn. The staff stood transfixed in horror as the Jaguar belched black smoke, the cockpit and engine engulfed in flame, the chassis crumpled like a discarded soda can.
Sirens keened in the distance several minutes later, but by then it was obvious to the gathering crowd that the only job remaining for the emergency crews would be extinguishing the wreckage.
—
Remi shifted in frustration as she and Sam sat in the Honiara police station, talking to the police chief, Sebastian Fleming, a forty-something islander with a face like a losing fighter and a gaze that was quickly distracted. Vanya had arranged for a meeting, but from the very start Fleming had been defensive and standoffish, and the discussion had quickly degraded from there.
“Wait. So you’re saying that you have no idea how many missing persons reports have been filed over the last five years involving children? How is that possible?” Remi demanded. “Don’t you have computers?”
“Mrs. Fargo, that’s not how it works. I’m afraid you have some misunderstandings about the system,” the chief said in a condescending tone.
Remi fought to control her temper at Fleming’s brusque dismissal. “Really? You’re the police chief. People have been filing reports. But somehow I’m confused when I ask you how many have been filed?”
Sam knew Remi was simmering and that it was only a matter of time before she’d explode in the face of obdurate stupidity. He quickly moved to intercede, heading off a potential disaster.
“What my wife means to say is, surely there’s a record of any open missing persons cases, isn’t there?” Sam tried.
“Oh, well, put that way, of course there is.” Fleming stared at them with dead eyes.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sam said. “Our question is, how many are still open after five years?”
“Oh, I understand your question perfectly. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that.”
“Why not?” Remi snapped, her color rising.
“Because it’s police business, ma’am, and you’re not a member of the force.”
“Why is it confidential?” Sam asked, his color rising as well.
“Because it is,” Fleming said as though that explained everything.
“Wait. We’re members of the public you serve and we’re asking a direct question and you can’t answer it?” Remi fumed.
“It’s not that I can’t answer it,” Fleming corrected. “I won’t answer it. To be precise, I’m choosing not to.” Fleming held up a hand to counter any objection. “And before you start protesting, let me clari
fy something you seem confused about. I don’t serve you. You’re visitors here, guests to the island. You aren’t citizens and you don’t pay my salary and I don’t have to answer any of your questions, especially when they’re framed in such an insulting manner. So I’d reconsider your tone. I agreed to see you to humor Carol Vanya, but I didn’t agree to be interrogated by you or to entertain rude demands.”
Sam could practically hear the safety flip off Remi’s detonation button and he quickly interceded. “Officer Fleming—”
“It’s Chief Fleming.”
“Chief Fleming. We’re looking into a troubling trend here of missing children. Surely you don’t mind helping us?”
“Mr. Fargo, let me make my position clear. The number of missing persons reports filed with this department will remain confidential unless you get a court order requiring me to divulge it, which is unlikely given that you’re not an islander.” He frowned and looked at the clock on the wall. “Now, is there anything else?”
“Don’t you care about missing children?” Remi demanded in a low voice.
“Deeply. What I don’t care about is two privileged foreigners showing up in my office, telling me what I have to disclose to them because they’ve appointed themselves special investigators. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other demands on my time. Thank you for dropping in and good luck with your research.”
Remi was seething as they descended the steps from police headquarters and Sam knew better than to say anything. They walked the block and a half to the hotel, and Remi had calmed down somewhat by the time they reached the room.
“I can’t believe nobody’s worried about a rash of disappearances,” Remi fumed, her temper stoked by Fleming’s lack of interest. “If my kids vanished, you can bet I’d raise holy hell.”
“True, but you saw the chief’s attitude. I got the impression he didn’t like us much.”
“It’s infuriating. There’s a cave full of dead kids and these idiots don’t care.”
“Well, we’re the only ones that know about that right now, so we have information they don’t. I have a feeling that attitude will change in a hurry once we break the news.”