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.”