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“So what do you want to do? Try to get to the airport and catch the first flight to anywhere? Make for the boat?”
Remi shook her head. “Would it kill us to spend the night on the Darwin? And then head for the caves at first light?”
“Not at all. In fact, it seems like a reasonable precaution, in light of past events. I’ll call Leonid and Lazlo and have them meet us in, what, fifteen minutes?”
“And I’ll call Des and let him know he’s going to have guests.”
Twenty minutes later, the Mitsubishi was rolling out of town, leaving Honiara to its fate. The Australian-led peacekeeping force was on high alert, as were the police, and a curfew had been put in place for the capital, effective within the hour. The authorities had learned a thing or two over the last few rounds with the rebels and were taking a zero-tolerance policy to any instigating by their sympathizers.
Once on the Darwin, they settled in for a fresh crab dinner with Des and the crew while listening to the radio. The town was quiet, by all accounts, with only a few isolated cases of attempted looting that had been quickly quashed, and with official condemnations of the murders from various government officials as well as the island’s religious leaders. But most troubling were the early reports that several Australian corporations had suspended plans to invest in infrastructure for their operations in light of the ongoing unrest, as well as news that a bill was being sponsored by an opposition leader in parliament to nationalize several key industries. Manchester hadn’t even grown cold yet and his worst fears were being realized.
CHAPTER 45
It was barely light out when the Mitsubishi turned onto the logging road, which was overgrown and in poor repair but passable. An hour and a half later, the SUV ground to a halt at the end of the road, stopped in its tracks by a wall of dense jungle.
Sam held the GPS up in the morning sunlight and studied the screen. “Looks like we’re close. It’s a little over a half mile that way,” he said, pointing at the nearest peaks. “Think you can manage it, Leonid?”
“I’m a locomotive. A battering ram. Unstoppable,” the Russian said, his eyes red from a restless night at anchor.
“That’s good to hear,” Sam said. “Greg, you’ve got guard duty here.”
Greg had ridden out in order to watch the vehicle and ensure no harm came to it. He nodded once. Greg didn’t talk much, but he looked lethal with his weapons, a machete on his belt and one of the ship’s twelve-gauge flare guns in his hand, and they were confident that the Mitsubishi would be in good shape when they returned.
The waterfalls might have been closer to the logging road than the village, but the terrain wasn’t accommodating. It was tough going, with none of the game trails they came across heading in the right direction. They were forced to hack their way through the underbrush as the heat rose—cutting through the jungle and then pausing every twenty minutes to rest. Their clothes were soon drenched, and their water supply was dwindling at a rapid clip.
Eventually, they broke through into the clearing at the base of the large waterfall and sprawled in the shade of a grove of trees, studying the ridge for signs of another cave.
Remi stared at the sheer rock face and after several minutes pushed herself to her feet. “We know it’s got to be there somewhere. What was the final line from the diary?”
“‘The way lies beyond the fall,’” Lazlo repeated from memory.
“You can’t get much more beyond the fall than the ridge, so it’s a question of where, exactly, the entrance is,” Sam observed.
“Well, we’re not going to find it, lounging around here,” Remi said. “How’s the leg, Leonid?”
“I’m strong as a bull. I feel nothing but impatience at being denied the treasure,” Leonid said, his tone as serious as a eulogy. Remi held his stare and then they both laughed simultaneously as he struggled to rise.
“Perhaps a wounded bull,” Sam corrected with a chuckle.
“That’s not a terrible nickname,” Lazlo said. “Wounded Bull. It somehow fits.”
“I’m
not so badly off I can’t overtake you, you colonial oppressor,” the Russian growled good-naturedly.
“Yes, well, save your enthusiasm for the hunt. I suspect you’ll need it.”
“You know,” Remi said, “I don’t mean to be negative, but I had a thought last night. What if the Japanese hid the cave entrance once the islanders had loaded in the crates? I mean, it’s not impossible. If they really wanted to conceal their stash, it would have been easy. A grenade, a mortar . . .”
“That’s a good point. But it would have left a trace, I’d think,” Lazlo said.
“Probably. All I’m saying is, we shouldn’t discount any irregularity in the terrain no matter how unlikely it may appear.”
The trudge along the base of the ridge was agonizingly slow in the blaze of late-morning sun, over the treacherous ground. They passed the two caves they’d already explored and continued east, eyeing the landscape. Near another small stream, Leonid pointed to the rise. “Do you see that?” he asked.
They followed his finger to a collection of boulders, trailing down the hill, evidence of a landslide.
Sam nodded as he regarded the ridge. “Could be. Let’s have a closer look.”