Page 137

Fleming glanced around and leaned toward them. “There’s talk of a special tribunal. The scope of her crimes is so massive that nobody’s completely sure how to proceed. The Aussies have already put in an official request to charge her as an accomplice to the murder of the aid workers. And then we have all the families, who are demanding immediate justice. So everyone wants a piece.”
“Any chance she gets off on a technicality?” Sam asked.
“None at all. The only question is whether Solomon Island law can be changed to allow the death penalty for crimes against humanity. Apparently, that’s being discussed. Public opinion is crying for her head, so it could happen. Our people are shocked and angry.”
“I don’t blame them for an instant,” Remi said. “Any news on the evil old grandfather?”
Fleming nodded. “Died in his sleep in 1988. He changed his name after the war and kept to himself on a ranch in the Australian outback.”
Sam and Remi had to pause to answer more questions about the treasure trove from a score of reporters as cameras flashed like strobe lights in a disco.
When they had finished, Sam turned to Lazlo and smiled. “You’d better prepare your speech.”
“Speech? What could I possibly say?”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ll soon be a national hero as soon as it’s announced that the treasure will be used to build schools, a new hospital with clinics all around the island, and of course a first-rate road system. Then once we’re done splitting the percentage the island is giving all of us . . .”
Lazlo’s mouth dropped open. “What percentage?”
Remi raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “Oh, didn’t we mention that? The government’s giving us ten percent. Even the most conservative valuation after paying expedition expenses should net you many millions.”
“Blimey.”
Sam smiled at Lazlo’s reaction. “Congratulations, Lazlo. Your days as a pauper are behind you.”
“Does Leonid know?”
Sam shook his head. “Not yet. I was just getting ready to tell him.”
“This I have got to see for myself.”
They made their way to where Leonid was studying an image carved on a flat piece of rock. Sam and Lazlo watched expectantly as Remi broke the news. The Russian’s face didn’t even twitch.
Sam nudged him with his elbow. “Come on. Tell me you aren’t happy about this.”
There was no mirth in Leonid’s eyes. “Not if I have to participate in primitive displays of gratitude. Or if I’m going to have to work here for at least another five years.”
“But you’ll have all the money you can spend on future expeditions,” said Remi.
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“It’s a done deal, my friend,” Sam assured him.
“They’ll probably cheat us on the valuation.”
“I doubt it,” Sam tried again.
“You watch.”
Lazlo caught Remi’s eye and shook his head. They both laughed as Sam sighed in frustration.
Leonid swatted at a mosquito, his expression as somber as a mortician’s. “I’ll probably catch malaria or some sort of weird jungle fever, before this is over, and spend all the money on air evacuation and hospitalization.”
“Or enjoy treasure hunting from your own research vessel,” Sam mused.