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“Blimey! Twenty feet? We get ’em that big up north, but still. Did the bloke on the receiving end make it?”
“Lost a leg.”
“Damn. Well, I’ll alert the lads to be careful. Then again, working Australian waters, we’ve seen just about everything. I’m pretty sure we’ve got more dangerous creatures per meter than anywhere else on earth. Even the bloody pinecones will kill you down under. Our bunya pines drop a cone that can weigh ten kilos—imagine a bowling ball falling thirty meters onto your head.” Des offered them a smirk. “And those are just the plants.”
Sam nodded and turned to Des. “We’ve been there a few times and love it.” He glanced at his watch. “How can we get back to town?”
“Simms here can give you a lift in the skiff.”
Sam looked to Leonid. “You staying aboard?”
“Might as well. As you Americans say, it’s ‘prime time,’ right?”
Sam took a final look at the monitor and the ghostly outline of the sunken city.
“Yes, it is. And you’re in the spotlight, my friend. Front and center.”
CHAPTER 18
Sam and Remi drove to the airport the next morning to meet the American divers. Even with a chartered jet from Brisbane to Honiara, the flight time from Los Angeles had taken thirty hours, and they expected the men to be stiff and tired. They were surprised when the four divers descended the steps from their plane looking chipper and rested. The tallest of the group approached them without hesitation and extended his hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fargo? Pleased to meet you. I’m Greg Torres and this is Rob Alderman,” he said, indicating the man next to him, who nodded.
“Please. Sam and Remi,” Sam said, shaking Greg’s hand.
“And these two are Steve Groenig and Tom Benchley,” Greg said, looking to his right where the final pair of fit young divers was standing. None was older than early thirties, and Sam recognized the unmistakable bearing of former SEALs—battle-hardened veterans who would be as comfortable in the water as sharks.
The customs and immigration clerks sauntered out onto the tarmac and did a cursory inspection of the men’s dive gear and duffel bags before stamping their passports. The immigration clerk eyed the men and shook his head.
“You best be careful and stay in town, yeah? With what happened wit’ the aid workers, it’s not safe anywhere else,” he said in heavy patois.
“What happened with them?” Remi asked. All they’d heard the day before was that the two Australians had gone missing, with no official word of explanation.
“It’s all over the web. Rebels got them.” The clerk shook his head. “It’s bad. They threatening to kill them, they are.”
“Kill aid workers? They’re here to help.”
“These fool rebels say they all part of the foreign plague. Dat’s what they calling it. Fools blaming everything on others, like none of our problems is our doing. But they saying all the foreigners gotta go or there goin’ to be big-time trouble.”
“So they kidnapped unarmed humanitarians who are here to help the underprivileged and they’re going to kill them?” Remi said, her tone disbelieving.
“Dat what they saying. Crazy in the head, dese fools be.”
Sam’s eyes hardened as he studied the divers. “Well, looks like you flew into the eye of the hurricane. All of this just happened.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Greg said, his words clipped, his tone flat. Sam believed him.
“You’ll be on the boat all the time in any case, so any local issues shouldn’t affect the expedition.”
Greg shrugged as if it was all part of the job.
Sam and Remi had rented a four-wheel-drive Toyota van from a different agency and the men loaded their gear in the cargo area before wordlessly taking their seats. The drive to the site took an hour longer than the day before. They were stopped three times by uncomfortable-looking policemen at makeshift roadblocks, who, after searching the van, cautioned them against proceeding any farther into an area of the island that was out of official control. Sam and Remi remained courteous, but firm, and each time the lead officer shook his head when he waved them past as though he were directing them through the gates of hell.
Sam looked over at Remi from the driver’s seat. “They seem pretty wound up, don’t they?”
“Sounds like we were lucky we didn’t meet the aid workers’ fate on our little drive the other day,” she said.
“That occurred to me. But it wasn’t for wont of the bad guys trying.”