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Sam grinned. “We do indeed. Hop in.”
The police roadblock a few miles outside Honiara waved them through after a cursory inspection, and by the time they dropped Rubo off at his shack it was midafternoon. Remi had tried to make light conversation with the old islander several times, but his interest was nonexistent, and he seemed to have aged several years since his visit to the village.
They watched him shuffle to his porch as though carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and Remi sighed. “Looks like a rough day for everyone.”
“That can’t have been pleasant for him.”
“All right. Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, what do you make of the story of the commander and the crates?” she asked.
“Sounds promising, you have to admit. Of course there’s the small problem that the mountains are covered in jungle, the caves are unmapped, the entire area may be crawling with hostiles, the crates might have been moved again after the massacre, it’s possible that the crates have nothing to do with the sunken complex, and we have no idea where to even begin. Other than that, I’d say we have the treasure in our hands.”
“So we’re almost done here?”
Sam grinned and put the car in gear. The Land Cruiser’s suspension groaned in protest as they returned down the mud road as though it, too, had had enough of the outing and was ready to return to civilization. “Compared to some of our other adventures? Piece of cake.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re actually enjoying this?”
“I do like a challenge.”
Remi looked at the brown river racing past and recalled their brush with death on the mine road and then tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the Toyota lurched and bounced. “Make it stop.”
“That’s the spirit.”
CHAPTER 29
Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands
Lilly, her faded summer dress a hand-me-down from her sister, coughed as she made her way to the stream that ran along the southern side of her village. Only just turned fourteen, she’d been sick for weeks, and while the new medicine she was taking was supposed to make her better, it seemed to have the opposite effect. It was only on good days over the last week that she felt well enough to emerge from her family’s shack and help with the chores.
Lilly had always been slim, but since the illness she was a wraith, having shed twelve pounds that she couldn’t afford to lose. Her high cheekbones jutted beneath ebony skin stretched like rice paper over bones, and now that her baby fat had dropped away, she was all coltish knobby knees and elbows, caught somewhere midway between adolescence and womanhood.
She was almost to the stream when she heard the crack of a branch somewhere nearby—possibly behind her, although when she spun to see who was there, the trail was empty. Puzzled, she called out.
“Who’s there?”
Silence answered her, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the canopy overhead as a bird hopped from branch to branch.
Lilly continued o
n her way, ignoring the rising sense of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as she heard the unmistakable crunch of footsteps on twigs. She turned, hands on her hips, chin high in defiance. It was probably one of the annoying boys from the village who’d been showing an interest in her since she’d begun to bloom last summer. They were persistent but harmless, and she’d successfully rejected their clumsy advances just as her mother, a God-fearing woman who’d warned her more than enough about the devil’s presence in boys’ hearts, had advised her.
But the track was deserted.
“I hear you, you know, so you’re not fooling anyone,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. She waited a few moments, and when there was no response, she called out again. “You best run back to the village or I’ll crack you on the head when you show yourself.”
Nothing.
“This isn’t funny. Just stop it,” she said, and this time her voice broke on the last word. If this was that Jimmy boy who’d been dropping off little gifts anonymously, she hoped he’d either show himself or lose interest in the game. One of her friends had told her she’d seen him skulking around the shack, and she wasn’t entirely displeased with the attention.
When she didn’t see or hear anything more, she continued to the water’s edge, the burbling of the current as it washed over large smooth rocks in the middle of the stream musical. She was kneeling to rinse her hands off when a pair of powerful hands clamped over her mouth and around her waist, and her scream of alarm was muffled. Lilly struggled for all she was worth until a blow landed on the side of her head and a spike of pain shrieked through her skull, and then everything faded as the viselike grip of her attacker cut off her air.
—
The drive back was slow going. For much of the way, Sam and Remi were stuck behind an overloaded truck that had been around since the war, black exhaust belching from its hopelessly eroded tailpipe in toxic clouds as it occupied the middle of the road without regard for the faded yellow line marking the two lanes. The few times Sam tried to pass on the narrow strip of pavement, he had to duck back in order to miss an oncoming car. He quickly tired of the island version of chicken and resolved to accept the trip taking as long as it took.
When they reached the hotel, Sam called Selma on the sat phone from the room’s terrace. After several seconds of popping and clicking, Selma answered on the first ring in her customary cheerful voice.
“Hello, there,” she said. “How’s island life?”