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.”
Everyone laughed, and he continued. “So this is a two-time-loser of a day. First a crocodile and then dinner with a politician.”
Vanya grinned. “But you’re one of the good ones, right?” She looked at Sam. “Of course Orwen’s also an attorney. So you got all three local hazards in one fell swoop.” She reached across the table and patted Manchester’s hand.
Manchester finished his beer and held up the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” He looked over at Sam, who was only halfway done with his, before gesturing to the server with two fingers. “Being the resident evil is a thirsty business.” He studied Sam and leaned forward. “How bad was the attack?”
Vanya interjected. “He’ll live, minus a leg. His nephew said the creature was twenty feet long, so he’s fortunate it didn’t bite him in two.”
Another round of beer arrived, and Manchester grinned at Sam. “You learn in this heat to drink them fast or they get warm.”
Sam smiled back at him. “Maybe we can get a bucket with some ice? I’m a lightweight. Plus, I’m going to be diving tomorrow and even a trace of a hangover can make it a pretty unpleasant experience.”
“Diving, you say? Fascinating. What’s this all about? Vanya mentioned archaeology?” Manchester asked, and took a mammoth swig of his fresh beer before waving to the waiter, who scurried over. A hushed discussion ensued, and then Manchester returned his gaze to Sam. “What on earth could archaeology have to do with diving? Unless you’re talking about a sinkhole . . .”
“Our friend found some anomalies off the coast and asked us to take a look,” Remi said.
“Really? Are you archaeologists?”
“That’s one of our passions.”
“How remarkable. For some reason, I never associate the profession with such . . . vitality,” Manchester said, admiring Remi.
“The world’s changing. Full of surprises,” Sam said, and held his beer aloft in another toast, hoping to distract the politician, who was treading dangerously close to being rude.
“And what are these ‘anomalies,’ as you put it?” Vanya asked.
“We don’t know. We just got here and were sidetracked by the crocodile,” Remi said.
“Might it not be leftovers from the war? The place is littered with them,” Manchester said.
“Could be,” Sam agreed.
A bucket brimming with ice arrived, and Sam positioned his second beer in it. Manchester finished his and signaled for another. Vanya gave Remi a gentle roll of her eyes as if to say “What can you do with the big lug?”
“But enough about our little hobby,” Sam continued, then changed the subject. “What’s all this about setting up clinics?”
Vanya beamed at him. “It’s been a long time in the planning. I’ve given up on the government doing anything for its people but robbing them blind, so I’m taking matters into my own hands. Children are getting sick and not being treated. People are dying who could be saved. All for want of some remedial care. It doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m saying in the twenty-first century it shouldn’t be that way. We have the knowledge, all we need are the resources. Which is where our generous donors come in.”
“Sounds like a worthwhile cause. Do you already have many contributors?” Remi asked.
Manchester guffawed as the third beer materialized and the empties were whisked away. “I’ll say. She’s got every pharmaceutical company she can shame into pledging something.”
“Would that it were enough, Orwen. It’s just scratching the surface. Reality is, nobody much cares about our people, and, at best, I’ve been able to get them to commit to token charity. Any of these groups could easily write a check and solve most of our infrastructure issues with the stroke of a pen, but they don’t. Because we’re not high visibility. We’re stuck in a corner of the world nobody knows exists. So they commit to some crumbs, which is better than nothing, but not much.”
“How much do you still need to raise?”
“My target’s half a million U.S. dollars for the first year and then two hundred thousand every year thereafter. The first year will pay for simple buildings and some primitive equipment, but those costs won’t recur.” Vanya shook her head. “These companies spend more on a slow day advertising tooth whitener. But like I said, we’re not a revenue source, so we don’t matter. So far, I’ve marshaled a hundred and fifty of the first year’s requirement and a soft fifty for the second.”
Remi looked to Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “We’ll take it under advisement. Do you have a plan? A budget written out?”
“Of course. An entire presentation.”
“Could we get a copy?” Remi asked.
“I’d be delighted. Is it really something you think your foundation might be interested in supporting?” Vanya asked, her tone excited.
Sam finished his beer. “No promises, but let’s see what you have. I know the foundation has funded other worthwhile causes.”
Steaming platters of fish arrived, and Manchester made a point of studying his silverware for blemishes before digging in. By the size of his bites and the speed with which he ate, it was clear he was a man who didn’t miss any meals. Silence reigned at the table until the fish was gone. Sam sat back. “That was wonderful. Like they just caught it.”
Vanya nodded. “I’d be surprised if it was more than a few hours old. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of marine life here. One of the ways we’ve been blessed.”
“That and the mineral riches we can’t seem to get organized enough to pull out of the ground,” Manchester chimed in, sounding bitter.
“Really?” Sam asked. “Like what?”
“Good gracious, man. Oil. Tankers full of it. And every kind of rarity you can imagine. Gold by the truckload. Emeralds. Rubies. And on and on. We should be richer than the bloody Saudis, but instead all we do is bicker with each other and chase our own tails.”