Sam studied the Russian. “Leonid, while it warms my heart to see you so tightfisted with our budget, from what you’ve described, these guys are the only game in town, right? If you don’t use them, what’s plan B?”
“I’ll get my own people to fly in.”
“With all their own gear?” Sam asked skeptically.
“Sure,” Leonid said, but his look conveyed less confidence than his words.
“If there are really ruins down there, maybe we should try to locate an expedition ship? Something self-contained that can go the long haul?” Remi suggested. “Who do we know in this part of the world?”
Sam thought for a moment. “Nobody springs to mind . . . Leonid?”
The Russian shook his head. “I can ask around.”
“We’ll give Selma a call. She’ll find someone.”
Remi nodded. “Too bad there’s no handy cell tower nearby.”
Sam smiled. “Not a problem. I packed the sat phone,” he said, and rooted around in his backpack. He retrieved an old but reliable Iridium Extreme satellite phone, powered it on, and then checked the time. “She should be around.”
Leonid shifted from foot to foot, obviously antsy. Sam wandered to the waterline while he listened to the warbling ring, and Leonid returned to the nearest group of natives. After several seconds Selma picked up and her perky voice drifted over the line.
“Selma! Guess who?” Sam said.
“Collection agency?”
“Very funny. How are things in San Diego?”
“Same as they were two days ago when you left. Except Zoltán’s eaten another hundred pounds of steak. And Lazlo’s loitering around here, driving me nuts.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. Listen, we’ve identified something on preliminary dives and want to get a mother ship here. A vessel with all the bells and whistles. Sonar, dive gear, magnometer, the works. Think you can find something suitable?”
“Of course. It’s just a question of time and money. When do you need it and for how long?”
“Open-ended on duration, yesterday for how soon.”
“So the typical leisurely schedule.”
“Never a dull moment, Selma.”
“Indeed. I’ll get right on it. Probably out of Australia or New Zealand, I’d think.”
Sam nodded to himself. “That sounds about right. And could you also pull up anything you have on ancient civilizations in the region?”
“Of course. I’ll send whatever I find to your e-mail?”
“That would be perfect, Selma. Good luck on locating a ship.”
“Budget constraints?”
“The usual.” Meaning none, within reason. The Fargo Foundation had more money than it could spend in ten lifetimes, with additional cash coming in every day from Sam’s portfolio of intellectual property relating to his inventions, so expense wasn’t an issue on their own expeditions.
“I’ll call when I have someone qualified.”
“Very well, Selma. Thanks, and pet the bear for us.” Zoltán was a massive German shepherd Remi had adopted during an adventure in Hungary who resembled nothing so much as a grizzly walking on all fours.
“Sounds like a good way to lose some fingers, but anything for the cause,” Selma teased. Zoltán adored her and glued himself to Selma’s side whenever the Fargos were out of town. For her part, she doted on the dog like the child she’d never had, coddling him at every opportunity and spoiling him worse than rotten.
Sam hung up and examined the battery indicator. Plenty of charge. He returned to Remi and plopped down next to her. “Selma’s on the hunt,” he reported.
“Good. No offense to Leonid, but a couple of questionable wet suits and a rowboat’s probably not the right way to handle this,” Remi said.
“True, but I can see his logic. Why call in the cavalry before he knows whether he’s found anything? For all he knows, it could have been a downed plane or a sunken landing craft. Don’t forget that Guadalcanal was hotly contested during the war. A lot of junk’s strewn around the islands.”
She nodded. “Some of it still explosive even after all these years.”
“Just like you.”
Remi ignored him and glanced at the dive boat. “What do you think this is?”
“Man-made structure at eighty feet? You got me.” He stretched his arms over his head and eyed Remi. “But we’ll know soon enough.”
Remi ran her fingers through her hair and was about to reply when the stillness was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream.
CHAPTER 4
Sam leapt to his feet, followed closely by Remi, and they raced to the grove of trees by the water, where the screams were now shrieks of pain. Sam stopped her with an outstretched arm as they neared the thicket and pointed to a long green reptilian tail thrashing out of the brush.
A gurgle and several wet thwacks sounded from the grove. The tail stiffened and lay still. Leonid’s boots thumped on the sand behind them as he arrived with other islanders, two of whom were carrying machetes and one a fire axe.
Another agonized scream split the air. Sam stepped through the vegetation and moved next to the massive body of a male saltwater crocodile, now dead from three grisly axe wounds to the head. On the ground in front of it was one of the locals, clutching the mangled remains of his right leg. Five feet away, another islander stood with an ancient axe in his trembling hand, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
A bright stream of arterial blood sprayed from the victim’s shredded thigh. Sam pulled his belt free as he knelt next to the victim. Remi closed the distance as he wound the makeshift tourniquet around the man’s upper leg and pulled it tight.
The injured man moaned and lost consciousness.
“He’s not going to make it unless he reaches a hospital fast,” Sam said, his voice tight.
Remi looked up at Leonid. “Let’s get him onto one of the trucks. Seconds count,” she said.
Leonid was staring at the dead crocodile with saucered eyes, frozen in place, all the color drained from his face.
“Leonid. Come on,” Remi snapped, her tone hard.
The Russian spun around to the islanders, who were standing in a group several feet behind him, and ordered them to carry their unfortunate companion to the Land Rover. Nobody moved. Sam shook his head and slipped his arm under the bleeding man. “Get out of my way,” he said, and lifted the victim upright. Remi rushed to help him, and together they carried him to a vehicle parked near the trail that led from the main road.
They loaded him into the backseat in seconds, and Sam turned to Leonid, who was arguing with one of the locals near the water’s edge. “Who’s the best driver?” he demanded, but the men shook their heads.
Remi and Sam exchanged a glance, and Sam held out his hand. “Fine. Give me the keys. I don’t know what’s wrong with you people, but your friend here is dying and needs help. Who can show me where the nearest hospital is?”
Leonid fumbled in his pockets as the islanders muttered among themselves, and then a youth in his late teens stepped forward. “I’ll go. That’s my uncle Benji,” he said, his English thick with a pidgin accent.
“What’s your name?” Remi asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Ricky.”
Sam slid behind the wheel. Leonid moved to the door and handed him the keys. “I’ll be right behind you in the orange truck.”
“Fine.” Sam looked at Ricky. “Get in the back with your uncle and make sure the belt stays tight. How far are we from the hospital?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes . . .” Ricky said doubtfully.
Sam frowned. “Buckle up. We’ll see if we can make it in fifteen.”
Remi and Ricky strapped in as Sam cranked the engine. He dropped the transmission into gear and they roared off, bouncing down the track that was little more than a thinning passageway through the encroaching jungle. The big motor labored on the mushy terrain, and it took what seemed like forever to reach the ragged pavement strip of the coastal road that ringed the island. Once on the asphalt, Sam floored the gas, his gaze intent, his concentration absolute, and the SUV surged forward, tires screeching as he took the curves at double any sane speed.