Clive Cussler: The Solomon Curse

Dr. Berry glanced at his watch and signaled to them. It was busy at the hospital and he had an unending stream of patients continuing to arrive with every variety of trauma from the rioting. They left Fleming to his recriminations and approached Berry, who needed to finish stitching up Sam’s head now that the results of the CT scan were in.

“I wish I was seeing you again under more pleasant circumstances,” Berry said, and then his demeanor changed to all business. “As I suspected, you’ve suffered a minor concussion from the blows, but nothing you won’t recover from. You may experience dizziness and weakness over the next few days, but it should pass.” He eyed Sam disapprovingly. “I wish you’d consent to staying overnight for observation like your Russian friend.”

“How is he?”

“He also has a concussion, more severe than yours, but nothing terminal. And, as you know, many cuts and bruises. I’ve given him painkillers and antibiotics and he’s resting comfortably.”

“After complaining every step of the way, I’ll bet,” Lazlo said. “What about the girl?”

Berry scowled. “She’s in pretty bad shape, but I think she’ll make it. We’ve got to figure out what poison they were pumping into her and take measures to counteract it, but right now we’re focusing on keeping her hydrated.” He studied Sam’s head with a disapproving expression. “Sit down here and I’ll finish cleaning this gash up and stitch it closed. It’s clotted, but it will need sutures.”

Remi offered Sam a smile and looked to the doctor. “While you’re busy with him, do you have a phone I can use for a long-distance call?”

Berry fished under his exam coat and handed her a cell phone. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, then he’ll be right as rain again.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” Lazlo said. “Bit squeamish and all.”

Remi went into the hall and nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the remaining police sealing Vanya’s office with crime scene tape in anticipation of evidence collection. She was raising the phone to her ear when Lilly’s mother materialized at the end of the hall and rushed toward her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving my baby,” she said, hugging Remi, tears in her eyes. “I knew she not run off like that evil woman say.”

“I hope she’ll be okay,” Remi managed between heartfelt squeezes from Lilly’s mother.

“God will provide. Lilly’s one of His children. He not send you if He not want her to live.”

Remi offered a smile. “She’s a beautiful girl. You’re very lucky.”

“Today a good day for everyone, I say. ’Cept that demon woman. Devil stokin’ hellfire for her, that for sure.”

Remi nodded in agreement, and then a nurse waved to Lilly’s mother from the other end of the corridor. The relieved island woman gasped and hurried to the nurse, leaving Remi to make her call. She dialed Selma’s private line from memory and waited as it rang.

“Oh, good. Did you get everything sorted out?” Selma answered. Remi had phoned her earlier to give her a hurried update.

“Sort of. They just took Carol Vanya into custody. Sam’s being tended to, and Leonid’s in the hospital for the night.”

“And Lazlo?” Selma asked, a slight softness in her voice.

“Hardly a scratch on him. The man has the luck of the devil,” Remi said.

Selma chuckled. “That he does.” Her tone grew serious. “I’ve been researching your doctor’s background and I’ve found something you’ll be interested in.”

“Nothing would surprise me about her.”

“This might.” Selma paused. “It’s actually about her grandfather. Apparently, he was charged with war crimes by the Allies, but once the war was over, the charges were dropped. There aren’t many records, but, near as I can tell, he had been working with the Japanese and was accused of coordinating medical experimentation on his fellow islanders, as well as on prisoners.” Selma let that sink in. “He was also a doctor.”

“My God… the other bodies — the older ones. Hundreds of them. Her grandfather…”

“That’s my guess. He probably took her into his confidence when he recognized the psychopathology ran in her, too.”

“What about the father?”

“Died a decade ago. It appears he spent his entire life trying to atone for his father’s sins, doing community work for free, tending to islanders…”

“And the grandfather?”

“I haven’t found anything about his passing yet. It’s like he disappeared once the war was over.”

“You… you don’t suspect he’s still alive, do you?”

“I’m not going to speculate. He’d be older than Moses, though, if he is, so it’s unlikely.”

“Keep on it, Selma.”

“Oh, you can depend on that. I’m sorry you didn’t find the treasure.”

“Don’t be. We’ve been able to confirm a remarkable historical discovery and we foiled a monstrous plot in the bargain. I’d say that’s a full day’s work, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’m thinking more of Lazlo. He must be dejected.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He’ll recover easily enough. He’s nothing if not resilient, I’ll give him that,” Remi conceded.

“Still. It’s out there somewhere.”

Remi stared off down the hallway at the police going about their grim business and nodded to herself.

“Yes, it is, Selma. Yes, it is. But you can’t win them all, right?”

“I’m sorry. You must have dropped out, I didn’t catch that last bit…”

They laughed together, the sound musical and easy, and Selma reminded Remi again to call that evening and let her know how Sam was faring, and to be careful — she’d been following news of the rioting online and was clearly worried.

“I will, Selma.” Remi smiled. “And thank you. For everything.”

“What did I do now?” Selma asked warily.

“Just for being you.”

Morning mist hung thick in the air the following day as Remi motored along the logging road into the mountains, Lazlo and Leonid in the backseat, Sam riding shotgun. Sam had slept fitfully but after an early breakfast insisted he felt fine, and when they’d stopped in at the hospital with Lazlo before heading to the caves at Fleming’s request, Leonid had been waiting to be released, grumbling at the staff as he signed the discharge papers.

As Fleming had predicted, the civil unrest had run its course once the Prime Minister had addressed the nation and by morning the only evidence of the prior day’s rioting were a few smoldering storefronts on the southern end of the city and a notably increased police presence in town. The police chief had called on the Fargos that morning at their hotel to invite them back to the caves to walk him through and offer their impressions, which they’d only briefly discussed during the controlled chaos of the previous day.

Remi looked over at Sam as they neared the end point of the logging road, where a wall of police vehicles was visible in the distance.

“How’s the head?” she asked. She’d been trying to minimize the bouncing by swerving around the worst of the potholes — a tactic doomed to failure because of the deep grooves scored into the mud by the police trucks.

“I’m not going to be taking up the drums anytime soon, but I’ll manage,” Sam said.

“How about you, Leonid?”

“Compared to sleeping on that Australian rust bucket, I feel fine,” the Russian griped.

“Tell us again how you managed to get back to the main cave and then track us down and save us,” Lazlo said.

“Easy. I came to, climbed up, followed the islanders, and then whacked one when the rest were outside with the woman,” Leonid explained as though it was all as ordinary as taking a stroll around the hotel grounds.