The Solomon Curse

CHAPTER 40

Sam set another waypoint on the GPS and zoomed in on the satellite map of the area. After studying the terrain, he shook his head. “Looks like it’s going to be a low-tech hike for us. The images aren’t any help — it’s all rain forest canopy. You can’t even make out this stream — too much overhang.”

“What’s the rest of the line from the diary?” Remi asked. “Something about ‘into enemy territory’?”

Lazlo nodded. “That’s right. ‘Into enemy territory to the small waterfall.’ Any ideas?”

Sam looked up at the top of the nearest mountain, where wisps of clouds hovered around the peak like a halo. “The Allies held the area around Honiara down to where the airport is. That would be more northeast from this point. Assuming that’s what he was referring to.”

“Actually, they also had most of the eastern part of the island, not to be a killjoy,” Lazlo observed.

“Right, but since Kumasaka felt it noteworthy enough to write in his diary, I think it’s a safe bet that the wording signaled a direction change at the goat head — from east to northeast,” Sam said. “Otherwise, why say anything?”

Remi peered at the slope beyond the rocks. “Looks like it’s going to get harder from here. That’s pretty steep.”

“Remember that they had to lug heavy crates, so all we have to do is think like the Japanese,” Sam said.

“Then we’re looking for a natural passage — a path of least resistance,” Lazlo said.

They studied the landscape, from the dull gray of the goat head to the neon green of the lush vegetation around it. There was no obvious way forward — or, rather, up the mountain that stretched endlessly into the afternoon sky. Sam and Remi headed up to the base and slowly walked along the edge of the brush. It was evident from the abundant tall grass that the area hadn’t seen human feet for eons.

When they returned to where Lazlo and Leonid were resting in the shade, Sam’s expression was pensive. “It may be as simple as following the stream. It looks like it heads in a roughly northeast direction, and it could well be that’s what the Japanese did,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t Kumasaka have simply said ‘follow the river,’ then, instead of all the nonsense about going into enemy territory?” Leonid demanded.

“Maybe he was worried about the stream changing course over time. Rubo mentioned that the stream that now runs across the trail leading to the village wasn’t there the last time he was. On a tropical island, that’s a distinct possibility. Or he might have been paranoid that someone might get their hands on the diary and somehow decrypt it. There are a number of possibilities…”

“… any of which could be wrong,” Leonid finished.

“Look at the bright side. We found the goat head. So we’re doing something right,” Remi said.

“Ever the diplomat,” said Sam. “Reality is, it’s a decent guess. Unless you have a better suggestion.” He eyed Leonid and Lazlo.

Lazlo pushed himself to his feet. “I’m with you. We follow the stream. If we’re wrong, we’ll figure it out sooner or later. We’re on an island, after all. Eventually, all directions lead to the sea.”

Sam checked the time. “We should get going.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way of arguing for going back to our nice, safe hotel and picking this up tomorrow?” Leonid asked. “You have the waypoints.”

“We’re on the hunt now, my Russian friend. We have the scent. We keep pushing,” Sam said, ending the discussion.

The streambed of loose gravel was at first a welcome relief from the endless mud of the trails, but after a short time it proved the more difficult path as the slope steepened. After an hour of hiking along the bank, the stream widened and then forked, one tributary stretching to their left, the other to their right. They stopped and eyed the two choices. Sam turned to Leonid. “Which do you like?”

“Neither.”

“Come on, choose one,” Lazlo said. “Be a good sport.”

They waited while Leonid studied the two branches, and he eventually grunted and pointed at the one on the right. “That goes more eastward.”

“Well, there you have it,” Remi said. “But perhaps now it’s more obvious why the colonel didn’t simply write ‘Follow the stream.’”

After a brief rest, Sam led them along the stream as it climbed into the mountains. The sun was beginning to sink into the trees behind them when they arrived at the base of a steep expanse of sheer rock that the stream cut through. They stopped to catch their breaths, and Sam looked up into the mist.

“No way they climbed that. I think we might be on the wrong path here.”

Remi nodded. “He’s right. They were hauling heavy crates. They must have followed the other branch.”

Sam looked to the sky. “We should be able to make it back to where it forked before dark. We can set up camp in that little clearing and take this up tomorrow.”

Lazlo eyed Leonid. “No shame in guessing wrong, old boy. Happens to the best of us.”

“That’s why I try to avoid guessing about anything important.”

They made it back to the clearing with just enough time to set up the tents. Building a cooking fire was out of the question, given the waterlogged soil and moist vegetation, so they settled in for a dinner of energy bars, electrolyte-replacement tablets, and tepid water, silently consumed in the ghostly glow from their LED flashlights.

As night fell, the mosquitoes swarmed them. They retired early, liberally doused with insect repellant, serenaded by the hoots and squawks of night creatures beneath the stars.

The following day they were up at dawn, trudging up the second stream, trying to get a head start before the heat of the day hit with full force. The jungle was blanketed with a hazy mist and visibility was down to twenty meters, the humidity heavy in the air even in the relative cool of morning. The only sound was their breathing and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots as they marched determinedly upward toward the distant, fog-enshrouded peak.

Sam stopped at a bend and held up a hand. The group paused behind him as he stood listening, his head cocked.

“There. You hear that?” he whispered to Remi beside him.

She shook her head. “No. What?”

“I thought I heard splashing.”

Lazlo pushed past them and strode farther up the stream. “You aren’t imagining things. I think we’ve found our waterfall,” he called from around the bend.

They hurried to join him, where he was gazing at the white froth at the base of another steep rise, this one a cliff with water rushing over its edge, forming a waterfall easily twenty feet wide. Off to their right, another, smaller waterfall tumbled into a small pond. A ridge stretched eastward, jutting through the jungle that covered as far as they could see.

“Look. That feeds into at least two more streams,” Remi said, indicating the pond.

“Now the question is which waterfall Kumasaka was referring to when he said that the way lay beyond the fall,” Sam said.

“How will we know?” Lazlo asked.

Sam eyed the various falls and grinned. “That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?”

Leonid grunted as he stared at the tumbling water. “We’re looking for a cave, right? Unless I’m seeing things, there’s a cave over there by those boulders,” he said, pointing to their right, past the smaller waterfall.

“‘Beyond the fall…’” Remi whispered.

“Leonid, I don’t care what they say about you, you aren’t all bad,” Lazlo said, clapping him on the back. The Russian looked at him disdainfully and took a step away from the Englishman.

Sam fished his GPS from his backpack and entered in another waypoint. “Come on, gang. We’re almost there. Remi? Care to do the honors?”

“I think Lazlo should lead the way since it was his decryption that brought us here in the first place,” Remi said.

“Very well, then. No point in dawdling,” Lazlo said, shouldering his pack and setting off toward the cave.

They skirted the water’s edge, crossing two streams, and made their way to a mushy stretch of bank near the boulders. The cave opening yawned like a giant mouth, the gloom beyond its threshold impenetrable, vines having overgrown across part of it. Sam and Remi freed their machetes and set to work and three minutes later had cleared enough of it to enter.

“Flashlight time,” Sam said. They paused outside the rent in the rock, took out their lights, and switch them on. “Lazlo? No time like the present.”

Lazlo cautiously moved into the cavern, followed by Sam and Remi, their machetes still in hand, with Leonid bringing up the rear. The entry was long and narrow, stretching for fifteen feet, but no more than five high, requiring them to stoop as they crept forward. Lazlo’s light shone ahead of him, and as he moved deeper into the cave, they saw that it opened into a small chamber with water pooled on the ground, the light reflecting off its surface. The source dripped from a fissure in the stone above, rippling the placid surface.

“Be careful, Lazlo. That could be a hundred feet deep, for all we know,” Sam cautioned.

“Ah, yes, the dreaded cenote. Noted,” he said. “Pun intended—” He stopped midsentence and held his lamp aloft.

“What is it?” Remi asked, his body blocking the passage.

“Looks like we’re not the first visitors,” he said as he stepped aside. Remi and Sam followed his gaze to where a pair of skeletons lay on the cold stone floor, their sightless eye sockets fixed accusingly on the entryway.

Leonid brushed past them and neared the bones. “Murdered villagers,” he whispered as if afraid he might rouse the dead with his voice.

“Perhaps,” Sam said, stepping forward and illuminating the pair with his light. “But I seriously doubt the Japanese did this unless they had a time machine. Look at the smaller one’s feet.”

Remi gasped. “Are those…?”

“Yes,” Sam answered. “Flip-flops. Judging by the size and pink plastic, worn by a very small woman or a girl.”

“What are they doing here?” Lazlo asked, his voice hushed.

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know. But they’ve been here a while.” He paused as he eyed the remains. “Animals and rot got their clothes, unless they were naked when they died. But look — no visible injuries, nothing broken, no cracked skulls or bullet holes. It’s possible they died of natural causes…”

Remi shook her head. “I doubt it. Look at their wrists. See the plastic?”

“What is it?” Leonid asked.

They all peered down at the skeletons and then Lazlo straightened and spoke softly. “Zip ties. Their wrists were bound when they died.”