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“Just a few things we picked up here and there,” Remi said, keeping it vague. “We’re going to be funding Dr. Vanya’s clinics, so we want to understand any issues affecting the island. Disappearing children seems like an issu
e.”
“I’ll grant you, it sounds like one, but I don’t get the impression it’s nearly as large or as pressing as the rebel problem, or the crushing poverty endemic to the Solomons, or the lack of coherent responses to public health or social problems, or unemployment, or fiscal irresponsibility, or civil unrest . . .”
“No disagreement. We were just hoping to find someone who could give us an idea of how long it’s been going on and how large a problem it really is.”
“I don’t know that it’s even a real problem. Again, I hear a myriad of complaints about a multitude of issues every week and that was just one of many. If I made it seem like it was a substantial issue, I apologize. It must have been the beer talking.” He studied them, his smile as genuine as a mannequin’s. “As to who to direct you to, I have nothing to offer. Perhaps the police?”
“That’s already on our schedule. Do you have anyone specific we should speak with?” Remi asked, not telling him about Vanya’s offer.
Manchester suddenly seemed anxious to move on to other tasks. “I’ll look into it. I’m afraid I don’t know who would handle missing persons, off the top of my head.” He smoothed his hair with a bear-sized hand and changed the subject. “I’m delighted you’ve decided to play a large role in Dr. Vanya’s clinics. That should improve life for many on the island. It’s a sad state of affairs, at present.”
“Yes, so we gathered. It’s a worthwhile cause,” Sam agreed. “Anything more about the rebels? Any sense of how public opinion is running?”
“Most condemn their actions, if not their sentiment. At least so my colleagues would have me believe. Still, there are a few who are seriously considering the merits of nationalizing all exploration and prospecting efforts. Madness—but to some, attractive madness, it would seem.”
“Did you have any chance to discuss our archaeological project with your colleagues?”
“Unfortunately, not yet. As you might imagine, with the rebel crisis, that’s all anyone has time for. But I haven’t forgotten about it,” Manchester assured them.
When Sam and Remi left the politician’s office, Manchester watched them walk to their vehicle from his window, his expression troubled. His receptionist eyed him as she worked on a sheaf of documents. “Don’t forget you have a five o’clock meeting with Gordon Rollins,” she said.
“Oh. Right. That’s today, is it? Thanks for the reminder.” While Manchester had kept his clandestine meetings with Rollins secret, he couldn’t avoid all public contact with him or that, too, would seem suspicious. They’d agreed to continue to have periodic meetings, as before, so if scrutinized, their behavior would seem normal. So far, the plan was working perfectly.
Manchester checked his watch and, with a final glance at the Fargos pulling out of the parking lot, returned to his office, his footsteps heavy on the polished wooden floor.
CHAPTER 44
Gordon Rollins’s neighborhood was the very best in Honiara. His home, a sprawling affair sitting on a bluff overlooking the ocean, was an area landmark. When Orwen Manchester arrived in the brick drive, the gardening staff were finishing up for the day, their khaki shirts soaked through with sweat, their skin chocolate brown from the relentless sun’s rays.
A blue 1963 E-Type Jaguar roadster sat in the driveway, its chrome gleaming—one of Rollins’s eccentricities but one he could well afford, coming from old money as he did and having invested wisely during his long life. Rollins turned from the discussion he was having in front of the house with his assistant, a shapely island woman named Sandra who had been with him for a decade, and offered Manchester a wave. Manchester shut off the motor of his Honda sedan and smiled as he slipped from behind the wheel—Rollins had always had flair and he’d lost none of it as he’d aged. “Orwen, old man, good of you to come,” Rollins called, shaking his silver mane of hair. He leaned into Sandra and said something. She smiled at Manchester, displaying two rows of blindingly white teeth, and then sashayed up the steps to the front entrance, leaving Rollins and Manchester to their business.
“Always my pleasure, Gordon. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Not as hot as yesterday, fortunately.” He held up a silver key on a fob. “I was thinking we might want to nip down to one of the pubs and have a quiet draft. Have you joined the ranks of the temperate lately or can you fit that in?”
“I’ll do whatever I must to make you feel comfortable,” Manchester said, smiling.
“Good man. That’s the spirit,” Rollins said, approaching the Jaguar.
“I take it this isn’t entirely a social call?” Manchester asked quietly as he opened the passenger door.
“Regrettably, no. But I see no reason not to mix business with a little pleasure. Besides, all this seriousness is a thirsty affair. I’m parched.”
“We make the sacrifices that are necessary,” Manchester agreed. “What have you got up your sleeve now?”
“The Crown is concerned about our recent unrest and the direction these beastly rebels have taken—most alarming, I think you’ll agree. And if she who must not be mocked is concerned, that means that I am—and you should be as well.”
The Jaguar exploded in a blinding flash when Rollins turned the key. A fireball shot into the sky like an orange fist, and a door flipped lazily through the air before landing on the immaculately groomed lawn. The staff stood transfixed in horror as the Jaguar belched black smoke, the cockpit and engine engulfed in flame, the chassis crumpled like a discarded soda can.
Sirens keened in the distance several minutes later, but by then it was obvious to the gathering crowd that the only job remaining for the emergency crews would be extinguishing the wreckage.
—
Remi shifted in frustration as she and Sam sat in the Honiara police station, talking to the police chief, Sebastian Fleming, a forty-something islander with a face like a losing fighter and a gaze that was quickly distracted. Vanya had arranged for a meeting, but from the very start Fleming had been defensive and standoffish, and the discussion had quickly degraded from there.
“Wait. So you’re saying that you have no idea how many missing persons reports have been filed over the last five years involving children? How is that possible?” Remi demanded. “Don’t you have computers?”
