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One more roadblock treated them the same way, and by the time they reached the hotel lot, Sam and Remi were worried. They’d passed crowds of angry-looking islanders who glared at the van as it drove by. Though nobody did anything, they could sense the menace. As they pulled through the gate, Sam noted that the parking lot security guard looked as worried as he felt, although there were no signs of a mob anywhere near the hotel—perhaps because it was located near the main police station.
When they entered the lobby, the front desk clerk signaled to them. They approached and she gave them a professional smile and asked them to wait for her boss, who appeared moments later, wearing an obligatory sincerity suit.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I’m Jacob Trench, the manager. I hope you’re enjoying your stay?”
Remi nodded. “Everything’s been satisfactory.”
“Good, good.” Trench shifted nervously and looked down at his shoes. “I wanted to greet you and introduce myself and apologize in advance for what I’m going to say. We’re advising our guests not to leave the hotel grounds. The situation in town is . . . unsettled . . . and we don’t think it’s safe.”
“Really?” Sam said. “Then why would it be safer here?”
“We have extra security coming. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying that we expect any trouble. Purely precautionary. But it would be unfortunate if any troublemakers used the current uneasy sentiment opportunistically, and there’s always a faction . . .” Trench’s Australian accent was crisp, but it was impossible to mistake his concern.
“Do you really think there’s a risk?” Remi asked.
“It would be better not to test your luck, for the time being. The authorities have everything under control, but I was here during the last . . . unrest . . . and it got out of hand rather quickly. A hotel down the beach was gutted.”
“Right, but this is completely different, isn’t it?”
Trench nodded but wouldn’t meet their eyes. “It always is, unfortunately. Please. Be our guest in the restaurant tonight. I’ll be happy to provide a complimentary bottle of champagne as an incentive.”
Remi looked at Sam. “He’s convincing me with the free champagne, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got a deal. Do we need to make a reservation?”
Trench shook his head. “Just let me know what time you’d like to have dinner and I’ll take care of it.”
“Say . . . seven?”
“Perfect. Party of two or will you have guests?”
“Just us,” Remi said.
As they continued to their room, Sam whispered to Remi, “Did you see the guy reading the paper in the lobby? Big man, khaki pants, local?”
“No, I was too busy being warned that we’re all going to die.”
“He seemed very interested in us.”
“Maybe he doesn’t get out much.”
Sam grinned. “Not that I’m not used to having men take notice when you walk into a room.”
She looked down at her rumpled cargo pants and T-shirt and laughed. “I am a real glamor girl today, aren’t I?”
“You look pretty good to me.”
“Don’t think you’re going to dupe me with your silver tongue, Sam Fargo.”
“I was hoping the free champagne would do the trick.” They approached their door and Sam paused as he felt in his pocket for the card key. “Maybe you’re right. I just thought he was trying too hard at not being interested in us, especially given how much attention he was paying to us.”
“I have it on reliable authority that we’re in the safest place in all Guadalcanal tonight.”
“That’s reassuring. But I didn’t get the most confident feeling from the manager, did you?”
“Probably not the A-team working the night shift in Honiara.”
When Sam and Remi returned to the lobby just before seven, the big man Sam had noticed was nowhere to be seen. In
