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fact, the area was empty except for a few nervous Australian tourists talking quietly among themselves near the entrance, their accents as distinctive as their ruddy complexions, the legacy of Scottish heritage in a subtropical climate.
The hostess checked the list, smiled when she found their name, and led them through the dining room, which was surprisingly full. Halfway to the table Remi paused and grabbed Sam’s arm. Orwen Manchester was sitting at a booth, reviewing a small pile of paperwork, a sweating bottle of beer on the table beside him. He glanced up and waved them over when he caught Remi’s eye.
“Well, look who’s here! Are you two following me around?” he boomed as he rose.
“It’s certainly a small world, isn’t it?” Remi said.
“Maybe not that small. This is one of the few restaurants that’s open tonight. Sam, Remi, if you have no plans, I insist that you join me. Assuming that I’m not interrupting a romantic candlelight dinner or anything.”
Remi smiled and shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Sam?”
“Perfect,” Sam said, and pulled a chair out for Remi, who sat gracefully while beaming at them both.
“Probably best you aren’t out on the town tonight anyway,” Manchester said as he and Sam took their seats. “It’s ugly out there.”
“That’s what the manager told us. Why would a rogue rebel group’s execution of two foreigners cause so much unrest?” Remi asked.
“Guadalcanal is polarized. Most of the population’s dirt poor, but a small segment is quite well off, so there’s an inevitable friction that occasionally causes violence. Scapegoats are always popular for the less fortunate, and there’s also a powerful antiforeigner sentiment simmering just below the calm surface. The rebels’ reprehensible actions have forced that sentiment into the spotlight and it’s suddenly acceptable to give voice to the unmentionable. You have the poor and disenfranchised looking for any excuse to express their frustration.” Manchester shook his head. “It makes little sense, but there it is.”
Sam nodded. “Sounds like your views are clear on the issue.”
Manchester swigged the remainder of his beer and motioned to a waiter to bring two more. Remi ordered a soda.
To their surprise when their drinks arrived as promised, champagne was also served. But the mood was tense as more tourists arrived and were seated, their collective worry palpable even across the room. Manchester toasted and then fixed Sam with a stern stare.
“I hate to seem like an ungracious host, but perhaps the Solomons aren’t an ideal place for you until this all dies down.” He shifted his eyes to Remi, his gaze changing from steely to admiring. “I’d hate for such a lovely couple to be caught in any escalation.”
“We keep hearing that, but it’s a little late now. We’ve flown halfway around the world to help our friend. It’s an important project for him, and for us,” Sam replied.
Manchester ignored Sam’s comment. “And you’re only a few short hours’ flight from more hospitable lands. I hear the restaurants in Sydney are spectacular this season.”
“That’s not our style,” Remi said firmly. “We don’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble.”
“Of course not. I’m speaking as a concerned friend. And this may all blow over. But if it escalates, you won’t want to be around. Half the town burned in the last big one. The opportunists and predators come out when they think they’re anonymous in the mob, and almost nothing’s off limits once that dam breaks. It’s the ugly side of human nature we see when things get out of control—one that’s best viewed from a safe distance.”
“Your point’s well taken.” Remi held her glass aloft. “To level heads and better times.”
“Hear! Hear!” Manchester said, but the broad smile on his face never reached his eyes.
CHAPTER 20
Sam and Remi listened to the news on the radio as they ate breakfast before driving out to the bay. There had been small outbursts in the slums on the town periphery, but no large-scale unrest. Advisories were still in effect, and travelers were warned to expect delays due to roadblocks, but it seemed that tempers had cooled overnight as the reality of the murders had set in. The Prime Minister had issued a statement condemning the slayings, dozens of off-duty police were called into service, and international censure was swift and absolute. The rebels had been officially pronounced a terrorist organization and the administration declared that it would not negotiate with terrorists under any circumstance.
The lobby thronged with a crush of foreigners checking out, anxious to leave the island before the other shoe dropped. Sam and Remi elbowed through the crowd and found a table in the restaurant.
“Looks like the exodus has begun in earnest,” Remi said after ordering.
“I don’t blame them. We’re here for a reason. If we were tourists, how appealing would getting stuck in the middle of a civil war be?”
“Sounds like our last couple of vacations.”
“Oh, come on. Other than the shooting and being run off the road, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“I think you said that out of order. Besides, you forgot the crocodile.”
“Technically, it didn’t come for us, so I left it off the list.”
The rental van was where they’d left it, and they noted that there were now three security guards in the parking lot instead of one. All had their batons out and were doing their best to look menacing. Other than a few stragglers loitering across the street, the area looked calm, and only a few cars were on the road.
