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“Was that normal?”
Rubo shook his head. “No, they leave us be, mostly. But this man . . . he in charge of west side and he like to kill. Everyone know he a bad one.” Rubo spit into the dry leaves by his side. “Only two islanders get away. All the others . . .” He shook his head with a sad frown.
“There were survivors?” Sam asked, his voice quickening.
“Like I said, I think one still alive. Tough as rock.”
“Really? Do you know him?”
“You live long enough, you know everyone, sure do.”
“Where is he?”
“Still in the same village, I think.” He eyed Remi. “But he don’t speak no pidgin. Just local talk.”
“Would you be willing to take us to him?” Remi asked.
Rubo stared at the van distrustfully. “Long way.”
“Bad roads?”
He laughed and spit again. “No roads. You not going in that.”
“If we get a bigger truck, something for off-road, would you help us, Rubo? We’d pay you for your time.”
Rubo studied Sam and then his gaze wandered to Remi. “How much pay?”
Sam did a quick equation in his head. “Solomon dollars or American?”
Rubo didn’t blink. “American.”
“I don’t know. What do you think is fair?”
The old man appeared to give it deep thought and then sat back with a grunt. “Hundred. Hundred American dollars.”
Sam and Remi didn’t know whether they were expected to negotiate, but Remi didn’t chance it. “That’s fair.” She glanced at the time: still five hours until dusk. It was an hour and a half from the bay, the way Sam drove. Allowing for time to rent something more rugged . . . It would be too close. “We can pick you up tomorrow morning. Will that work for you, Rubo?”
He nodded slowly and smiled his toothless grin. When he spoke, he savored each word like rare wine. “Hundred dollars.”
CHAPTER 27
Sydney, Australia
Jeffrey Grimes frowned as he studied the topside of his yacht while his captain stood stiffly a few feet away. With a practiced eye, Grimes squinted while peering down at the shining surface, the sun gleaming off it like a mirror, and then he straightened and grunted.
“Bloody wankers. Couldn’t be duller if they’d used sandpaper instead of polish. Why do I pay these thieves?” he complained.
“Well, sir, you didn’t like the last lot, either, so I changed them out, didn’t I? These are the ones your friend recommended. Supposed to be right masters at it,” the captain said.
“How can you look at this and not cringe? I mean, seriously? You can’t tell they did a crap job?” Grimes stalked to the stern, fuming, and the captain followed, a pained expression tightening his face. Grimes inspected the brightwork, freshly sanded and varnished, and nodded. “At least the buggers got this bit right. Small miracles and all.”
His cell phone chirped and he glanced at the screen. No caller ID. His stomach tightened as he regarded his captain. “That will be all for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grimes waited until the man was out of earshot before thumbing the phone to life. “Yes?”
The voice was the usual robotic, heavily filtered drone. “Things are proceeding apace.”
