“Enough. Get the truck off the road and drag the bodies into the bush so they aren’t discovered. The animals will take care of the rest.”
The men exchanged glances, their tattered clothes sprayed with blood that was already congealing in the warm night air. They sprang into action and within five minutes had cleared the scene, leaving no evidence of the massacre other than glistening black stains on the road.
“Go on, now. Get out of here. Stop at the shore and clean yourselves off, and take care to get all the blood off your weapons. And remember — not a word to anyone. I hear anything, I’ll cut your tongues out and have you staked over an anthill.”
The men shuddered. Nobody doubted the speaker’s sincerity. They nodded and climbed into the van, which started with a sputtering puff of blue exhaust, and were out of sight before the motor’s roar faded. The speaker walked to the bloody smudges on the road, considered them, and smiled. Everything was going according to plan, and the only thing that remained was to contact the papers and plant a statement saying that the rebel militia had kidnapped two aid workers and were demanding all foreign companies invested in the island relinquish their claims and leave — before lives were lost.
The surrounding jungle was quiet, the only sound the scurrying of nocturnal creatures moving toward the easy meal that awaited them. A black SUV pulled out from behind a thicket twenty yards down the road and headed for Honiara, leaving the Australians’ truck and their mutilated corpses at the bottom of a nameless ravine, two more casualties on an island whose soil ran red from battles fought for its control.
CHAPTER 12
The next morning, Sam and Remi headed for the hospital. Dr. Vanya was there and this time allowed them into the depths of the building to see Benji, who thanked them profusely for their help in barely understandable English. It quickly became obvious that there wasn’t anything further to talk about, and after a few minutes of assurances that Leonid would help out with the hospital bills they moved back to the patient lounge with Vanya.
“What do you have planned for today?” she asked.
“We’re going to interview some locals about Guadalcanal legends and then maybe go see the mine,” Remi said.
“Oh, well, be careful. Once you get outside the city, the roads can be treacherous. And you’ve already seen what the jungle can hold. The crocodiles are only one of the dangers.”
“Yes, Manchester told us all about the giants,” Sam said.
Vanya slowed and smiled, but her expression seemed brittle. “There are some colorful beliefs here, that’s for sure.”
“As we’d expect in any isolated rural society,” Sam acknowledged. “We’re respectful of the traditions that fostered them, but still…”
“I’ve heard about giants ever since I was a toddler. I don’t even pay any attention to the stories anymore. I treat it sort of like religion — people are entitled to think what they think,” Vanya said.
“But he did say there’s been an increase in unexplained disappearances,” Remi reminded her.
“I’ve heard rumors that there are still pockets of militia in the mountains who are hiding out. I find that far more likely than the giant explanation.”
“Militia?”
“Ever since the social upheaval, when the Australians sent in an armed task force to keep the peace, there have been those who have agitated for a change in regime — who view foreign intervention as a disguised occupation of the country in order to control its natural resources. While the majority seems ambivalent about it, there are still groups of people who are angry, and some of them are militant. There have been clashes.”
“Then it actually is risky to go explore the caves?” said Sam.
She nodded. “Not because of giants. But does it matter what gets you if you’re never heard from again?”
Remi eyed Sam. “She has a point.”
“Thanks for taking the time to escort us to see Benji,” Sam said to Vanya. “What happened to the poor man is a tragedy.”
“My pleasure. Just take care that the same doesn’t happen to you. The island’s still largely wild, and, like I said, the crocs aren’t the only predators.”
“We’ll bear that in mind. Thanks again.”
Heat radiated off the parking lot as they walked to the Nissan, the equatorial sun already brutal in the late morning. This time, their drive east on the only paved road was fast and relatively easy until they passed the tiny village of Komunimboko and the road they’d had to quit the prior day. It wasn’t waist-deep in water any longer, but it was badly rutted and still mostly mud.
Sam dropped the drive train into four-wheel drive and they edged along, the car swaying and bouncing like an amusement park ride. The passage through the jungle narrowed until it more resembled a tunnel than a road. The canopy overhead blocked much of the sun, and the foliage framing the muddy track was dense and foreboding, brushing against the sides of the SUV as it rocked inland.
“And we don’t even know if this Rubo is still alive or living here?” Remi asked.
“There are no guarantees in life. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I think I left it back a mile ago, along with my sacroiliac and a few fillings.”
“We’ve been through worse.”
“I just hope I can keep breakfast down.”
Half an hour later, they rounded a particularly ugly switchback curve and entered a clearing by the river. A traditional thatch-roofed hut rested in the shade of a tall banyan tree, no evidence of power or phone lines to be found. They rolled to a stop in front, and Remi glanced at Sam.
“Nice. And you have me staying at that crappy hotel?”
“Every day brings new surprises, doesn’t it?”
“I think your quarry is peering out the doorway.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Maybe I’ll stay in the car. That way, if you take a blowgun dart to the neck, I’ll be able to get help.”
“Always thinking of me, aren’t you? It has nothing to do with the AC…”
“If you can even call it AC. To me, it feels like it’s just blowing the hot air around.”
“Stay, if you want. I’m going to talk to our new friend. You sure you saw someone there?” Sam asked, squinting at the hut.
“I think so. Movement. Could have been a crocodile or a skink, though, so be careful.”
“That makes me feel… really good.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Sam opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle and then slowly made his way toward the dwelling, which looked uninhabited. When he was a few yards away, a tremulous voice called out from inside in pidgin. Even though Sam didn’t understand it, from the tone it was clearly a warning, so he stopped.
“I’m looking for Rubo,” he said slowly. “Rubo,” he repeated for emphasis. “Do you speak English?”
All Sam could hear was the soft rumbling of the Nissan’s poorly muffled exhaust and the buzz of inquisitive insects that had taken an interest in him. He resisted the urge to swat at the air like an enraged bear and instead waited for a response.
A figure appeared in the doorway. It was an ancient man, stooped and thin, with sagging skin, and clad only in a pair of tattered shorts. The skeletal face studied Sam, the eyes dull in the shadows, and then the figure spoke.
“I speak some English. What you want?”
“I’m a friend of Orwen Manchester. I’m looking for Rubo.”
“I heard you fine. Why?”
“I need to ask some questions. About local legends.”
The old man emerged from the dark interior and regarded Sam with suspicion. “You come long way for questions.”