“What on earth were you doing there?” she asked.

“Helping a friend with a project,” Sam said.

“A project?” Vanya pressed.

“Archaeology.”

“Ah,” Vanya said as though that explained everything. “You’re American, aren’t you?”

“Our accents give us away?” Remi asked.

“Well, yes. Most of our visitors are from Australia and New Zealand. We don’t get nearly as many Americans as we did when I was growing up. Back then, there were still a lot of veterans who came to revisit the old battlegrounds and pay their respect. But no longer,” she explained.

“Oh, you’re an islander?” Remi said, surprised. There was no trace of the local pidgin accent in her speech.

“Until I was ten. Then my family moved to Sydney, where I went to school. Somewhere in all that I lost my accent.” She smiled. “But you know what they say: you can take the islander off the island, but you can’t take the island out of the islander. After I graduated and completed my residency, I wanted to give back to my people, so I returned nine years ago.”

“That’s a wonderful thing to do,” Sam said.

“Well, it’s where I was born. My current project is raising funds for several rural clinics around the island. It may seem like a small place, but when you cut yourself or have an accident, traversing the roads can take a lifetime. And also for vaccinations and the like. Unfortunately, the government’s always been a disaster, so fate leaves it up to the private sector to do what it can.”

“That sounds like a noble calling,” Sam said. “Maybe you can give us some information about it?”

Vanya appraised him. “Why? Feel like donating?” she asked bluntly.

Remi stepped in. “We oversee a foundation that does charitable work all over the world.”

Vanya blinked twice and then smiled, the tiny stress lines around her eyes crinkling. “Well, in that case, you must have dinner with me. How long will you be on Guadalcanal?”

Remi shrugged. “We haven’t decided.”

Sam chuckled. “Until they throw us off.”

Everyone laughed. Vanya nodded. “Given your recent act of heroism, that’s unlikely. Seriously. If you’re free this evening, I’d love to show you one of the local hideaways. I’m having dinner with a colleague and I’m sure he’d be interested in discussing your project. We don’t get a lot of archaeologists nosing around. And of course I want to tell you all about my clinics.”

Remi exchanged a glance with Sam. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

“Absolutely,” Vanya said. “The truth is, I get bored out of my skull around here after a time. I could use some time with fresh faces, hear some new stories. I’m afraid after my time in Sydney, Honiara doesn’t have quite the interest it did when I was ten. I assure you my invitation is purely driven by selfishness.”

“Well, then, it’s a date,” Sam said. “Shall we meet you here?”

“If you like.” She paused, thinking. “Or I can swing by wherever you’re staying. That way, I can go home and freshen up, and, if it’s still pouring, you won’t have to brave the rain to get here. What hotel?”

Sam gave her their information and they agreed to meet in the lobby at eight. Vanya spent another minute with Ricky, explaining his uncle’s condition to him, and then returned to the bowels of the hospital after stopping to briefly examine the man with the broken arm.

CHAPTER 6

When Sam and Remi checked at the front desk for Dr. Vanya, the clerk handed them a message slip.

“Looks like we’re in business,” Sam said as he read the note. “Leonid’s going to be picking us up at nine tomorrow morning.”

“I have mixed feelings about diving in a crocodile-infested swamp,” Remi said.

“It’s not a swamp. And it was only one crocodile.”

“What’s the exact procedure for fending off an underwater crocodile attack? I wonder if it’s like a shark?”

“Not to worry. I have the tactical skills necessary.”

“That’s very thoughtful. But it does raise the question of what your plan would be if one attacked.”

“Oh. Simple,” Sam said. “I’m a fast swimmer.”

“Not faster than one of those things.”

“I don’t have to be.” He smiled. “I just have to be faster than you.”

Remi returned the smile. “Touché.”

“Thing about saltwater crocs is they’re solitary and territorial, so it’s unlikely another will move into the area so soon. We’ll keep an eye peeled, but where we’re diving we should be safe.”

Remi gave him a sidelong glance. “Let’s hope someone told the crocs all that.”

The doctor pulled up in a silver Mitsubishi SUV that was covered in mud. They piled into the backseat and buckled in. The rain had stopped with the approach of dusk, but the roads were still flooded in many places, and Vanya drove cautiously to the waterfront.

“I hope you like seafood. This is the best place on the island. Very authentic, but not fancy,” she said. “It’s been here for twenty years, so they’re doing something right.”

“That’s perfect,” Remi said. “I love fish.”

“Me too,” Sam chimed in.

The exterior of the restaurant showed fading blue paint peeling from crooked wooden planks. A simple hand-lettered sign over the door featured a stylized depiction of a crab and the restaurant name: Eleanor’s.

“She owns the place. A magician with recipes. Whatever the fresh catch is, you can’t go wrong with it,” Vanya assured them.

The interior matched the outside—simple and run-down, but with heady aromas drifting from the kitchen. The dining area was packed with locals, conversing boisterously over their seafood platters. Vanya waved at a table near the back, where a heavyset man with skin the color of coal grinned at them, his suit and tie out of place in the surroundings. They approached and he stood, hand outstretched in greeting, and he was so tall that his head almost hit the ceiling. Vanya made the introductions.

“Sam and Remi Fargo, meet Orwen Manchester. Orwen is a genuine celebrity here—he’s one of the few members of parliament who’s survived for more than fifteen minutes in the confusion that’s our system.”

“Well, that’s too kind, Vanya. You really should consider government work with that silver tongue of yours,” Manchester said, his voice deep and good-humored. “Halo olketa,” he intoned, the traditional island greeting. Remi shook his hand, which was twice as large as hers, and Sam did the same, noting that the man was careful about his grip, given his stature.

“Nonsense, Orwen, your humility doesn’t become you. You’re a venerated Solomon Islands icon. And that takes some doing, given how often the administrations are booted with votes of no confidence every other week.”

“I’ve been very fortunate,” Manchester said with a practiced smile. “And the good doctor exaggerates. I like to say I have one of the jobs nobody sane would want, so the competition for my seat isn’t particularly stiff.”

Manchester’s English was as polished as Vanya’s, and his accent marked him as a product of the Australian education system. Everyone took seats around the table, and a server approached, looking harried with the packed house. The man spoke rapidly, his pidgin thick as tar, and then repeated his question more clearly when Sam and Remi looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

Vanya saved them from embarrassment. “If you like beer, the local SolBrew is quite good, and I understand from my friend here that it’s kept very cold by the management. They also have a nice selection of sodas.”

Remi asked for a cola, and Manchester and Sam ordered beer. Vanya requested a bottle of water, explaining that the caffeine and sugar would keep her awake all night if she went with soda. “Women don’t drink alcohol in the islands—or, at least, almost none do. Everyone would be scandalized if they saw me having one with you,” she said. “One of many things I miss from my days in Australia. Cold beer and good wine.”