“Then what?”
“Well, let’s think this through. Imagine what it must have been like. You have the treasure, but you’re starving, and the enemy’s landed on the island and is preventing any vessels from reaching you. The shoreline is littered with sunken Japanese and Allied boats, but the Allies have control over the sea during the daylight hours. What would you do?”
Remi thought for a moment. “Submarine!”
“That’s one possibility, but a sub would still run considerable risk of being discovered if anything went wrong or took longer than planned. Also, it’s harder than it sounds to get one close to shore, presumably at night, without risking grounding it or being a sitting duck.”
“Then I’d hide the treasure until I could get it off the island safely.”
“Okay, fine. But get it off how? It’s increasingly obvious that the Allies aren’t going to give up. And no matter how patriotic you are, how devoted you are to your cause, it’s a virtual certainty that Japan isn’t going to be able to hold the island forever.”
“I’d . . . I’d probably wait until a big push, when I had the best chance of making it off the island with it.”
“Like minds think alike. If you look at the chronology of the occupation, there’s only one point where it seemed certain you could get off the island alive.”
Remi eyed him. “Which was . . . ?”
“The final evacuation. For whatever reason, the Allies didn’t prevent the Japanese evacuation of the troops. And you would have known it looked like a sure thing, if you had communications capability, because the initial run in February went uncontested, as did the next run on February fourth. The final run was on the night of February seventh and it was also unchallenged.”
“Did the Allies not want to commit resources to blocking a retreat?”
“Best I can tell, they thought the ship movements were the prelude to a big attack, so the naval forces fell back to the Coral Sea. That left the Japanese with an opening to make the run and they took full advantage of it.”
“I still like my sub theory.”
“I can see that. But in addition to the risk of running aground, the Japanese didn’t have that many subs around the Solomons, at least that we know of.” Sam ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw and shook his head. “Besides, the Japanese subs didn’t have much cargo space, and in the Guadalcanal campaign, other than dropping off a limited numbers of reinforcements, they didn’t play much of a role.”
“Joy killer.”
Sam grinned, a distant look in his eyes. “Let’s assume it took the Japanese a reasonable amount of time to locate the ruins and then more time to explore them and discover the treasure—they’d have had to contend with all the same sea growth we’ve been battling, so it wouldn’t have happened quickly. And once they did, assume it took still more time to dig the gold out of the walls, as well as raise whatever else was in the vault. The bayonet came from a group that didn’t arrive on the island until September. Let’s say they somehow managed to find the treasure and get it to the surface in . . . a month, at minimum. That would put them well into end of October or later—when the island was awash with Allied forces and the sea corridor basically controlled by Allied airplanes. There were massive naval battles fought on an almost weekly basis—both sides lost plenty of ships. Does that sound like an opportune time to try to move treasure off an island?”
Remi cleared her throat. “Probably not. But that’s a lot of ifs.”
“I know. But looking at the time line, assuming they didn’t stash it on the island for pick up at a later date, I’d say they made the run during the evacuation because at any point from about September on it would have been too risky trying any other way.”
Remi nodded slowly. “But your earlier point’s a good one—a significant find would have been impossible to hide for long. If the treasure was recovered, why hasn’t any of it surfaced? Secrets don’t keep for that long, and I’d imagine that the Japanese could have used a nice infusion of riches for the war effort. Something would have made it to the market.”
“I sent Selma back some direction on what to look for. I asked her to get us anything she can find on Japanese asset sales during the war, as well as details on all the ships involved in the evacuation—or that were ever near Guadalcanal for more than the time it would take to off-load supplies. Nobody was trying to get anything off until the evacuation, so that would be a giveaway. It’s a tall order, but she loves that kind of challenge. If anyone can do it, it’s Selma.”
Sam and Remi moved on deck, where the divers were donning their equipment. Remi shielded her eyes from the sun as she studied the coastline, Sam by her side speaking quietly to Leonid. Sam noticed her attention and stopped what he was doing.
“What is it?”
Remi shook her head. “Probably nothing. I thought I saw a flash of something over by the car.”
“Probably the sun on the windshield,” Leonid said.
Sam looked to Des, who held a coffee mug. “Do you have a set of binoculars handy?” Sam asked.
Des nodded and ducked into the pilothouse, then returned a few moments later.
“These work for you?” he asked as he handed him a pair of waterproof Bushnell’s.
Sam peered through the lenses at the coast and then handed the glasses back to Des. “Any chance you could give me a lift to shore to check on the van?”
Des nodded. “Sure. I’ll run you over myself.”
Sam turned to Remi. “I’ll be right back.”
She rubbed her neck and winced. “I’d offer to join you, but not this time. Maybe scuba diving falls under the category of things you shouldn’t do after plunging off a cliff?”
Sam gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I think I just slept wrong,” she said, but neither of them believed that.
Soon they were cutting across the placid sea. There was hardly any swell on the calm morning, and they reached the beach in minutes.
Sam hopped out onto the sand and approached the van, which looked exactly as he’d left it. He checked the locking gas compartment—no evidence of anyone trying to break into it. The windows were up tight and the doors all locked. His senses on alert, he inspected the vehicle, listening for any hint of movement in the surrounding jungle.
Nothing but the slight rustle of the wind tickling the tops of the trees.
After a long glance at the area around the Toyota, he walked back to the boat.
He’d spotted fresh tire tracks near the van.
Remi’s instinct had been right. Someone had been watching the boat.
CHAPTER 24
Orwen Manchester sat in the rear of a waterfront bar, empty except for a desultory bartender, who was well paid by Manchester to be blind and deaf whenever he required a discreet meeting place out of the public eye. The Rusty Shrimper had been a notorious Honiara watering hole for decades, a favorite of the more unsavory elements wandering the port, but quiet that morning, its doors officially closed until nightfall.
Manchester drank his beer and checked his watch. The summons from his colleague and sometimes partner in crime, Gordon Rollins, had been abrupt, which Manchester was accustomed to. Rollins’s tenure as governor-general, the largely symbolic representative of the British Crown’s authority, had made him even more powerful and influential than he’d been by virtue of his considerable wealth alone and declining an invitation to meet wasn’t an option.
Rollins pushed his way through the back service entrance, a hat pulled low over his forehead, and approached Manchester’s table. He flicked a finger at the bartender, who nodded, and then shook hands with Manchester before taking his seat. A Bombay Sapphire gibson arrived, and the pair waited until the bartender was out of earshot before they joined in a muted toast.