“She sounded pretty upset,” Sam observed.
“Yes, well, I’d argue we have more pressing problems at the moment,” Vanya said, eyeing her watch and standing. “I’m going to check the radio and see what’s going on.”
She moved to the admissions counter, where several of the nurses were huddled around a portable radio. A burst of static cut across the waiting area when Vanya turned the volume up and the deep baritone of a male announcer’s voice came over the tinny speaker.
“Looting has been reported in some of the downtown areas, but it appears to be contained to a few blocks. The chief of police has issued a statement that anyone violating the law will be dealt with swiftly using the full weight of the department. All officers have been called up, including reserve forces, and are being deployed as we speak. The chief’s statement stressed that there will be a zero-tolerance policy for criminality and that anyone on the street in the affected neighborhoods can be expected to be taken into custody unless they can show good reason for being there.
“The administration is expected to make an announcement shortly.
“In related news, troubling reports are circulating that the rebel militia is strengthening, gaining members as alienated villagers in remote areas of Guadalcanal join their force. The government has condemned the rebels as terrorists and vowed to pursue them into the mountains until they have been eradicated. As reported earlier, the prime minister has officially requested the assistance of coalition forces to deal with the imminent threat and the first of the troops are expected to land within the next twelve hours.”
Dr. Vanya frowned at the news, her concern replaced by shock at the announcer’s next words.
“We’re very fortunate to have one of the members of parliament here with us in the studio—a popular public figure who’s been a public servant for as long as I can remember. I am of course referring to our good friend Orwen Manchester. Orwen, thanks for stopping by.”
“My pleasure. I just wish it were under happier circumstances.”
“As do I. But this isn’t a social call, is it?”
“No, I come to speak as a concerned islander, a business owner, and a member of the government. I’m deeply troubled by the recent unrest and by how certain segments of our society are using any excuse to disrupt the hard work of good, honest islanders, who are trying to make ends meet and to build a better future for our children. Today’s murder of Boyd Severin is an atrocity of the lowest order, an act of cowardice that should be condemned by everyone regardless of their views. I’m an outspoken opponent of nationalization, but I’m first and foremost an islander, a citizen, who wants the best outcome for all. Boyd and I disagreed on numerous occasions, but I still respected him, and we resolved our disagreements through discussion and the use of reason.”
Manchester stopped, his voice tight.
The announcer waited several long beats before coming back on the air. “That was Member of Parliament Orwen Manchester, Esquire, a leading Guadalcanal politician and attorney. I join with him in pleading to everyone listening: behave responsibly. Do not let this day be one where lawlessness rules our land. Please. We’re better than that.”
The broadcast returned to normal programming, with the promise of more updates as the situation developed. Vanya shook her head, scowling. “I feel like such a fool. I’m afraid I might have been wrong about Orwen. In spite of his posturing, I see his hand behind this latest unrest.”
“What?” Remi said. “Manchester? What do you mean?”
“I was talking to a close friend of his yesterday and he painted a completely different picture than the one Orwen presents. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like him and I want to believe otherwise, but the truth is that I’ve suspected for some time that he’s aligned with those wanting a change in regime. Nationalizing the valuable industries would make him a very wealthy man. He’s a top attorney who specializes in corporate work and no doubt he has connections to many companies that would benefit from the nationalistic sentiment.”
“He seemed pretty opposed to it over dinner, not to mention during this broadcast,” Sam said.
“Well, of course he would seem to be. The whole point is that he says one thing publicly but another privately.” Vanya paused. “I don’t want to gossip, but let’s just say that our friend might do very well indeed if the administration were to be overthrown and the nation’s mineral rights reverted to local ownership.”
“You truly believe he could be working in league with the rebels?” Remi asked.
Vanya shook her head. “Oh, goodness, no. That wasn’t what I was implying at all. But Orwen’s a lawyer and a politician, which means he’s as tuned in as anybody on how to benefit from a seismic change in how business is conducted here. Right now, everything of any real value is licensed to or owned by foreign groups. While I can see how that would upset many, I also understand that if the islands nationalized those industries, it would have a catastrophic effect for years to come. Only, not for everyone.”
“No?”
“Well, if you’re Orwen and have the contacts to scoop up the plum rights and then negotiate a deal with someone who could step in and make a go of the industries that are stalled right now, like the gold mine, it doesn’t require an active imagination to see that even a sliver of that profit could make one rich.”
Remi and Sam exchanged a glance. “Is there any evidence that he’s involved, other than speculation?”
Vanya rose. “I’ve already said too much—we islanders love to gossip. I’d feel terrible if Orwen proved to be blameless. Hopefully, this will all blow over soon.” Changing the subject too quickly, Dr. Vanya offered to have a new tablet delivered to their hotel room. Turning, she hurried back to the patient treatment area, leaving them to their thoughts.
“I told you I got a weird vibe from him,” Sam said. “If Manchester’s lying about his true motives . . .”
“. . . that could be what we picked up on,” Remi finished.
“But, even so, there’s a world of difference between seeing an opportunity and seizing it and fomenting some kind of island revolution. I can’t see a guy like Manchester being in bed with murderers, can you?”
Remi didn’t answer for several moments. “As we’ve seen more than enough, people will do strange things when money’s involved.”
A crash from the front entrance highlighted the difference between the rhetoric on the broadcast and the very real anarchy only footsteps away. Vanya reemerged from the rear and stared at the shuttered entrance. Sam and Remi stood and approached her.
“What can we do?” Remi asked. “Is there a secure area within the hospital we could fall back to if they’re able to breach the shutters?”
Vanya shook her head. “No. We’re a small facility, and all the rooms are filled with patients or equipment. We’re lucky that the storm protection is keeping us safe.” She eyed the front doors and sighed. “The only thing you can do now is pray.”
CHAPTER 33
Rivulets of sweat ran down Sam’s face, and Remi fanned herself with a public health pamphlet taken from a small pile on the reception counter. Half an hour had gone by since Dr. Vanya called the police. The sounds of intruders trying to get in had faded and then ceased completely ten minutes ago.
The swelter in the waiting area drained everyone’s will to do anything but breathe. The ill, as well as those accompanying them, suffered in silence—all except a six-month-old child, who was crying nonstop in between bouts of coughing.
Remi leaned her head against Sam’s shoulder and whispered to him. “Sounds like the bad guys have moved on.”