“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.”