“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.”
“I hope the car’s in one piece.” He paused. “I was thinking about Manchester’s words. It’s possible the unrest is being orchestrated by the rebels in order to undermine the current administration. Chaos and looting would make the government look like it doesn’t have control over the island and that could result in a vote of no confidence and a regime change.”
She pulled away and studied his face. “And the new government might be for nationalization, giving the rebels exactly what they want.”
Dr. Vanya approached from the back of the hospital, her cell in hand. “Good news. The police are here and they’ve cleared the parking lot and run the mob off. So for the time being, it’s safe.” She gazed at the security gate with a frown. “The hospital’s never been in danger before—even during the worst of the riots, it went unharmed. This is something new.”
“I’m afraid we might have been to blame. We sort of led them straight here.”
“Nonsense. What could you possibly have do
ne differently? Stayed out there and been . . .” Vanya didn’t need to finish the thought. Her cell phone trilled and she raised it to her ear and then moved away and had a hushed conversation. When she hung up, she turned to Sam. “Mind giving me a hand raising the shutters?”
“See daylight again? My pleasure.”
They heaved on the strap and the barrier slowly rose, the bearings in the mechanism compensating for the thousands of pounds of weight and making raising them surprisingly easy. When the door was clear, they could see several dozen police standing by their patrol cars, lights flashing, arranged in a semicircle around the parking lot. Vanya unlocked the entry, and relatively cool air flowed in when she pulled the doors open, drawing sighs of relief from the occupants.
A short, stout officer with the physique of a brick approached and gave Vanya a small salute.
“Everyone okay in here?” he asked.
“Yes. What happened to the mob?” Vanya asked.
“It dispersed when we came up the street with our lights and sirens on. Same in the other areas. The good news is, we’re not seeing the kinds of numbers we’ve seen in previous emergencies and the people who are causing the problems take off at the first sign of opposition.”
Remi turned to Sam. “That’s a relief.”
Sam focused on Vanya. “Thank you so much for taking us in. I don’t know what would have happened . . .”
“My pleasure. But do consider giving Guadalcanal a rest until things stabilize. I don’t want to read about you two in the paper.”
“We’ll definitely take it under advisement,” Remi said. She turned to the policeman. “Is it safe to drive to our car rental agency?”