The Solomon Curse by Clive Cussler Read Free Book Online Page A

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.
    â€œSam 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.”
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œNonsense, 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.”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œI don’t envy you,” Sam said as the server returned with their drinks and four laminated, single-page menus.
    â€œFortunately, that quaint custom doesn’t apply to men. Cheers!” Manchester said, and raised his sweating bottle in a toast. Sam clinked his against the big man’s beer and took a cautious pull.
    â€œThat’s quite good. I could see making a habit of this,” he said.
    â€œSam’s never met a beer he didn’t like,” Remi said, studying the menu. “You recommended the catch of the day?”
    â€œOh, yes. It’s always excellent,” Vanya assured them, and Manchester nodded in agreement.
    Sam’s attention was drawn to a nearby table where the islanders were feasting on fish, eating with their fingers. Manchester followed his gaze and smiled. “That’s tradition for you. Don’t worry. Everyone at this table uses a proper knife and fork.”
    They ordered four servings of the fresh mahi mahi, and the server took their menus. Once he was gone, Vanya offered the table a smile and sat back. “The Fargos are here doing something archaeology related. Isn’t that