The Solomon Curse by Clive Cussler

for want of some remedial care. It doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m saying in the twenty-first century it shouldn’t be that way. We have the knowledge, all we need are the resources. Which is where our generous donors come in.”
    â€œSounds like a worthwhile cause. Do you already have many contributors?” Remi asked.
    Manchester guffawed as the third beer materialized and the empties were whisked away. “I’ll say. She’s got every pharmaceutical company she can shame into pledging something.”
    â€œWould that it were enough, Orwen. It’s just scratching the surface. Reality is, nobody much cares about our people, and, at best, I’ve been able to get them to commit to token charity. Any of these groups could easily write a check and solve most of our infrastructure issues with the stroke of a pen, but they don’t. Because we’re not high visibility. We’re stuck in a corner of the world nobody knows exists. So they commit to some crumbs, which is better than nothing, but not much.”
    â€œHow much do you still need to raise?”
    â€œMy target’s half a million U.S. dollars for the first year and then two hundred thousand every year thereafter. The first year will pay for simple buildings and some primitive equipment, but those costs won’t recur.” Vanya shook her head. “These companies spend more on a slow day advertising tooth whitener. But like I said, we’re not a revenue source, so we don’t matter. So far, I’ve marshaled a hundred and fifty of the first year’s requirement and a soft fifty for the second.”
    Remi looked to Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “We’ll take it under advisement. Do you have a plan? A budget written out?”
    â€œOf course. An entire presentation.”
    â€œCould we get a copy?” Remi asked.
    â€œI’d be delighted. Is it really something you think your foundation might be interested in supporting?” Vanya asked, her tone excited.
    Sam finished his beer. “No promises, but let’s see what you have. I know the foundation has funded other worthwhile causes.”
    Steaming platters of fish arrived, and Manchester made a point of studying his silverware for blemishes before digging in. By the size of his bites and the speed with which he ate, it was clear he was a man who didn’t miss any meals. Silence reigned at the table until the fish was gone. Sam sat back. “That was wonderful. Like they just caught it.”
    Vanya nodded. “I’d be surprised if it was more than a few hours old. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of marine life here. One of the ways we’ve been blessed.”
    â€œThat and the mineral riches we can’t seem to get organized enough to pull out of the ground,” Manchester chimed in, sounding bitter.
    â€œReally?” Sam asked. “Like what?”
    â€œGood gracious, man. Oil. Tankers full of it. And every kind of rarity you can imagine. Gold by the truckload. Emeralds. Rubies. And on and on. We should be richer than the bloody Saudis, but instead all we do is bicker with each other and chase our own tails.”
    â€œDon’t get Orwen started. It’s one of his pet peeves,” Vanya chided as the plates were cleared.
    â€œWe’ve had a history of corruption and of foreigners coming in and taking anything of value. How much do you know about our history?” Manchester asked with a slight slur.
    â€œNot enough, obviously,” Sam said.
    â€œWe were a British protectorate for years and then the Japs invaded and took over the islands. Then the Yanks fought them off, only to hand us over to the Brits again after the war. We’ve been passed around like a pack of smokes at a rock concert, and, up until recently, nobody, including ourselves, thought that we might actually be entitled to self-determination rather than being somebody else’s possession.”