He eyeballed the door, considering his options.
Was it safer to say where he was at? Or to make a run for it?
All at once the door burst open.
He flinched. And then, in the glare of emergency lighting from battery powered LED lamps mounted low in the wall sockets, he saw it was McMasters. Blood stained his shirt at the shoulder. The arm attached to it, hung limp.
“Hurry.” He motioned with the pistol in his good hand. “We’re getting out of here.”
Jack started to move, then froze when three quick shots from somewhere close behind the lieutenant sent him sprawling across the threshold.
This can’t be happening.
But he still had a chance.
He immediately bent to find the gun that had skittered across the floor.
Too late, he realized.
The abrupt appearance of Crewcut brought him slowly to his feet, unarmed except for the trolling rod.
CHAPTER 87
Jack stood staring into that same sick grin knowing it was the last time he’d have to look at it.
“Now you die,” Crewcut said.
He lifted a pistol with one hand and pulled the trigger.
Jack’s breath seized in his throat. It took a fraction of a second for him to realize the gun didn’t fire.
Takeo jerked the trigger a second time.
Jack couldn’t will himself to move.
But again there was no loud pop, no lead burning into his guts.
It became clear to both of them that the slide had locked back. He’d fired his last three rounds at McMasters who lay dead on the floor.
More gunshots boomed in a room at the front of the house. And more yelling. The fight was well inside now.
A middle-aged Japanese woman armed with a small, semi-automatic handgun stepped into view a few feet behind and to the side of Takeo. Chiharu Takahashi; it had to be. The woman who wanted him dead. She raised the pistol, ready to finish what Takeo hadn’t been able to. At that same moment, the side of her head exploded in a spray of red gore.
Her body crumpled to the floor. Takeo glanced in that direction and bellowed in outrage. And in the next instant, he threw the gun at Jack. Then he turned and fled in the opposite direction.
Jack was already scrambling over McMasters’ body. His gaze passing over the bloody figure of the Asian woman.
He seized his only chance to stop the man who brought so much death.
Bringing the rod tip up, he cast the green and yellow plastic-skirted marlin bait over Crewcut’s shoulder an instant before his hand clasped the knob on a rear door. The nine-ounce torpedo shaped head with two massive hooks trailing it made a perfect cruise missile. He set the hooks, imagining them sinking deep into the skin.
The big man screamed and tugged at the lure.
Jack hauled back on the heavy-duty line, jerking Crewcut off his feet.
It had taken all of his strength to fight through the pain in his stiff muscles. And now drawing on a rush of adrenalin, he kept the line taut the way he would if he’d caught a three-hundred pound fish.
Enraged, Takeo yanked the hook free, taking a piece of fabric and meat with it.
Jack immediately dropped the pole and raced forward.
Takeo was already on his feet. Blood streamed from the wound in his shoulder. He grasped the knob, opened the door, and stepped through a second ahead of Jack. That was all it took for Crewcut to be gone.
Jack was not giving up.
He followed the big man outside into the darkness. Someone yelled at him to stop, but there was no way he’d let Crewcut get away.
He started around the house just ahead of a loud pop.
Plaster dust stung his face.
He didn’t stop.
In the gloom, he saw a pickup sitting under a tree. Crewcut was running straight for it. He moved fast for a big man, widening the gap by a few strides.
Jack shifted a gear, making his legs move faster. They were beginning to limber up. His gate widened, his legs moving easier now. Arms pumping, he managed to gain some ground on the fleeing killer.
But not quick enough.
Crewcut threw open the door to the cab and jumped behind the wheel.
Running hard, Jack reached the bed of the pickup at the same time the engine started.
There had been keys in the ignition. He hadn’t counted on that.
Doing the only thing he could think to do, he leapt into the bed at the same time Crewcut floored the accelerator.
There was nothing for Jack to grab onto.
The forward momentum of the vehicle slammed him into the tailgate.
A second later, the front bumper splintered the gate. Two bullets ‘thunked’ into the back of the cab at the same time the truck careened onto the roadway.
Spats of gunfire chased after them, but quickly died away.
He was lucky he hadn’t been hit.
Now it was just him and Crewcut.
CHAPTER 88
The pickup gained speed in the dark, going airborne over the speedbumps.
There was nothing Jack could do but ride it out.
Only, where was he going?
They roared out over the narrow lane of asphalt. Floodlights mounted on the house bordering Big Beach lit up the entrance to the two-lane thoroughfare paralleling Makena Park.
He raised up in time to see his Jeep with Robert, Kazuko, and Deacon standing next to the front fender, their mouths agape as their gazes followed his movement. All three rushed to the center of the blacktop, staring after the speeding truck.
What are they doing there?
Jack focused on his predicament. He knew that if he remained in the back of the pickup much longer, he’d be thrown out by Crewcut’s erratic driving. Already, the man had run two cars off the roadway.
And slammed Jack hard against a fender well with each swerve.
The sliding window in the back of the crew cab was his only choice. If he could squeeze through it, he could drop onto the seat behind Crewcut.
The big man couldn’t drive and fight him at the same time.
He reached up and punched the glass on the slider. The latch popped loose. Now all he had to do was slide the window open and crawl through. Working his fingertips into the gap at the ruined latch, he pulled the slider open.
Another violent swerve slammed his hip against the side of the bed.
A desperate grab onto the window frame saved him from going over.
He pulled himself back to the opening and got his head and an arm through. It was going to be a tight fit. He glanced into the rearview mirror mounted on the windshield and saw Crewcut’s hate-filled eyes dart to it. His shirt was covered with blood. Desperation etched his face.
The smirk was gone.
Jack struggled to get his body through the opening. He couldn’t allow himself to become stuck, one arm in and one arm out.
Helpless.
A car exiting the parking lot at the north end of Makena beach appeared in the headlights. Going slow. Not paying attention to the truck bearing down on them. Jack tensed for the collision.
“Stop,” he yelled into Crewcut’s ear.
If the big man didn’t, he’d kill them both.
Takeo slammed on the brakes.
The rapid loss of forward momentum popped Jack through the window and deposited him in the back seat.
Takeo looked as surprised as he was.
It was a small consolation not having a gun aimed at his head.
“I’m going to kill you,” the big man roared.
Letting go of the steering wheel, he reached over the seat and grabbed Jack’s t-shirt. The pickup was still rolling and still in gear. Beyond it, the car continued on its way. The truck bounced onto the dirt shoulder and slammed into a kiawe tree, hammering Takeo against the steering wheel.
Jack seized the opportunity.
“You bastard,” was all he could say.
He vaulted over the seatback and pounded his fist into Crewcut
’s face. It was like hitting a block of granite.
But he wasn’t deterred.
He continued to batter the killer’s nose, chin and eyes, ignoring the pain in his bruised knuckles. The pummeling was taking a toll. Takeo was completely defensive trying to parry the flurry of blows.
And then the big man’s knuckles connected with Jack chin.
He fell backward, shaking off the punch.
Takeo’s face was a ruined mess, but he had plenty of fight left in him.
Jack made a grab for the man, but Crewcut was already climbing out of the cab.
He wasn’t getting away.
Jack shoved open his door and scrambled out.
“Give it up, asshole. You’re done.”
Takeo turned and stood with his fists raised in a fighter’s stance. His right not up in front of him as high as it should be. Blood soaked his shirtfront. The hooks and torn flesh taking a toll. A small group of stargazers formed in the lot across the road. Robert braked hard, bringing the Jeep to a stop with the headlights on. He and Deacon and Kazuko piled out. Sirens blared.
Deacon stepped forward, his fingers balled tight. Robert advanced next to him, equally ready to join in.
Takeo turned and faced them, squinting into the glare, his hands still raised in front of him.
Jack noticed the man wasn’t quite steady on his feet.
But far from finished.
He extended the flat of his hand and stopped Deacon and Robert from proceeding further.
“You can’t win,” he said to Takeo. “It’s over.”
Crewcut glanced around as though weighing his options.
Jack was done playing the game.
“You have about one second to decide,” he said. “Then we hammer you into the ground.”
Crewcut met Jack’s gaze, roared, and charged him like an enraged grizzly.
Jack was ready.
He fended off a wild blow and connected with a hard right to the chin.
The punch staggered the big man. Having lost the momentum and advantage of his enraged assault, his hands dropped.
Jack hit the killer again, twice. First a left, then a solid right to the jaw.
Crewcut fell face-first into the rocky soil.
Deacon and Robert rushed up, ready.
The big man stayed down.
He was still on his face a few seconds later when Agents Greene and Edwards skidded their car to a stop in the dirt and jumped out with guns drawn.
CHAPTER 89
Jack stood over Crewcut’s inert body. Slowly, the killer began to regain consciousness. Groaning, he tried to push himself up.
Don’t even try.
Jack put his foot on the guy’s shoulder and pushed him back into the dirt.
He thought it only fitting.
“You’re not going anywhere, asshole,” Agent Greene said.
With Edwards looking on from a few feet away, his pistol aimed at Takeo’s head, Greene forced the still-groggy man’s hands behind him and snapped a pair of cuffs on his thick wrists.
Jack sagged, exhaustion catching up with him.
There was no flare in the night sky. No rocket’s red glare.
For some reason he felt there should be.
Deacon asked, “Are you okay?”
Jack turned to his brother. Robert and Kazuko stood next to him with equal concern etched in their expressions.
“I can move,” he said. “Mostly. But I don’t think I’m up to going dancing anytime soon.”
“You’re lucky it isn’t you laying there,” Edwards said with a tone of derision.
Jack listened to the wail of sirens approaching.
“Lucky,” he said after a moment. “I’m lucky your poor-ass heroics didn’t get me killed.”
“It was our heroics that saved your ass,” Greene said.
Two Maui PD cars and an ambulance with lights flashing cut their sirens and slowed to a stop. Edwards hurried over to the officers and motioned them down the road.
Jack wasn’t going to debate the issue of heroics. He was in no position to. Not after the fuckups he pulled.
He asked, “What was the score?”
Greene’s expression sobered. “Three dead, one wounded, and this guy here. The three FBI agents back at the house are okay.”
In his mind, Jack could still hear all the gunfire. He’d be a while forgetting the bullet that nearly killed him.
“Chiharu Takahashi?” He’d seen her bloodied body. But had to ask.
“She’s one of the dead.”
Jack looked down at Takeo. “He’s your real killer.” He met Greene’s gaze and held it. “What’s the story with Lieutenant McMasters? He saved my ass. And this sonofabitch shot him for it.”
“It’s complicated. Suffice to say, the lieutenant was working with Dana on that covert investigation into Coast Guard misconduct. The problem was more widespread than we thought, so we set him up here to flush everyone out.”
“So they both reported to you?”
“On this investigation, yes. And some others.”
Edwards strode back. It didn’t look like his disposition had improved any. To Jack, he said, “It’s people like you that screw things up for us.”
Jack was in no mood to take shit from Edwards. The guy probably had a perpetual hard-on for everybody he came in contact with.
It wasn’t working.
“You have a difficult job,” Jack said. “Mostly you get it right. Mostly.”
Edwards looked like he wanted to say something cute. Get another dig in. Then he turned to his partner and nodded toward Takeo. “There’s another ambulance on the way to take care of this guy.”
Greene nodded. “And the shooting team. They’ve been notified?”
“They’re on their way.”
Greene looked at Jack. “They’ll be wanting to talk to you, so you’re staying here. Your friends are free to go.”
“I’m not a friend,” Deacon said with a tone of annoyance. “I’m his brother and I’m staying here with him.”
“Us, too,” said Kazuko.
Jack smiled, inwardly. They were all family. He warmed knowing they had stuck by him.
Even when he was wrong.
Surprisingly, Kazuko stepped close and wrapped her arm around his. A comforting gesture.
No words were necessary.
EPILOGUE
Jack stood on the edge of the bluff at Papawai Point watching the restless water in the Auau Channel. He stood there well after sunrise, his gaze wandering northward to where the long stretch of sand and rock known as Shipwreck Beach waited to claim its next victim.
An important chapter in his life started there, and ended there.
He’d come to realize he couldn’t save them all. Some of the really good people are destined to leave this world far too early.
Dana had been one of them.
Yet he knew some people—the important ones in his life—were never completely gone. They would live on in his heart until its rhythmic beat stopped.
A lady friend once told him about a poem she read and loved. It had been written by Henry Scott Holland, a Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford. The title was, Death Is Nothing At All.
Though many of the words had escaped Jack, he recalled those few that stuck with him.
I have only slipped away to the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Play, smile, think of me. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? All is well.
He was sure Dana would have used those same words had she written a poem about her impending death.
That she would have said: All is well.
The crunch of tires rolling on gravel behind him, and a car door closing, drew him from his thoughts.
“Are you all right?” Deacon asked.
All is well.
Jack smiled at the ocean. “You took a cab?”
<
br /> “I figured I’d find you here.”
“Robert and Kazuko?”
“They’re flying back to Oahu this morning. Robert’s selling the boat. He asked me to give you this.”
Jack turned to his brother and studied the bottle in his hands.
He held it out. “The 1926 Macallan you recovered from the Orochimaru. Robert found it on his boat. He said its worth in the neighborhood of seventy thousand dollars and figured you’d want it.”
Jack nodded. “Hold onto it for me.”
Concern etched Deacon’s furrowed brow. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Quite.”
“If you’re interested, the story was in the paper. Several arrests were made on Oahu, including a lieutenant commander and a couple junior grade officers with the Coast Guard.”
“A clean slate.”
“Appears so. I’ll give you a minute and wait for you in the Jeep.”
Jack stood a moment longer watching his brother climb in on the passenger’s side of the rental Jeep and close the door. Then he turned and stepped to the edge of the cliff. The tide was out. He peered down at the rocks with the surf rolling over them white and frothy before sliding back.
Their endless cycle.
With the next wave, he heard a woman’s voice calling to him from the sea. A siren’s song attempting to lure him into the ocean, to drag him down into the cold depths of longing and loss.
They’d not get him this time.
. . . All is well.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Nikkel is the author of six Jack Ferrell novels, a Jack Ferrell novella, and a steampunk/zombie western series featuring his latest hero, Max Traver. A former homicide detective and S.W.A.T. team member for the Kern County Sheriff’s Department in Bakersfield, California, William is an amateur scuba enthusiast, gold prospector and artist, who can be found just about anywhere. He and his wife Karen divide their time between California and Maui, Hawaii.
GLIMMER OF GOLD
A JACK FERRELL ADVENTURE
The Discovery of WWII West Point Class Ring
Shipwreck Page 26