She didn't have to proceed. She could request full FBI support. But that would take time, and by then whatever meeting was going to take place atop Mauna Kea will have concluded. Her own thoughts trailed off as she minded the road and tuned in to Kristen's speculation from the backseat.
“I'm sure the Mauna Kea message is really from Dad,” she was saying to Lance. “If not, it's a total red herring. They have no reason to meet us. We have nothing they want. We're not a threat to their freedom since we don't even really know who they are. They could have sent no messages if they wanted. So it must be from Dad.”
In the back seat, Lance sighed uncomfortably. “Okay, he said, “but what if we’re too early? We don’t even know if they’re up there yet. What if the kidnappers don’t get up there until tomorrow night?”
“Then Dad needs help,” Kristen said. “From us or the police.”
“You know what would happen if we went to the police?” Lance said. “We’d be sitting in some office for the next two days trying to explain this whole thing.”
“That's true,” Tara said, before negotiating a particularly nasty hairpin curve. “You'll have a lot of explaining to do regardless, but I think we should make the rendezvous at the summit. Let's see if TYR makes peaceful contact or offers proof of life.” Dave chuckled at this. “Peaceful contact hasn't been their M.O. so far,” he said.
Once back on a straightaway, Tara drove in the center of the double yellow line because there were no other cars coming and the road had no shoulder. Even there she had to concentrate on the narrow two-lane blacktop which was notorious for its cows hidden in the fog.
They drove on for a few more miles in silence. Then a pickup truck turned onto the road about a mile distant. It was the first vehicle they’d seen in about twenty minutes. “That’s Mauna Kea Road, where we turn off,” Dave announced. Tara pulled toward the right to allow the truck to pass. As it did, they were met with a curious sight. The bed of the pickup was filled with a white substance, and two local teens lay on top of it. When Lance saw their gloves, he realized what it was.
“Snow!” he said.
“Yeah, the locals like to fill their trucks up with snow and take it down to the beach to have snowball fights,” Dave said, waving to the driver of the other vehicle as they passed one another.
“But it’s summertime,” Kristen said.
“I read that there can be freak snow storms on the summit even in the summer,” Lance said. “And there was that storm.”
“Great,” Tara said, wondering what she was getting herself into. She made the turn onto Mauna Kea Road. They passed a sign welcoming them into Mauna Kea State Park. The road inclined.
“Last chance for phone calls,” Dave reminded them.
Rain drops began to spatter the windshield as they passed a tour van coming back down the mountain. Gazing up at the massive volcano, Tara powered off her cell-phone while pressing her foot to the gas.
…ACCA69GCGA…
5:30 P.M.
“This is the Visitor’s Center, we’re supposed to pull over here,” Lance announced from the back seat of the SUV.
“According to who?” Tara asked.
“Guide book,” Lance said. “9,200 foot level. Says to pull over here and rest for at least twenty minutes before making the rest of the drive to the summit, to allow yourself to acclimate to the altitude. Otherwise you can get dizzy and weak, and even pass out. Dave, you don’t have asthma or any kind of heart condition, do you?” Lance asked, looking up from the guide book.
“No, had a scuba diving physical a few months ago, I’m good,” Dave said as Tara turned off the road into the parking lot of the visitor’s center. There were a lot of cars and people here. They looked around for anyone suspicious, but no one stood out.
“We’ll rest here for twenty,” Tara said. She pulled them into a marked stall and killed the engine.
The four of them got out of the car to stretch their legs. There was a small bookstore as well as restrooms. “Let’s check it out a little,” Tara said. “Kristen and I will check the women’s restroom, you guys check the men’s, then we’ll meet in the store. If your father or his kidnappers are here, we’ll run into them, but there are probably enough people around to be safe.”
They agreed and split up. Five minutes later, they converged in the bookstore. No one had anything unusual to report. Dave looked at his watch. “Four-thirty. Only about a fifteen minute drive to the top.”
“Let’s get back on the road,” Tara said.
Tara put the SUV into four wheel drive as they started up the final dirt road to the summit. They wound their way up the rocky moonscape which was devoid of the plant life present at lower altitudes. The mountain road was not devoid of cars, however, and Tara had to maintain a measured pace in order to manage hairpin turns in the face of oncoming traffic. Dave, Kristen and Lance gazed out the window at a steep drop-off, unprotected by guard rails.
After a few miles of this, the road once again transitioned to blacktop. A few more minutes of slow driving later, a cluster of domed structures became visible higher up, close to the summit.
“Those are the observatories,” Lance said. “Keck, Subaru...some of the most advanced telescopes in the world,” he said, flipping a page in the guidebook. “They put them here because there’s no light pollution, and the air is so thin—a lot of the atmosphere is below us.”
“I do feel a bit light-headed,” Kristen admitted.
“There’s also an inversion layer that keeps the clouds and fog below the summit,” Lance continued.
“We should see quite the sunset in about an hour,” Dave said, referencing the fading light.
Tara drove on for a few more minutes, until they reached an intersection. Signs indicated that the elevation was 13,000 feet, with the summit to the right and the trail to Lake Wai’au to the left.
“I’ve got an idea,” Tara said.
“Uh-oh,” Lance said.
Cars began to back up behind them. The road ended ahead of them. A right or left turn was required.
“Which way?” Dave said.
“Left,” Tara said, taking the road which led down to a parking lot.
“That’s the lake trail. I know what you’re thinking, Agent Shores,” Lance said.
“Tell me what the book says about the lake,” Tara said.
“Right,” Lance said, looking back down at the guidebook. “It’s about five hundred feet below the summit, but it’s a point of interest as the third highest alpine lake in America, and the only glacially formed lake in the Pacific. And if you wanted to experiment with engineered microbes, it’s a good place for that.”
Tara reached a small dirt lot and pulled into it, shutting off the engine. There were a few other cars here. A tired-looking couple was just emerging from the trail leading to the parking lot, returning to their vehicle. Nothing about them appeared suspicious.
“We should split up here,” Tara said. She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “Instead of all four of us possibly walking or driving into some kind of ambush, I think Dave and I should make the hike to the lake, while Kristen—you and Lance drive the rest of the way to the summit.” Dave nodded.
“And do you think you can make the hike to the lake?” This from Lance.
Tara gave him a look like “You're kidding, right?” She was a near permanent fixture in the FBI's physical training facilities. Embarrassed, Lance refocused the question. “Dave?”
“I think so,” Dave said, looking out across the trail. “I feel fine right now,” he added, grabbing his pack.
“Hold on, I’ve got presents for you,” Tara said, rummaging through a plastic store bag. “I picked these up in town—they had a hunter’s section in the grocery store in Waimea.” She held up a two-unit walkie-talkie set, still in its plastic clam-shell packaging.
“Says the range is up to three miles, which should cover the lake to the summit, and I’ve got fresh batteries. Dave and I will take one, y
ou take the other one,” she finished, handing a package to Kristen, who opened it using the scissors she’d found near the Lahaina wreck. They inserted the batteries into the units and tested them.
“Okay,” Tara said, clipping the radio to her belt. “I’ll monitor this same channel. Remember that these are not private frequencies, so whatever you tell me, you’re telling anyone listening in on this band. You see anything suspicious, just give me a shout and I’ll do the same.”
Dave opened the door and stepped out of the SUV. Shouldering his pack, he looked back at Kristen and Lance before starting down the trail with Tara to the lake.
…GAAA70ACTG…
6:41 P.M.
While Lance and Kristen made the short drive to the summit, Tara and Dave passed a sign at the head of the trail reading, “Mauna Kea Ice Age Natural Area Reserve.” They started their trek down to Lake Wai’au. Although the temperature was only thirty degrees Fahrenheit, they could not see their breath hang in the evening air because of the lack of moisture.
Tara removed one of her wool gloves to key her walkie-talkie. “Sister, brother—you read me?” Tara had instructed them not to use any of their real names over the open frequency.
A reply from Kristen came back immediately. “I hear you, 007. Brother’s at the wheel, I’m navigating. Only a couple cars ahead of us, and then we take the turnoff to the summit parking lot.”
“We’ll touch base when you reach the lot, over,” Tara said into the walkie-talkie before returning the radio to her belt clip and donning her glove again.
The unlikely pair trudged down the barren rock-strewn trail, patches of snow dotting the lunar-like scenery. It was difficult to believe that the tropical surroundings of Hawaii shared the same island as this desolate, frozen peak. After a few minutes more of hiking, they crested a short ridge. They had to pause surprisingly often to catch their breath in the thin air—especially Dave, who, while not unfit, lacked the regular physical conditioning Tara was used to. Even she found it necessary to keep a slow pace. For Dave, after living at sea level for the last four years, the sudden altitude change was taking its toll.
They reached the top of the ridge. A bright disc of blue was visible in a depression below.
Lake Wai’au.
Tara and Dave scanned the area for signs of human activity. They saw none. Dusk was settling over the mountain, and the last of the day hikers had returned to their vehicles. They rested on top of the ridge for a few silent minutes.
While Tara considered the lake basin from a tactical standpoint—possible ingress and egress points, places of concealment, radio signal angles, etc.—Dave studied the body of water from a natural science perspective and recalled what he had learned about the lake from the guide book on the drive up. It was not a large lake, and it was shallow—ten, maybe twenty feet deep. It was said to be a sacred Hawaiian burial ground. During winter it froze over. Its source was the permafrost beneath the ground and snow melt. No fish or other animals lived in the lake. The only life it was able to support were mats of benthic, or bottom-dwelling, bacteria. These hardy cells secreted their own natural sunscreen to protect themselves from the intense ultraviolet radiation at this high altitude.
Rising to her feet and taking several deep breaths, Tara turned her parka collar up against the wind and started down the ridge to Lake Wai’au, Dave close behind.
…GCCC71ACGG…
7:01 P.M.
Lance veered away from the road leading to the row of observatories and drove toward a flat area with a walk-only trail leading to the true summit of Mauna Kea. Most of the people present were gathered outside of the one observatory that allowed the public to tour its facilities, and this group was preparing to leave. Further down the mountain there were tour groups setting up star gazing sessions. Here, however, the two siblings found themselves alone.
Donning her parka, Kristen stepped from the SUV into the thin, frozen atmosphere. The more active volcano of Mauna Loa, only a couple of hundred feet shorter than Mauna Kea, loomed in the distance. Lance finished putting on his gloves and scarf, then pointed toward the trail.
“Not much going on here. Let’s check out the summit.”
Kristen agreed and the two began trudging up the moderately steep trail leading to the highest point of the Hawaiian Islands.
“Did you know,” Lance panted as he forced one foot in front of the other, “that Mauna Kea is really the highest mountain on the planet, even higher than Mount Everest?” He slipped on a loose rock, dropping to the ground. Kristen grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up.
“Yes, if you measure it from the bottom of the ocean where it starts, it’s something like 33,000 feet,” she said, panting. “Everest is only 29,000. Also, by volume it’s the largest, since it’s not that steep, but really wide.”
“Yep,” Lance said, moving forward again. “Man, I gotta get into shape, this is killing me.”
“Too much drinking,” his sister chided.
“Yeah.”
The first stars appeared as the sky began to darken. Below them was a thick layer of clouds. The surreal surroundings added to their sense of uncertainty as they approached the summit.
Would there be anything there? Would there be anyone there?
Kristen tightened her parka collar against a howling wind that blew down from the summit. Conversation ceased as they grew shorter of breath. Soon they could see the summit.
And, they discovered, they could hear the summit. Not just the wind. Something else, higher in tone, more melodic. The pair paused their ascent in order to converse.
“Is that—” Lance started.
“Music?” Kristen said. “A guitar?” A series of rhythmic chords tumbled down from the summit.
“A ukulele,” Lance clarified.
They looked at each other. Then the wind shifted direction and they heard a human voice. Some kind of chanting or singing. Lance shrugged.
“Let’s check it out,” he said.
Kristen radioed Tara and told her about the ukulele and how they were about to reach the summit. Tara responded that she and Dave were just reaching the lake, and so far had seen nothing. They ended the radio call.
Kristen and Lance began the last remaining stretch up to the summit. The wind picked up again, drowning out the ukulele. The final ascent to the summit was not steep, but a gradual incline, and soon they could see the simple structure that marked the top of Mauna Kea.
A crude Hawaiian altar constructed of logs and stones, strewn with flower and shell leis, marked the summit. As the siblings neared the apex, they discerned a lone figure kneeling at the altar, back to them, playing the four-string guitar while chanting in Hawaiian.
They stopped when they were ten feet away. The man continued to play. Looking around the summit, Kristen saw no other people. The moon was now rising in the sky in front of the lone performer. With clouds both above and below them, and a row of high-tech observatory domes visible to their right, Kristen’s lightheadedness due to the sudden altitude increase was exacerbated by the dreamlike scene.
Not wanting to disturb the man’s meditation, but needing to see who he was, Kristen began circling the person, slowly walking around the altar. Lance did the same, in the opposite direction. Patches of snow crunched under his feet.
The musician continued playing; lightly strummed chords accompanied by reverential Hawaiian words whose meaning Kristen and Lance could not know. Kristen could see his profile now, but the parka hood he wore obscured his face. Lance walked onto a patch of red volcanic dirt that was free of snow, almost directly across from Kristen.
Kristen was about to say something to the performer—she did not want to startle him if he was still unaware of their presence—when suddenly the ukulele player jumped up and grabbed her, a pistol having materialized in place of the instrument. He put his left arm around her neck and held the gun to her temple with his right hand.
“Do not move,” the gunman said to Lance, who maintained an at-the-read
y stance.
“I’m not,” Lance said. “Don’t hurt her.”
“If you comply with my instructions, she will be fine,” the gunman said.
Suddenly they heard other voices coming from farther down the opposite slope of the summit. The gunman called down in Chinese without taking his eyes off Lance.
“Sit cross-legged on the ground,” he commanded. “If you make any sudden moves, I will kill your sister.”
They heard the crunch of rock coming from below as people—more than a couple, by the sound of it—made their way up to the summit’s altar.
“So you know who we are,” Lance stated.
“Silence,” the gunman said, twisting Kristen’s neck a little.
A procession of men reached the summit. Kristen noted that their blue parkas had been thoroughly smeared in red volcanic dirt so as to make them blend in with the surroundings on the summit. From a distance, they would be indistinguishable from the slopes of Mauna Kea.
She also noticed that all of them but one wore hoods—the largest of the men, the one with an exposed shock of white hair—her father.
“Dad!” Kristen shouted, the muscles in her neck straining against the kidnapper’s forearm.
“Kristen, Lance: do what these people say.” Dr. William Archer looked around the summit, as if searching for anyone else, then appearing disappointed that his children had come alone.
A squat Chinese man lowered his hood and stepped to the front of the group. “I see that your father’s resourcefulness has led you to him. I wish you a lasting reunion. Now that the GREENBACK testing is nearly complete, we are prepared to reunite you with your father,” he said to the siblings.
kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller) Page 30