Now he’d seen fighting. He’d seen men killed. He’d fought for his life. His best friend’s girlfriend had died in his arms.
The adjustment between worlds was wrenching him apart.
Add to that the pressure of coping with his new girlfriend, an American CIA agent, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find himself floundering.
Not that he’d ever tell his friends. His family, yes, he could tell them. But Karin wasn’t ready for it yet. And she had troubles of her own. He’d just told her that after five years she should have moved on, but he knew that if the same thing ever happened to him, it would destroy the rest of his life.
And the remaining members of the Wall of Sleep were texting him constantly. Where the f*** are you, Blakey? Get together tonight? At least text me back, wanker! They had new tracks ready to lay down. It was his bloody dream!
Placed in jeopardy now by the very thing that had given him his big break.
He thought of Hayden. When the world came down, he could always switch his thoughts to her and everything felt a little easier. His mind drifted. He kept on scrolling down the pages of the online eBook that someone had transcribed from Cook’s own scribblings.
He almost missed it.
For suddenly, right there amidst the weather reports and the longitude and latitude notations and the brief details about who was punished for refusing daily rations of beef and who had been found dead in the rigging, was a short reference to the Gates of Pele.
“Sis.” Ben breathed. “I think I’ve found something.” He read a short paragraph. “Wow, it’s a man’s accounting of their journey. You ready for this?”
*****
Drake went from lightly sleeping to wide awake in the time it took to open his eyes. Mai was pacing up and down behind him. It sounded like Alicia was in the shower.
“How long have we been out?”
“Ninety minutes, give or take. Here—check this.” Mai threw him one of the handguns they had liberated from Buchanan and his men.
“What’s the count?”
“Five revolvers. All serviceable. Two .38’s and three .45s. All with three quarter full mags.”
“More than enough.” Drake stood up and stretched. They had decided they were likely to be hitting more serious opposition—men close to Claude— so carrying weapons was imperative.
Alicia padded out of the bathroom, hair wet, shrugging on a jacket. “Ready to roll?”
The information they had obtained from Buchanan was that both Scarberry and Peterson owned an exotic car dealership on the outskirts of Waikiki. Called Exoticars, it was both a sales outlet and repair shop. It also rented most types of high-end vehicles.
A very lucrative front, Drake thought. No doubt developed to help conceal all sorts of criminal enterprise. Scarberry and Peterson were undoubtedly close to the top of the food chain. Claude would be next.
They climbed into a cab and gave the driver the dealership’s address. It was about twenty minutes away.
*****
Ben and Karin read through Captain Cook’s log with wonder.
To see through another man’s eyes events that happened to a famous seafaring Captain over two-hundred years ago was remarkable enough. But to read an account of Cook’s recorded but still highly secretive journey beneath Hawaii’s most famous volcano was almost overwhelming.
“This is amazing.” Karin flicked through her copy on the computer screen. “One thing you don’t realize is the brilliant foresight Cook had. He took men from every field with him to record his discoveries. Scientists. Botanists. Artists. Look—” She tapped the screen.
Ben leaned over to see an exquisitely rendered drawing of a plant. “Cool.”
Karin glared. “It is cool. These plants were undiscovered and undocumented until Cook and his crew logged them and returned to England with these fantastic drawings and descriptions. They mapped our world, these men. They painted the landscapes and the coastlines like we would just snap a photo today. Think about it.”
Ben’s voice betrayed his excitement. “I know. I know. But listen to this—”
“Woah.” Karin was engrossed in her own yarn. “Did you know that one of Cook’s crew was William Bligh? The man who went on to captain the Bounty? And that the American president at the time, Benjamin Franklin, sent a message out to all his sea captains to leave Cook alone, despite the fact that the American’s were at war with the British at the time. Franklin called him a ‘common friend to mankind.’”
“Sis.” Ben hissed. “I’ve found something. Listen—landfall was made on Owhyhee (Hawaii) near the high point on the island. Latitude 21degrees 15 minutes North, Longitude 147 degrees North, 48 minutes West. Height 762 feet. We were obliged to make anchor near Leahi and go ashore. The natives we employed looked like they might strip the cloths from our backs for a bottle of rum, but were in fact both tolerable and knowledgeable.”
“Give me the abridged version,” Karin barked. “In English.”
Ben growled at her. “God, girl, where’s your Indiana Jones? Your Luke Skywalker? You just got no sense of adventure. Okay, well, our narrator, a man called Hawksworth, went with Cook, six other seamen and a handful of natives to investigate something the natives referred to as the Gates of Pele. This was done without the local king’s knowledge and at great risk. If they were found out, the king would kill them all. The Hawaiians venerated the Gates of Pele. The native guides demanded great rewards.”
“The Gates of Pele must have kindled some major excitement for Cook to take such a risk,” Karin pointed out.
“Well, Pele was the god of fire, lightning, wind and volcanoes. Arguably the most popular Hawaiian deity. She was big news. Much of her legend centered round her controlling the oceans. The way the Hawaiians must have talked about her probably peaked Cook’s interest. And, allegedly, he was an arrogant man on a great voyage of discovery. He wouldn’t have balked over worrying a local king.”
“A man like Cook wouldn’t fear much.”
“Exactly. According to Hawksworth, the natives led them through a dark passage beneath the deep heart of the volcano. Once lights had been struck and, as Gollum would say, a few tricksy bends had been negotiated, they all stopped and stared in wonder at the Gates of Pele.”
“Geek. Is there a drawing?”
“No. The artist was left behind for this trip. But Hawksworth does describe what they saw. A great arch that soared so high it peaked above the topmost range of our flames. A craftsman’s frame inlaid with tiny symbols. Notches at each side, missing two smaller items. The wonder of it stole our breath away and we did stare, until the dark centre began to draw our eye.”
“So, in the spirit of all men, he means that they had found what they were seeking, but then realized that they wanted more.” Karin shook her head.
Ben rolled his eyes at her. “I think you mean—in the spirit of all adventurers, they wanted more. But you’re correct. The Gates of Pele were just that. A gate. It had to lead somewhere.”
Karin pulled her chair over. “Now I’m interested. Where did it lead?”
At that moment Ben’s cell-phone began to ring. He checked the screen and rolled his eyes. “Mum and Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mano Kinimaka loved the heart of Waikiki. Born and raised Hawaiian, he had spent his early childhood on Kuhio beach before his family upped sticks and moved to the quieter north shore. The surf there was world class, the food authentic even when you ate out, the life as loose as you were ever going to get.
But his enduring early memories were of Kuhio: the great beach and the free luau’s, the Sunday beach barbecues, the effortless surf and the easy-going locals and the nightly glory of the setting sun.
Now, as he drove down Kuhio Avenue and then Kalakaua, he noticed the old, poignant things. Not the fresh-faced tourists. Not the locals carrying their morning helping of Jamba Juice. Not even the shaved ice vendor outside the Royal Hawaiian. It was the long black torches they lit every night, th
e now mostly empty shopping complex where he’d once cried laughing at a simple A-frame warning sign blocking off one of the walkways that read: Unless you’re Spiderman, the bridge is out. So simple. So Hawaiian.
He passed the old Lassen store where he’d once gawped at their magnificent paintings and fantastic cars. It was gone now. His early childhood, moved on. He passed the King’s Village shopping center, which his mother had once told him used to be the residence of King Kalakaua. He passed the most auspicious police station in the world—the one situated right on Waikiki Beach in the shadow of a hundred surfboards. And he passed the enduring statue of Duke Kahanamoku, covered as always in fresh lei’s, the same one he’d stared up at as a young boy with a million dreams bouncing around his head.
His family was now being guarded around the clock. Crack members of the US Marshall Service and select marines were watching over them. The family home was empty, being used as bait for hired killers. He himself was a marked man.
Hayden Jaye, his best friend and boss, sat next to him in the passenger seat, perhaps seeing something in the set of his face, for she said nothing. She had been stabbed, but was almost recovered now. People around him had been murdered. Colleagues. New friends.
Now here he was, returned to his home, the place of his childhood. Memories crowded him like long lost friends, eager to reclaim his acquaintance. Reminiscences tugged at him from every street corner.
The beauty of Hawaii was that it lived in you forever. It didn’t matter if you spent a week there or twenty years. Its character was eternal.
Hayden at last broke the mood. “This guy, this Kapua. Does he really sell shaved ice from a van?”
“It’s a good business over here. Everybody loves shaved ice.”
“Fair enough.”
Mano smiled. “You’ll see.”
As they drove the beauty of Kuhio and Waikiki, beaches opened up intermittently to the right. The sea glistened and the white-tops rolled invitingly. Mano saw a few Outriggers being prepared on the beach. Once upon a time, he’d been part of an outrigger team that had won trophies.
“We’re here.” He pulled in to a curving parking area with railings at one end that looked upon the Pacific. Kapua’s van was situated right at the end, a prime spot. Mano spotted his old friend straight away, but paused for a moment.
Hayden smiled at him. “Old memories?”
“Great memories. The kind of thing you don’t want to spoil by reimagining something new, ya know?”
“I know.”
She didn’t sound certain. Mano took a long look at his boss. She was a good person— straight, fair, tough. You knew where you stood with Hayden Jaye and what employee could ask for more from his boss? Since they’d first met, he had gotten to know her well. Her father, James Jaye, had been a star of the force, a true legend and worthily so. Hayden’s goal had always been to live up to his promise, to his legacy. It was her driving force.
So much so that Mano had been stunned when she had announced how serious she was about the young geek, Ben Blake. He had thought it would be a long, long time before Hayden stopped making herself step up, to live up to a legacy that, in Mano’s eyes, she had already surpassed. At first, he’d thought the long-distance thing would kill the flame, but then the pair were thrown back together again. And now they seemed tighter than ever. Would the geek give her a new purpose, a new direction in life? Only the next few months would tell.
“Let’s go.” Hayden nodded toward the van. Mano cracked the door open and took a deep breath of pure local air. Diamond Head rose to his left, a striking shape imposing itself upon the skyline, always present.
For Mano, it had always been there. It didn’t take him aback that it might sit atop some great wonder.
Together, they approached the shaved ice van. Kapua was leaning out, staring at them. His face creased in surprise and then in genuine delight.
“Mano? Mano! Hey!”
Kapua disappeared. After a second, he came running around the side of the van. He was a broad, fit individual with dark hair and a swarthy complexion. Even at first glance, Hayden could tell he spent at least two hours every day on a surfboard.
“Kapua.” Mano embraced his old friend. “Been a few, brah.”
Kapua stepped back. “What you been doing? Say, how’s the Hard Rock shot glass collection coming?”
Mano shook his head and shrugged. “Ah, some blah-blah, and more. You know. You?”
“True. Who da howlie?”
“The haole...” Mano switched back to comprehensible American, much to Hayden’s relief. “...is my boss. Meet Hayden Jaye.”
The local straightened himself up. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “You are Mano’s boss? Wow. Lucky Mano, I say.”
“You got no woman, Kapua?” Mano tried hard to deflect the slight affront.
“I got me a poi-dog. She one hot Hawaiian-Chinese-Phillipino, haole, Got me pitching tent all night long, dude.” Most Hawaiian’s were of mixed race.
Mano drew a breath. A poi-dog was a person of mixed race. A haole was a visitor, and not necessarily a derogatory term.
Before he could say anything, Hayden had turned to him and said sweetly, “Pitching tent?”
Mano cringed. Hayden knew perfectly well what Kapua meant and it had nothing to do with camping. “That’s… great. She sounds lovely. Look, Kapua, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Shootz.”
“Ever hear of a big shot underworld figure who goes by the name of Kovalenko? Or the Blood King?”
“All I hear is what’s in the news, brah. He on Oahu?”
“Maybe. How about Claude?”
“Nah. Howlie name like that, I’d remember.” Kapua hesitated.
Hayden saw it. “But you do know something.”
“Maybe, boss. Maybe I do. But your friends over there”—he bobbed his head in the direction of the Waikiki Beach Police Station—“they don’t wanna know. I told them already. They done nothin’.’”
“Try me.” Hayden held the man’s eyes.
“I hear things, boss. That’s why Mano came to see me, right? Well, new money been handing out some fat wads lately, man. New players, all over the scene, partying like they ain’t never gonna see next week.”
“New money?” Mano echoed. “From where?”
“Nowhere,” Kapua said seriously. “I mean, right here, man. Right here. They always been fringe people, but now they rich people.”
Hayden ran a hand through her hair. “What does that say to you?”
“I ain’t plugged into that scene, but I know this. Something’s going down or about to. A lot of people have been paid a lot of money. When that happens, you learn to keep your head down ‘til the bad blows over.”
Mano stared at the sparkling ocean. “You sure you know nothin’, Kapua?”
“On my poi-dog, I swear.”
Kapua took his poi seriously. Hayden indicated the van. “Why don’t you fix us a couple, Kapua.”
“Sure.”
Hayden made a face at Mano as Kapua moved away. “Worth a shot, I guess. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“I don’t like the sound of something about to go down in my home town,” Mano said and held out a hand for his shave ice. “Kapua. Give me a name, brah. Who would know something?”
“There’s this local boy, Danny, lives over on the hill.” His eyes flicked toward Diamond Head. “Rich. His folks, they bring him up like a howlie.” He smiled at Hayden. “Say, like an American. Nothin’ wrong with that, I guess. But he more serious with the lowlife. He gets off on knowing shit, you get me?”
Mano used his spoon and dug out a great hunk of rainbow colored ice. “Guy likes to pretend he’s a big shot?”
Kapua nodded. “But he ain’t. He just a boy playin’ a man’s game.”
Hayden touched Mano’s arm. “We’ll pay this Danny a visit. If there’s some kind of new threat around, we need to know that too.”
Kapua nodded at t
he ice cones. “They on the house. But you don’t know me. You never came to see me.”
Mano nodded at his old friend. “Goes without saying, brah.”
*****
Kapua gave them an address, which they programmed into the car’s nav. Within fifteen minutes, they were pulling up just beyond a set of black, wrought iron gates. The property sloped down back toward the ocean so they could only make out the upstairs windows of a big house.
They got out of the car, springs squealing on Mano’s side. Mano put a hand on the big gates and pushed. The front garden made Hayden stop and stare.
A surf board rack. A brand new open-back truck. A hammock slung between two palm trees.
“Oh my God, Mano. Are all Hawaiian gardens like this?”
Mano grimaced. “Not exactly, no.”
As they were about to ring the bell, they heard noises coming from the back. They walked around the house, hands close to their weapons. When they came around the last corner, they saw a young man cavorting in the pool with an older woman.
“Excuse me!” Hayden shouted. “We’re with the Honolulu PD. Quick word?” Under her breath she whispered, “I hope that’s not his mother.”
Mano choked. He wasn’t used to his boss cracking jokes. Then he saw her face. She was deadly serious. “Why would you—?”
“What the hell do you want?” The young man was striding toward them, gesticulating wildly. As he came closer, Mano saw his eyes.
“We got a problem,” Mano said. “He’s strung out.”
Mano let the guy swing wildly. A few big haymakers and he was panting, shorts starting to slide. He showed no awareness of his predicament.
Then the older woman was running at them. Hayden blinked in disbelief. The woman launched herself onto Kinimaka’s back and began to ride him like a stallion.
The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) Page 9