Hawaiian Thunder (Coastal Fury Book 4)

by Matt Lincoln

  Sadie ran her fingers over the drywall that covered the studs. On both sides, she found barely discernible ridges. When she stepped back, there was no shadow. She followed the ridges, and they both stopped halfway up the wall and all the way to the bottom.

  She ran out to the small storage space at the back of her house and grabbed her favorite toolbox. The tools she had in her room were the minimum she thought she needed clearing out a section of old drywall. Like her grandfather used to say, “Get out more tools than you think you need. Chances are they still won’t be enough.”

  She never seemed to learn that lesson, and she regretted it as she lugged the box across the house. Her favorite box was also the heaviest. She set it down at the foot of her bed, which was covered in a large dropcloth, and dug out two pry bars, one large and one small.

  “Show me what you got,” she told the wall.

  Half an hour and lots of sweat later, Sadie exposed a flat metal panel that someone had managed to set into the studs. No wonder there was barely a trace of the edges when she’d traced her fingers over it. Even that much probably wouldn’t have been discernable before she dented the middle with her sledgehammer.

  Why anyone would place a metal panel there was beyond her. The drywall had gone in, as far as she knew, in the early nineteen twenties. It was a new thing back then, and it would’ve cost less than setting plaster. Going by the slight unevenness, she guessed that whoever installed the metal plate did it by hand.

  Sadie hadn’t done the wall on the other side yet, so she poked a flashlight in the space and found a corresponding metal plate. What surprised her was the presence of a crude lid of the same thin metal plating. She got her phone out and set the camera to record as the jitters hit her stomach.

  “This is Sadie Rogers,” she said to the phone. “I found a metal box-like structure between two studs in my bedroom wall adjoining the living room.” She showed the way the plate was set into the edges of the studs. “There’s another one on the other side, and there’s a lid of some sort. This wall was put up about a hundred years ago, so whatever’s in here is going to be really cool.” She thought for a moment. “Or not, but I’m betting on cool.”

  Sadie lifted the lid. Her heart sank because there was nothing to see, not even cobwebs. For as crude as the box seemed, it sure was airtight. She leaned further over, with her phone in one hand and flashlight in the other. The phone tumbled from her hand and into the inky space.

  “Dammit,” she muttered.

  It took some maneuvering, but she finally got to where she could shine the light in and see partway down. That’s when she saw the leather tube. It was snug against the stud, and she’d somehow missed it on the first look. Before touching it, she felt around for her phone. There was nothing else in the space, so she brought the phone up.

  “There’s a tube of some kind in here,” she said for the recording.

  She got a better grip on the phone and this time didn’t drop it. The flashlight showed her not just a leather tube, but it had designs that she couldn’t wait to investigate. Using the phone and flashlight, she recorded as much detail as she figured necessary, and then she put the flashlight on the floor.

  “I’m going to pull it out now that I know where it is.”

  Sadie swallowed, reached into the metal box, and lifted the tube. It was heavier than she expected, and it was about a foot and a half long. The tube’s lid buckled onto the main body. She rolled the tube in slow motion for her camera phone even as she gawked at it.

  The art had been burned into the leather, and it depicted a ship at sea amid mermaids, sea dragons, and islands. Tropical flowers, Caribbean by her guess, were burned around the lip of the lid. At the bottom of the tube was an inscription:

  Johnny Finch ~ 1728

  “Holycrap holycrap holycrap!”

  Sadie dropped the phone again, this time next to the flashlight. She fumbled the tube a little but clutched it to her chest and took it out of her dusty room before anything bad could happen to it. For lack of a safe place to stow the tube, she grabbed her keys and bag and left the house.

  Until she got the precious mystery tube to Liz Bell at the museum, the safest place Sadie could think to take it was the former Palakiko Fire Station.

  CHAPTER 35

  Meisha, Davis, and I worked with CGIS and the FBI to coordinate the raids at Volkov’s building on the north side of Oahu and his beach house on Moloka’i. Meisha and Stark went with the Oahu teams, and Davis and I met the SEAL platoon at Pearl Harbor. Two NSW RHIBs were fueled and ready to go.

  “Don’t get used to this collaboration,” Chief Max Durley told me as the others loaded the boats. “MBLIS is only picking up half the tab. The Navy is catching the rest because of Rob Holm. Nobody messes with a legend like him, or you, sir, and gets away with it.”

  “Much appreciated,” I told him. “You all are headed out in a few days?”

  “Yes, sir. Wish I could tell you where to, but you know how it is.” He looked over at Davis. “You sure about that Marine?”

  “He’s certified in combat diving.” This was a fact I’d learned four hours earlier when Meisha was handing out assignments. “Davis is no SEAL, but he’ll do fine. You should see Director Griezmann in the water, though. She’s a hellraiser.”

  “If you say so,” Durley said with a laugh.

  The RHIBs were sturdy boats that were part rigid and part inflatable, which made them durable in heavy chop. Powerful twin engines gave them speed, so the trip that would normally take an hour and a half to two hours by civvie boat would take us only an hour.

  I caught up with Davis as he was fastening the last buckles and zippers into place. In the wetsuit and combat gear, he looked more like a SEAL than a Marine, which would’ve made my day under less dire circumstances.

  “Why aren’t you ready, Marston?” he grumbled.

  “Last-minute details, but we’re gonna rock and roll in ten,” I informed him. “You’re on Durley’s boat. I’m with the other squad.”

  Davis started to walk away, but he stopped. “She’ll be there, and we’ll catch Volkov this time. He’s running out of places to hide.”

  “As far as we know.” I shook my head. “Keep your head out there.”

  “Hooyah!” he answered with the SEALs’ battle cry.

  I laughed and responded with his, “Oorah!”

  Less than ten minutes later, we were out on open water. It was just after eleven, and the seas were predicted to be calm. My chest tightened as we passed the great ships docked that night. Lights twinkled on the water, and damn, it felt good to see that again. I couldn’t deny that I loved being with a SEAL squad and decked out for a mission. Someone had lent me a prepped M4 assault rifle and a Sig P226 handgun like my own. They were both coated to protect them from the short swim to Volkov’s beachfront property. We weren’t about to announce our presence by running the boats up to his back door.

  By fate or luck, it was a night after the new moon which meant less light to expose us in the stretch between the water and his house when we arrived. I spent the time we were at sea going over the plan in my head. It was fairly simple, as plans go, but that meant there was more room for Murphy’s Goddamn Law to kick in.

  “Approaching drop-off zone now,” one of the boat’s crew announced.

  I pulled my mask down and put the regulator into my mouth. A night dive in this location required finesse. We were in the middle of an expansive reef system, which was great for tourism but not so great for stealth diving. Fortunately, Chief Durley’s maps and tide charts made for a straightforward shot toward land, and our night vision equipment was top notch.

  “Ready…” The crewman spoke low to avoid his voice being carried over the water.

  The other boat cut its motor a few hundred feet to the east, where they were to hit that side of the property. Our lead people would circle around to the front, where they would meet the leads from the other boat. Between the two squads, the house would be surrounded a
nd almost certainly outgunned.

  “Go, go, go,” the same crewman ordered.

  An amateur diver would’ve been lost in the organized chaos of our entry into the water. Hell, most professional divers wouldn’t have touched this one with a ten-yard pole, even if they did have the night vision accessories on their masks. Me, though, I lived for the rush of the water closing over my head, the M4 in my hands, P226 at my side, and my Ka-Bar strapped to my leg. It was like being home. Surrounded by bubbles and other swimming bodies, I was in my best element.

  We emerged in near-total silence. If all went as planned, the power and communications for both locations should be shut down simultaneously in about three minutes. At that hour, there were only two windows with lights on, a security light glowed out front, and there were hints of brightness through the trees that separated the property from its neighbors.

  While avoiding pools of light, the leads from both squads rushed toward the front of the house until we had it surrounded. Everyone reported a lack of activity and no targets in the field.

  As I got close to the lanai in the back, the house went completely dark. This was forty-five seconds earlier than in the plan which was not a good sign. I got on the throat mic.

  “Hold steady,” I ordered. “This might be a trap. Anything on infrared?”

  “Negatory,” one of the men reported. “Nobody along the house or treeline.”

  I waved to the guy across from me at the lanai who turned out to be Davis. We crouched below the porch level to prevent being spotted as Chief Durley joined us.

  “Our people could’ve hit it early,” Davis whispered. “Maybe they got too amped up and tripped it too early.”

  “Something ain’t right,” Durley answered. “Give a listen.”

  At first, all I heard was my breathing and the soft wash of the ocean against the beach. Night insects and distant music floated on the breeze as well. A faint crinkle like aluminum foil sounded from nearby.

  “Hostiles under cover,” I warned over the throat mic as I yanked my night vision goggles off my head. “Be re—”

  Blinding light washed over the lawn as dark figures burst out from behind trees and shrubs. Someone hit me in the side from where I crouched by the porch. I kept my feet under me, but my eyes stung and watered as they adjusted to the sudden brightness. The others were worse off, as they didn’t get the warning to ditch the night vision before being hit by the spotlights.

  The goon who’d tried to take me down from under the porch launched at me again. I still couldn’t see well, but it was enough. He came straight at me, which was his first mistake. I dodged to my left, grabbed his right arm, and used my momentum to send him flying onto his face. He scrambled to his feet and reached for the handgun at his waist. I drew mine first and shot him in the forehead. Blood exploded from the back of his head, and he dropped in place.

  As soon as I holstered the handgun, I grabbed my rifle from where it hung at the ready and swung toward Davis and Durley. I found them efficiently taking down the two attackers dumb enough to approach them.

  Rifle fire spat out near the beach, and then more on the other side of the house. Here and there, SEALs mopped up the surprisingly competent crew that Volkov had gathered. Most of the attackers even survived because the SEALs had instructions to minimize the damage on American soil, should the story get out to the public in the first place.

  Once we handled Volkov’s men, we stormed the house. I went in through the back with Davis and Durley, while SEALs entered through the front door. Others remained outside to cover other potential exits.

  The porch door led in through a breakfast nook and kitchen. In the low light that came in from the spotlights outside, sandwich fixings, containers of deli salads, and a bowl of fresh fruit offerings were visible on a wide counter. Empty dishes were left at the small table with a number of open soda cans.

  “Kitchen clear,” I radioed.

  I signaled to the others to move forward as the same was reported from the front. We swept the first floor, and then we filed up to the second floor. There was no one in the three bedrooms, their closets, or the bathrooms.

  “They ran before we got here,” I growled. “We need transport…”

  “Sir, the county police are here,” one of the younger SEALs announced as a pair of local officers barged in.

  An older man with a soft middle scanned the room with suspicion while his partner, a guy no older than the youngest SEALs on the scene, stared at his military counterparts.

  “What the holy hell is going on here?” the older cop demanded. “Where’s your warrant?”

  “We’ll have it faxed to your office while you drive us to the airport,” I told him. “Our suspect’s in the wind, and I think that’s where we find him and the woman he’s holding captive.”

  “Seriously?” the younger officer blurted out. “Sarge, this is Yuri’s house. I saw his car going east on our way here. He has a helicopter at the airport.”

  “What’d Yuri do to get into trouble?” the sergeant asked.

  “A lot,” I snapped. I got my phone and ID out of their waterproof bags and showed him who I was. “We need to catch them before they take off.” I turned to Durley. “Davis and I are going after Volkov. We’ll send people to relieve you ASAP.”

  Durley saluted. “Yes, sir. Good hunting.”

  Davis and the younger cop jumped into the back of the police SUV, and the older officer got underway. At the speed limit with no lights or sirens.

  “Sergeant, we don’t have time for this. If you don’t get a lead foot now, I am going to commandeer this vehicle.”

  “Like hell you are,” he sputtered. “I know these roads better than any of you damn mainlanders.”

  “Prove it and get moving.”

  His crabby face got downright surly. The man flipped on his lights and whirleys, and then he punched it.

  I was almost sorry I egged him on about it. There were a few pitch-black curves I didn’t think we’d live through. The old man ran the lonely road like I ran the back streets of Miami. By the time we got to the airport, I had an idea of how my passengers felt about my driving in Southern Florida.

  The Moloka’i Airport was quiet that early in the morning, so it wasn’t hard to get to where Volkov’s helo was lifting off. I jumped out of the car before the sergeant had fully stopped. He lit up his spotlight, and the light hit the face I’d been chasing the entire time.

  Ronnie was handling the controls. She looked down and saw me and then looked at her passenger. The helicopter vectored off and then away.

  “Looks like she’s the one in charge,” the sergeant commented in a dry voice. “You sure she’s there against her will.”

  “Yes, I am. He has a hold over her.” I hoped that was true. She wouldn’t have allowed Robbie to be hurt like that. “She’s one of ours.”

  “Get me a helo,” Davis said from behind me. “There has to be another one here, yeah?”

  I stared at him. “You fly?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well enough. If we can get airborne right away, I can catch them.”

  The younger officer cleared his throat. “So, my dad is visiting from Maui. His helicopter is in that hanger.” He pointed to a nearby aluminum building. “I can get you in. Hey, Sarge, get Rod out here for some fuel. It was at half yesterday.”

  “You sure about this, Kaden?”

  “Yeah. Dad will dig it. Call him after we take off.”

  Sarge blinked as if confused by the structural upheaval, but then he made up his mind. He got in the SUV and drove the short distance to the officer where there was little activity.

  Kaden fumbled around in his pocket and then produced the key to the hanger. We filed in past the tiny office as the kid flicked on the lights. I couldn’t help grinning when I saw the brown, yellow, and orange color scheme. Davis had a big-ass smile of his own.

  “It’s not the one they used on TV,” Kaden said, “but Dad had to have it the same model and painted like t
hat because he’s always loved Magnum P.I.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Davis agreed. “I need me one of these.”

  Kaden opened the hanger and helped us push the helo out into the clear. Sarge’s SUV sped across the tarmac and skidded to a stop just short of the fueling tanks. A man twice as grizzled but far friendlier looking jumped out and helped us get the helicopter close enough for the fuel hose.

  “Got your certs with you, young man?” he asked Davis as he got the line in and started fueling.

  “I will when we get back,” Davis promised. “I flew a few helos when I was in the Marines.”

  “There’s more to you than meets the eye,” I told Davis.

  “I’m a regular Optimus Prime.” He let out a tight laugh as he got into the pilot’s seat. “Doing pre-flight in a nutshell,” he announced. “Kaden, get in front. Marston, you’re behind him with the weapons.”

  I couldn’t argue, and by the time I was ready with my headset and the M4s were nominally secured, the helo was fueled, and Davis had the rotors spinning. We lifted off and bore southeast after Volkov and Ronnie.

  We were so damn close that I saw her face. I saw her face. Whatever Volkov had done, I refused to believe Ronnie had willingly joined him. No way. No. Damn. Way.

  CHAPTER 36

  There were only so many places a person could hide in the Hawaiian Islands. The archipelago was in the middle of the goddamn Pacific, and getting to the mainland meant big planes. To get to other islands, however, all you needed was a fully fueled helicopter.

  “I see them,” Kaden announced over his headset. He’d found his dad’s binoculars and started scanning the sky as soon as we lifted off. “They’re headed toward Lanai, but there’s nothing there.”

  “They’re heading toward the Big Island.” Davis decided. “Think about it. If Volkov has a jet at Kona International, they’re gone.”