“I’m going out of town for a few days,” he told Sayers.
“Where?”
“Hawaii.”
“Taking a few days vacation? No, wait a minute. It has to do with Prisler, right?”
“Right. I’d just as soon not spread it around.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Unless there’s a prime steak beckoning. I got a call from Paul Skaggs’s sister on Maui.”
“Whoa. She called you?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And she says she needs help and knows that I do, too.”
“What kind of help does she need?”
“Get off your editorial horse, Will. I don’t know. She said she’d been reading about me, probably that syndicated article you wrote.”
“The power of the press.”
“Have you come up with anything new before I go? I’m catching a plane to Newark at two. My flight to Hawaii leaves at six.”
“Nothing new on my end. You said that Lalo Reyes has returned to Hawaii. Maybe you’ll catch up with him again.”
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and won’t.”
“Anything I can help you with while you’re gone?”
“Can’t think of anything. Just want you to know that I appreciate what you’ve already done for me.”
“You make it sound like this is our last conversation. How long will you be gone?”
“No idea. I’ll give you a call when I get back.”
“With Paul Skaggs’s sister? If so, I’m first on your call list, right?”
“Right. Catch you later.”
* * *
“What’s this about?” Brixton asked when he joined the others in Kogan’s SITQUAL office.
“We’re trying to make sense out of this rash of embassy bombings, come up with a logical motive behind them.”
“But they’re not bombing embassies,” Donna offered. “It’s always someplace near embassies that they target.”
“Cafés are easier targets,” someone said. “Embassy security has been beefed up. Tough to get close to an embassy these days. Restaurants and the people in them are sitting ducks.”
“Maybe no one from an embassy is in a café when it gets blown.”
“But chances are that there will be. They’re doing their homework, choosing places popular with embassy staffs. Whoever’s behind this always make their move at the end of normal office hours, when it’s most likely that people from embassies are enjoying a drink after work.”
“Let’s go back to those individual murders,” Kogan said. “While it seemed at first that they were bias crimes—and I don’t buy that scenario anymore—the larger question remains, Why were these individuals murdered? If it wasn’t because they were gay, then it has to be because of where they worked.”
“Which raises another question,” Donna said. “Terrorists like to make a big splash, kill lots of people, get a bigger bang for their buck. They accomplish this in the café bombings, but killing individuals hardly follows that MO.”
“The homosexual complication still bothers me,” an agent said. “Whoever is behind these attacks could be deliberately creating red herrings by killing gays.”
They spent the next half hour going over myriad scenarios that might be behind the recent bombings and murders.
“No one has claimed responsibility?” Donna Salvos asked.
“Not so far,” Kogan responded. “We’ve received briefings from the intelligence agencies. None of them knows for sure who’s calling the shots. Internet chatter hasn’t yielded anything. We do know that whoever it is is targeting embassies in developed countries, nothing like Benghazi or Lebanon or other past attacks. The intelligence folks are trying to come up with a link between the embassies that have been affected. What do Poland, Germany, Italy, France, Denmark, Great Britain, Australia, and us have in common? The attacks are obviously of Middle Eastern origins. The gal who blew up the café near our State Department was Pakistani. The suicide bombers in Britain and Italy were also Middle Eastern. But why in hell would they want to kill that woman from the Polish embassy? Were they the bad guys in their eyes. Poland? Australia? There is no link.”
“They’re all embassies for democracies of one sort or another,” someone said.
“Did all these countries who’ve had their embassies hit contribute troops for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan?” Brixton asked.
“Good question?” Kogan said. “I’ll check.”
“And I have to hightail it out of here,” Brixton said.
“Nice having you back, Robert,” an agent said.
“Strictly unofficial,” Brixton said. To Kogan: “Thanks for ringing me in, Mike. Got a second?”
They went into the hallway, where Brixton told him of his travel plans.
“What’s this all about?” Kogan asked.
“I can’t get specific, Mike, but I’m hoping to find some answers to my problem.”
“I won’t press you, Robert, but keep whatever you’re doing unofficial. Keep SITQUAL out of it.”
“Count on it. I’ll check in when I get back.”
Kogan watched Brixton disappear through a door leading to the stairs. “Good luck, pal,” he muttered. “You deserve it.”
CHAPTER
33
As Brixton got into his car he remembered that he was slated to have dinner that night with Flo Combes. That was obviously out of the question, and he dreaded having to tell her. He considered calling the Smiths’ apartment but decided instead to break the news in person.
His call was answered by Annabel.
“It’s Robert,” he said. “Mind if I stop over for a few minutes?”
“Love to see you, Robert. A cup of coffee will be waiting.”
Annabel answered the door. “Come in, stranger. What have you been up to?”
“Too many things,” he replied.
Flo was in the living room reading the paper.
“Hi,” Brixton said.
“Hi to you,” she said. “This is a nice surprise. We weren’t on until tonight.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I dropped by.” He joined her on the couch. “Something has come up and—”
“We’re not having dinner?”
“Unfortunately no. I’ll be out of town.”
Mac heard him as he walked into the room. “A last-minute trip?” he asked.
“Yeah, it is, Mac. I’m going to Hawaii.”
“I never considered you the type to like Hawaii,” Flo said.
“Don’t know whether I’ll like it or not. Never been there.”
An awkward silence was followed by Flo asking, “Why are you going to Hawaii?” Her voice was tinged with frost.
Brixton decided on the spot to lay it all out for her, and he did.
“So the sister of the man you shot called and said she needs help?” Flo said after Brixton had explained the call from Kamea Wakatake.
“She also said that she knew that I needed help,” he added.
“Did she mention her brother?” Mac asked.
“She started to but didn’t follow through.”
“What sort of help do you think she’s asking for?” asked Annabel.
“I don’t know,” Brixton said, “but I’ll find out soon enough. I’m taking a flight from Newark this afternoon.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get going. My bag’s packed and in the car.”
“I wish you had a better handle on what the sister wants from you,” Mac said, “before going there. Prisler isn’t to be taken lightly. I’m sure he won’t welcome you with open arms.”
“Hopefully I’ll be able to avoid him and deal only with Kamea. That’s Ms. Skaggs’s Hawaiian name. Anyway, it’ll be good to get out of D.C. for a little while. By the way, I was attacked the other night.”
“Attacked?” Flo said. “By whom?”
“I didn’t see him, but he left a calling card.” He raised his chin to display the remnants of the mark his ass
ailant had made on his neck. “I’d attended a dinner in honor of Zafar Alvi at the Hay-Adams.”
“Who is he?” Flo asked.
“He’s a big shot here in Washington who funnels illegal arms provided by Prisler to terrorist groups. Mac can fill you in. Anyway, I’m convinced that it was Alvi who set his goon on me.”
Flo had been looking directly at Brixton while he explained the attack. Now she turned from him. He reached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry about dinner tonight, Flo. I’m sorry that you came here to D.C. and we haven’t had time to get together. Hopefully, I won’t be away long and—”
“I’m leaving today for New York,” she said.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Stay a few more days. By then I’ll be back and—”
“I’ve mooched off Mac and Annabel long enough,” she said.
“Don’t be silly,” said Mac.
Flo shook her head. “No,” she said, “it’s time I left.” She turned to Brixton. “It was silly of me to come. I thought that maybe I could help you, but I realize that was foolish, too. You’ll do whatever you have to do by yourself, Robert. That’s just the way you are. I only hope you won’t get yourself killed in the process. If you don’t, and when this is over and you’ve accomplished what you need to, we can have that talk we never had here. Excuse me.”
Her last few words were spoken with a trembling voice, and Brixton saw that her eyes had welled up. She went into the spare bedroom she’d been using and closed the door.
“I should have found time for us to get together before now,” Brixton said.
“Things just didn’t work out, that’s all,” Mac said. “We’ll try and convince her to stay with us a little longer. In the meantime, go do what you have to do. But Robert…”
“What?”
“That red circle on your neck is proof that what Flo said is true, that you might get yourself killed while trying to avenge your daughter’s murder and clear your name. Don’t be a hero. I hope your ticket is round-trip. Whatever happens in Hawaii, make sure you’re around to use the return portion.”
CHAPTER
34
Brixton’s flight to Newark was without incident. He boarded the United Airlines plane bound for Honolulu and settled in his window seat in the coach section. It was a full flight, and he was fortunate to have gotten a seat by the window and not one in the center.
Despite having gotten a better seat, Brixton was not happy. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying. He hated the hoops that he had to go through—the security checks, shoes and belts off, nothing in your pockets that might set off the electronic scanning devices, and the cattle-car atmosphere that pervaded every step of the boarding process. Knowing that he was in for a long flight, he’d stopped in the airport bookstore and picked up a couple of paperback mystery novels by authors he’d never heard of. But the covers were nice, and positive comments by other writers on the back gave the books third-party endorsements, provided they weren’t the authors’ family members or best friends. There he was being cynical again; Flo would not approve.
It wasn’t long before the cramped seat became annoying. Brixton wasn’t especially tall—a little over six feet—and he wondered how taller men managed. It became even more nettlesome when the passenger in front of Brixton decided to recline his seat, which pushed it against Brixton’s knees. He tapped the man on the shoulder and suggested that he not recline.
“I paid for this seat and I’ll do whatever I want” was the whiny reply.
“Thanks, pal,” Brixton muttered, and briefly fantasized ramming his knees into the seat back on a regular basis. Don’t even think that way. Stay out of trouble, he reminded himself. You’re in enough hot water already.
He read, he dozed, ate the two alleged meals that he’d paid for and that were laid in front of him, and he thought—thought of what he would do once in Hawaii.
His only contact with Kamea was through this man Wayne. What sort of guy was he? It was safe to assume, Brixton decided, that he was Kamea’s friend, since he’d allowed her to use his phone. Why didn’t she have a cell phone of her own? The whole world had cell phones, including kids as young as six. What was the world coming to?
He’d gunned down her brother, for good cause he knew, yet she was turning to him for help. Help with what? It occurred to him that he might be walking into some sort of trap. Was she intent upon avenging her brother’s death, luring his killer to Maui and planning to enjoy retribution? That was unlikely—or he hoped so. He remembered what Mac Smith had said about making sure he left Hawaii in one piece.
What about Lalo Reyes? Would he see him again? Was Kamea friendly with the young Spaniard who’d flown the coop in D.C. and hightailed it back to the Prisler cult? And what about Prisler? If he was as vile as he had been painted, he wouldn’t be happy to see Robert Brixton on his doorstep, if cults had doorsteps. Prisler and Zafar Alvi were in business together, peddling illegal arms to groups hell-bent on killing as many Americans and their allies as possible. Nice guys. Had Alvi called ahead to arrange this invitation?
Ten hours later, the plane taxied to the gate and its door opened. Brixton joined the long line of passengers waiting to disembark. The flight’s captain stood in the open cockpit door welcoming each passenger to Hawaii with “Aloha.”
It was tight, but Brixton managed to make his connecting flight to Maui, the last one leaving that night. It was a smaller jet aircraft that covered the short distance between the big island and the smaller Maui in what seemed minutes. Brixton crossed the terminal and went directly to the car-rental desks, where he arranged for a sedan and received driving directions to Kapalua, site of the Prisler cult.
He was tired as he drove and had to fight to stay awake. He hadn’t booked a hotel ahead of time before leaving and hoped that he’d find one with vacancies and at a decent price. When he came upon a beachfront property, he pulled in.
“Aloha,” the attractive young woman manning the desk said.
“Hi,” Brixton said. “Do you have any vacancies?”
She looked at him quizzically.
“I’m not here for a vacation,” he said, flashing his most winning smile. “I’m here on a last-minute business trip. I mean, it was really last minute.”
“We have one garden-view studio,” she said. “It’s very nice, but it’s not on the ocean.”
“I don’t need the ocean,” Brixton said. “I just need a nice room. I have business meetings in Kapalua tomorrow.”
“Of course,” she said and started the checking-in process.
“How much is this garden-view room?” he asked casually.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars a night,” she replied.
He whistled. “That’s pretty steep.”
Her cocked head asked whether he wished to take the room.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, and placed his American Express card on the desk. This was no time to worry about finances.
“If you play golf, we’re less than a half mile to the Kapalua Golf Club. We also have two eighteen-hole putting greens on the property, and massages are available through the gym, which is fully equipped and—”
“That’s all great,” Brixton said, “but I’m afraid I won’t have time for those things. I am hungry, though. Is the restaurant still open?”
She checked a wall clock. “Yes, the restaurant is still open but not for much longer. We have twenty-four-hour room service.”
“I’ll head for the restaurant. Thank you.”
“Aloha,” she said.
“Yeah, aloha to you.”
It was a lovely room with a comfortable bed and doors leading out to the garden. A mirror on the bathroom door reflected a weary traveler. He realized that his wardrobe was distinctly non-Hawaiian. He’d stand out on the touristy island in his gray suit, white shirt, green tie, and black shoes. He’d have to find time in the morning to pick up more appropriate clothes.
The restaurant was open-air with tab
les overlooking the water. He ordered a martini the way he liked it and an assortment of appetizers from the menu. He debated calling the number Kamea had given him. If this guy Wayne was asleep, chances were he’d have turned off his cell phone. Then again he might be a night creature who enjoys barhopping. With his drink and one of the appetizers in front of him, he dialed.
“Hello?”
“Wayne?”
“Yeah.” Loud music and crowd noise in the background made it hard for Brixton to hear.
“It’s Robert Brixton.”
“Right. Where are you?”
“On Maui. I just arrived.”
“That’s, ah, good.”
“Is Kamea with you?”
“No, she’s— Where on Maui are you?”
“I haven’t checked into a hotel yet,” Brixton said, deciding to not tell this stranger where he was staying. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. How do I get in touch with Kamea?”
“You mean now?”
“Sure.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She said to arrange to meet her through you,” Brixton said.
“Yeah, I know but—hold on.” The background noise was all that Brixton heard until Wayne came back on the line. “Look, Mr. Brixton, it’s going to be tough for you to get together with Kamea tonight, but she works with me at the boat dock in Lahaina. She’ll be there tomorrow at nine thirty, but there’s usually somebody from the cult with her. You know that she lives with a group in Kapalua?”
“Yes, I know that. Sam Prisler’s cult.”
“He doesn’t call it a cult.”
“I don’t care what he calls it. Who’ll be with her besides you?”
“A guy from the group. He drives her to work and checks on her during the day.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. She’ll be there all morning?”
Margaret Truman's Undiplomatic Murder Page 28