She struggled to pull herself together. He handed her a tissue from a box on the table next to her. “No,” she said.
“He didn’t ask? He wasn’t curious? He was the one who helped me get in touch with you.”
“He did ask when he brought the first charter back. I told him I was going to talk to you later in the day, but I didn’t say when, or where.”
“Why did you lie to him?”
“I just felt it was better that no one know except me.”
“You don’t trust him,” Brixton said flatly.
“I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Lalo emerged from the bathroom and sat by the windows. “What do we do now?” he asked.
“We get off this island,” Brixton said, “and we do it as fast as we can. By morning the police will be all over it looking for Prisler’s killer.”
“Looking for me, you mean,” Kamea said. “Akina will tell them that I shot Prisler. Maybe I should go to them and admit that I did it.”
“There’s no way in hell you’re going to do that, Kamea. I just came close to being buried in a sugarcane field because of you, and I’m not going back without you. Here’s the deal: I get you away from Prisler, and you tell the authorities what you know about your brother and Prisler’s role in sending him to Washington to help blow up the café.”
“The DVD,” she said.
“Why did you bother making it? What’s on it?”
“I didn’t make it,” she said. “Prisler had it.”
“I gave it to her,” Lalo said.
“You gave it to her? How did you get hold of it?”
“I took it from Prisler’s office when he wasn’t there. It was easy. He had me staying in one of the rooms off the main house, so I had access.”
Brixton asked Kamea, “If you didn’t make it, then what’s on it?”
“His instructions.”
“Instructions? Instructions for what?”
“For sending my brother to Washington, arranging for other bombings and murders—all of it.”
“Who gave the instructions?” Brixton demanded.
“I don’t know his name. He is from a country in Africa, a terrorist leader.”
“Do you know his name?” Brixton asked Lalo.
“No,” the young Spaniard said. “I am so ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“Of working for Prisler, of doing what he wanted me to do.”
“What was that?”
“I was to identify other gay men working in embassies so that they could become targets.”
“Because they were gay?”
“So that the government in Washington would think that was why they were killed. I didn’t know in the beginning that he intended to kill them. I swear I didn’t. I loved them. Peter Müller was a fine person. To think that I had lured him into Prisler’s trap is…” He choked back tears.
Brixton thought of the red herring theory that had been raised at the meeting with Mike Kogan.
“I don’t know what prompted you to do what you did tonight, Reyes, taking down that hulk Akina, but thanks.”
“I hated them both,” he said.
“You didn’t hate Prisler when you joined his cult.”
“I didn’t either,” Kamea said.
“I don’t get it,” said Brixton. “You’re both bright young people. How does a charlatan like Prisler bend your mind and turn you into his puppets?”
“He was there when we needed him,” Kamea said softly.
“I still don’t get it, but maybe I’m not supposed to,” Brixton said.
“Let’s get back to how we get off Maui,” Lalo said. “I won’t feel safe until we are away.”
“Should I call Wayne?” Kamea asked. “Maybe he can take us in his boat.”
Brixton studied her face before saying, “No. You don’t trust him. That’s good enough for me. Plus, you said that Prisler owns the boat.”
“Yes.”
“That’s another reason for not bringing Wayne into this. He isn’t likely to do something to upset his employer.”
“His employer is dead,” Lalo said.
“Yeah, but Wayne doesn’t know that. Once he hears about it he’ll be even less likely to help us. How about you, Kamea? Do you know how to operate that boat?”
“I’ve gone out with Wayne many times, and he let me run it.”
“Are there keys?”
“Yes. They’re in the office.”
“You have a key to the office?”
She nodded.
“What about fuel? How do we gas up?”
“Wayne always fills the tanks at the end of each day.”
“If she can’t run the boat, I can,” Reyes said. “My father was a fisherman in Spain. He used to take me with him.”
“Damn,” Brixton said, “looks like we have us a seasoned crew. Let’s go.”
Brixton put the two handguns in his suitcase and concealed the rifle as they left the room and went to the car. Each of them was on edge, waiting to hear the wail of sirens or run into a blockade. Had Prisler’s death already been discovered and reported to the police? Had Akina been able to break his bonds?
Brixton drove the speed limit, not wanting to draw attention. Lahaina had emptied out after the day’s tourist crush. He pulled up into a vacant space near the dock and looked around. “We’re good,” he told them.
They walked to the dock. Kamea removed a key from her jeans’ pocket and opened the door to the tiny office. Brixton and Lalo remained outside.
“I have the boat key,” Kamea called from the office.
“Good,” Brixton said. As he did, a car approached, its headlamps casting light and shadows over them.
“It’s the police,” Brixton said.
The car came to a stop, its headlights continuing to illuminate them. A pair of uniformed Hawaiian police officers exited.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” one asked.
“Nothing, Officer,” Brixton said.
The two cops slowly approached.
“What are you doing here this time of night?” one asked.
“We were…”
Kamea came out of the office.
“Hi,” she said.
“Kamea? Didn’t see you at first,” a cop said.
“Getting ready for tomorrow,” she said. “These are my friends.”
“Okay,” said a cop. “Just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Everything is fine,” she said.
The patrol car pulled away, and the trio stepped onto the boat. Kamea went to the helm and inserted the key. The twin diesel engines coughed at first, then caught and rumbled, louder than Brixton would have liked.
“I have to put on the lights,” Kamea said, “and the lines have to be brought up.”
“Lines?” Brixton said. “Oh, right.”
He and Lalo carefully maneuvered themselves along the narrow footholds until reaching the mooring lines. He hoped that they could undo them from the boat but saw that they’d have to get back on the dock. With the lines tossed onto the boat, they came aboard again. Brixton gave Kamea a thumbs-up. “I hope she knows what she’s doing,” he muttered to himself as the boat, its engines in reverse, slowly backed into the channel.
He joined her at the helm. “It’s eighty miles to Oahu,” he said. “How fast does this thing go?”
“Twenty-five knots,” she replied. “Maybe a little faster.”
“It’ll take us four hours,” Brixton said.
“It depends upon how rough the sea is,” she added.
“Let’s hope it’s smooth sailing all the way,” he said. “You’re the captain, Kamea. Just tell me and Lalo what to do when something needs doing.”
The way things had been going lately, Brixton assumed that it would be rough in the open water between Maui and Oahu. He was wrong. The seas were calm. The storm that had hit the islands that afternoon was long gone. An almost full moon cast light down on them as they h
eaded for the neighboring island, home of Honolulu International Airport. Brixton was surprised at how much at peace he felt. He’d never been a boat lover, didn’t understand the allure of owning one. But now he began to soak in the pleasure of being out on the water, breathing in its bracing smell, the wind in his face, the engines providing a pleasant, comforting drone. Even the slapping of the craft’s bottom when encountering a swell and white caps was reassuring.
He stayed next to Kamea as she manned the helm, neither saying much of anything, just an occasional glance back and forth accompanied by a smile.
Lalo Reyes had fallen asleep in the cabin, obviously at peace, too.
But the benign mood that Brixton had fallen into fought for space in his head with the realities they faced.
Standing next to him was a powerful U.S. congressman’s daughter, a member of a controversial cult, and a murderer. It wasn’t lost on him that the weapon she’d used to shoot Samuel Prisler was registered to him; his fingerprints were all over it. Would this adventure he’d embarked on end with his being accused of another unwarranted shooting? Prisler obviously had friends in high places, both on Maui and in Washington, D.C. But Kamea had shot Prisler in self-defense, and Brixton was determined to do everything he could to help defend her.
But that problem wasn’t of immediate concern.
Prisler had confiscated all of Kamea’s personal identification—driver’s license, passport, and credit cards. Lalo too had been stripped of any documents indicating who he was. That meant that neither of them would be able to board a commercial airliner in Honolulu for a flight to the mainland even if Brixton were to foot the bill.
Two hours into their escape, Brixton saw Kamea struggle to keep her eyes open. Brixton asked if she wanted him to take the wheel. “I’m not a boater,” he said, “but I figure I can keep us heading in the direction on the compass.”
She gratefully accepted, wedging a cushion between her head and the wall next to her and closing her eyes. Brixton looked at her and had to smile. She looked like a little kid, the way Janet and Jill once looked, innocent and without concerns. He knew that wasn’t quite the case with Kamea: The life that she’d left was hardly free of turmoil. But he hoped that when the adventure was over she’d find a way to resurrect herself and stand alone, shake loose the powerful hold Prisler had on her, and maybe even come to grips with her nasty family situation.
She took over the helm again after her nap, and an hour later the lights of Oahu came into view.
“Where are we docking?” Brixton asked her.
She’d been consulting nautical charts and pointed to an area near the airport. “Kewalo Basin,” she said. “I’ve been there before with Wayne.”
“You make a pretty good captain,” he said, slapping her on the shoulder.
“I always wanted to do this,” she said, “—be in charge. It’s been so long since I’ve been in charge of anything, including my life.”
“Never too late to start, Kamea.”
They pulled into a slip. On Kamea’s instructions, Brixton went to an office on the expansive dock where he found an old man dozing behind the desk. He woke him and paid for an overnight berthing using his credit card.
“Where’d you come in from at this ungodly hour?” the old man asked as he filled out a receipt.
“Maui.”
“Where you heading?”
Brixton shrugged. “Back to Maui later today.”
“Pretty late to run over here from Maui,” the older man said.
“I’ve got a meeting at the airport. How far is it from here?”
“Five miles or so.”
“Can you recommend a motel or hotel nearby? Nothing too fancy. I’m on a tight budget.”
He handed Brixton three business cards from nearby motels.
“Many thanks. Have a good night.”
Brixton returned and told them that they were going to a motel.
“We could stay on the boat,” Kamea offered.
“No,” Brixton said. “Chances are they’ll be looking for it once your buddy Wayne realizes it’s missing. Leave the keys on board.”
They went to the closest of the three recommended motels. “I’m traveling with my family,” Brixton told the wiry woman behind the desk. “We need three rooms.”
She eyed Kamea and Lalo, who looked pretty scraggly. So did he, he knew.
“You have rooms?” Brixton asked.
“Only have two vacancies,” she said.
“Well, that’ll have to do,” Brixton said. “They have twin beds?” he asked, mentally questioning who would bunk together.
“Yes, sir, they do.”
With another credit card charge racked up, they headed for the rooms. “You’ll take one of them, Kamea,” he said. “Lalo and I will take the other.”
Lalo looked as though he’d just bitten into a sour pickle.
“That setup okay with you, Lalo?” Brixton asked.
“I guess so. It’s just that—”
“That I roughed you up a little at your apartment. Hey, that was then. No hard feelings, huh?”
Lalo broke into a wide smile. “No,” he said, “no hard feelings.”
Brixton wasn’t keen on allowing Kamea out of his sight, but he didn’t have an alternative, aside from sharing the room with her, something he doubted she would want.
“You’ll be okay alone?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Good. Here’s the drill: I’m going to call someone back in Washington who might be able to help us. If he can, you’ve got to be ready to roll.”
He and Lalo entered the room they would share.
“I need a shower,” Lalo said
“So do I,” Brixton said. “You go ahead while I make the call. I may be awhile in case he has to call back.”
Brixton stepped outside and punched in Mac Smith’s stored phone number on his cell. It would be morning in D.C. but not too early. Smith answered on the first ring.
“Mac, it’s Robert Brixton.”
“Still in Hawaii?”
“Yeah. Look, I’m in a bit of a jam and thought you might have some advice.”
Brixton couldn’t see the wince on Mac’s face.
“What kind of a jam?” Smith asked.
“I’ll boil it down fast for you,” Brixton said. “I’m on the island of Oahu. I’m with Kamea Wakatake, Congressman Skaggs’s daughter, and the young Spanish guy from the Spanish embassy. I’ve gotten them out of Prisler’s cult and we took a boat from Maui.”
“You chartered a boat?”
“No, we borrowed it. Anyway, in helping them escape, Prisler got shot.”
“He’s—?”
“Yeah, he’s dead. Kamea shot him in self-defense. My problem is that I can’t take them with me on a plane from Honolulu because they don’t have any ID. We tied up Prisler’s henchman, a big guy named Akina, and left him with the body. If they’ve discovered him by now, the police will be looking for us and the boat.”
Smith grunted.
“My two traveling buddies can give testimony that’ll nail Prisler to the cross, and that creep Zafar Alvi too.”
“Where are you now?” Mac asked.
“We checked into a motel near where we docked. It’s just a few miles from the Honolulu Airport.”
“It’s what, four A.M. where you are, Robert?”
“Or thereabout.”
“There’s someone I want to call who could be of help. Keep your cell phone on, and lay low until I get back to you.”
“Got it, Mac. Thanks.”
Lalo had emerged from the bathroom when Brixton returned to the room. Brixton figured he didn’t have time for a long, relaxing shower and spent five minutes under the hot spray before sprawling on the twin bed, his cell phone on the pillow next to his ear. Three hours later he was awakened by the phone’s silly tuneful ring.
“Brixton,” he said.
“It’s Mac, Robert. Here’s what you do. An old friend o
f mine is a special agent in charge of the Honolulu division of the FBI. His name is—”
“Hold a second,” Brixton said as he found a pad of paper and pen provided by the motel. “Shoot,” he said.
“His name is Nathan Mumford. His office is in the new FBI building at ninety-one, dash, thirteen-hundred Enterprise Street. That’s in Kapolei.”
“Where the hell is that?”
“Outside Honolulu, but not far. Nate is expecting you and your entourage. He was happy to hear from me, Robert. He’s been deep into an investigation of Prisler and his arms dealing.”
“What happens with the local police?” Brixton asked. “They’ll want jurisdiction over Prisler’s shooting.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” Smith said. “I suggest that you get to Special Agent Mumford’s office as fast as you can.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mac.”
“Just do what Nate Mumford says, and keep me in the loop.”
Brixton roused Reyes from his sleep. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve got an appointment.” He knocked on Kamea’s door and told her the same thing.
In his suitcase, Brixton had secured the two handguns he’d been toting and again used his shirt to cover the assault rifle. After Brixton checked out, they walked to a road and hailed a taxi.
“We need to go to a FedEx office where they have a Kinko’s,” Brixton told the driver.
Kamea and Lalo looked quizzically at him.
“I want a copy of the DVD you gave me,” he told Kamea.
“Do we have time for that?” Lalo whispered.
“Yeah,” Brixton replied. “I need a duplicate copy.”
When the driver pulled up in front of a FedEx store, Brixton said, “You two stay with the taxi.” Fifteen minutes later he emerged carrying the duplicate DVD. “The dupe is for us,” he said. “No one else needs to know about it.”
“Where to next?” the driver asked.
“Enterprise Street in Kapolei,” Brixton instructed the driver, “the new FBI building.”
Brixton had just enough cash to pay for the trip and to add a tip. “Aloha,” he told the driver, who thanked him and drove off.
“All set?” he asked Kamea and Lalo as they stood in front of the imposing new glass building.
Kamea and Lalo looked at each other and nodded.
They stopped at the security desk, where Brixton handed over the assault rifle and withdrew the two handguns from his suitcase. While this was being accomplished, two special agents, a man and a woman, got off the elevator and approached.
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