The Poi Predicament

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The Poi Predicament Page 36

by Lyle Christie


  “These will represent the bad guys,” I said.

  “You’re really going to use the Paladin? Technically he’s lawful good,” Beeber said.

  “Yes, even the fucking Paladin.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Doug was patching us in to our rogue CIA satellite and bringing up a live feed of the compound. He pressed a few more keys, and our view switched to infrared so that we could now differentiate the bad guys from the background. A minutes later, we had seven people officially laid out on our little mock up. There were two guys by the gatehouse at the main entrance, and one more in the opposite corner along the front fence line that bordered the street. Two more were located on each side bordering the northern and southern neighbors, and one was covering the beach.

  “Clearly, Frank has his security on high alert in the event that we tried any kind of monkey business.”

  “Wonderful! We finally have some good news,” John said, sarcastically.

  “Actually, it is good news,” I said.

  “And how’s that?” he asked.

  “As you can see, he’s placed most of his people to defend against a land based assault, while only leaving one guy to guard the beach. That’s where they’re vulnerable.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a SEAL team.”

  “We don’t need one. We have me.”

  “Oh—well aren’t we feeling awfully good about ourselves,” Doug said.

  “It’s not like it sounds. I just happen to have a really good plan, and it only requires two people to initially breach the estate.”

  “Let me guess. You and this unnamed partner are going to parachute in utilizing a high altitude low opening jump, land on the tennis court, and then casually make your way through the estate as you take down Frank and all of his men all by yourselves,” Beeber said.

  “Well, that would be the case if this were a cheesy movie or book plot, but this is the real world, so I have a better plan. Namely to swim in, neutralize the beach guy, then gain access to the main house via the wine cellar. Once there, we’ll make our way to the security room and neutralize guard number two, who monitors the cameras. Without him, they’ll effectively be def, dumb, and blind.

  “Wait a minute. How do you even know where in the hell the security room is located?” Beeber asked.

  “I saw it on the tour. It was downstairs next to the wine cellar.”

  “I never saw any security room.”

  “That’s because you’re a desk jockey, and I’m a trained field agent.”

  “Well la-de-da, Mr. Bond.”

  “Everyone has their place, Beebs. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Frank expects you to be in the car, so unless you can teleport, your plan already has a big fat hole in it.”

  “Babs will play my part.”

  “Lovely! I get to be a decoy.”

  “Don’t you think they’ll notice?” John asked.

  “No, I’ve never been that close to any of them except Rex, so I’m confident Babs will pass muster—even though he’s French. We’re about the same height and hair color, and, as long as he can go ten minutes without consuming brie cheese and wine, it should work.”

  “Assuming we make it that far, what then?” Corn asked.

  After you’ve passed through the gate and been given the all clear by Frank’s security, I want you to drive in as though you’re going straight to the main house. Fifty yards before you reach the garage, cut off the driveway and hightail it over the lawn and towards the house. Park just to the right of the tennis court, exit the vehicle, and take up defensive positions behind the stone wall that borders the pool.”

  “Are you fucking crazy? We won’t have weapons to defend anything!” Corn said.

  “Yes you will, because me or one of my team are going to place them there. They’ll be directly beneath the lounger in the southeast corner. Once armed and situated, you’ll have an excellent position with clear unobstructed views of the entire estate.”

  “Yeah, until Rex and his men converge and kill us. Honestly, Finn, this sounds a little sketchy,” Corn said.

  “I’m sorry, but I kind of have to agree with Corn,” John said.

  “Don’t worry, there’s more to the plan. I’m going to leave my number two man in the security room to monitor their communications and keep track of the bad guys’ movements through the Estate’s excellent camera system. That leaves me free to join you and cover your left flank while Secret Team Three takes up position in the boathouse, which will ultimately leave Rex and his men exposed in a classic pincer move in the center of the estate.”

  “And just who in the fuck is part of this right flank in the boathouse?” Corn asked.

  “Another wildcard—Johnny Kamoahoa.”

  “Johhny who?”

  “A local moke, and a guy who already offered his help.”

  “And who’s your number two man for your beach insertion?” John asked.

  “Jerasian, assuming, of course, that he knows how to scuba dive.”

  “Wait, what?” Jerasian asked.

  “Do you know how to scuba dive? I assumed you did since you live in Hawaii.”

  “I do—in fact I’m a certified open water diver, but what you’re talking about seems a little beyond my skill set.”

  “Rubbish. Did you ever dream of becoming a Navy SEAL?”

  “Well yeah, as has every other guy in the world, but…”

  “But nothing, here’s your chance, and, better still, you get to utilize the traits of your D&D character.”

  “I think you lost me somewhere between Navy SEAL and D&D.”

  “Dude, you said your character is a rogue, and everyone knows the rogue is a sneaky fucker with a wicked sneak attack. That’s the guy I want with me when we infiltrate the estate.”

  That talk seemed to bolster Jaserian’s courage, and he nodded his approval.

  “What’s to keep Rex and his men from regrouping back along the opposite side of the estate?” Corn asked.

  “Secret Team 4, our final wild card and ultimate ace in the hole, or, more accurately, our ace on the hill. Violet’s ex-boyfriend was a sniper in the Army Rangers.”

  “Ex-boyfriend to the woman you’re currently boning?” John asked.

  “One and the same.”

  “If I were you, I’m not so sure I’d want that guy covering my ass.”

  “Trust me, it’s not a problem,” I said.

  I considered his words of warning and couldn’t help but think back to the Han Job T-shirt affair and seriously wondered if John might have a valid point. Agent Moore and I weren’t exactly the best of friends, but I was guessing that he would do anything and everything in his power to help Violet.

  “Then, after we take down Frank and his men, Voila! Our mission is accomplished, so we grab the girls and go back to the resort for a massive celebratory party. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, what’s the plan again?” John asked, looking confused.

  “Don’t worry, Sasquatch, I’ve made a digital copy, and it’s embedded on a microchip right here under my fingernail,” I said, as I held up my middle finger.

  “Wait, I have a real question,” Doug said.

  “Fire away.”

  “When you say neutralize, do you actually mean kill?”

  “I’m afraid so. We can’t afford any kind of long and prolonged assault. We need to hit them fast and hard so they don’t have time to use the hostages as leverage against us.”

  “With use as leverage being a nicer way to say they might kill them?” Beeber asked.

  “Yeah, in the worst case scenario.”

  “Fuck, I finally got the perfect girl, and now she’s being held by a madman and his private army.”

  “I know how you feel, but channel those emotions. Use them to help you get the job done. These assholes are highly trained and more than willing to kill, so we need to be totally committed.”

  “Not to be a downer here, but where in the hell are we supposed to get
weapons on such short notice?” Corn asked.

  “You raise a good point. At the moment, all I have is a sniper rifle and Jessica’s Beretta, but I’ll make some calls and see what I can scrounge up. After that, we need to go on a little shopping trip.”

  “Who are you calling? Don’t we have to be careful about who we contact?” John asked.

  “Don’t worry. The rest of our rescue team aren’t anywhere even close to Frank’s watchlist, but, just to be safe, I won’t use my own phone. Jerasian, can I borrow yours for a second?”

  “Sure,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it over.

  I dialed the FBI’s local office, reached an operator, and immediately asked to be transferred to Special Agent Dave Moore, and he came on the line a moment later.

  “This is Special Agent Moore. How can I help you?”

  “It’s Finn. We need to meet.”

  “No, you need to fuck off.”

  “I’m serious. Violet is in real trouble, as are several others, and I need your help to rescue them.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and all I could hear was his breathing, which sounded oddly angry—something I’d never experienced from listening to air moving out of a person’s lungs.

  “Are you fucking serious?” he finally said.

  “Dead serious.”

  “Fuck—where do we meet?”

  “Helena’s in one hour.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, and one more thing—can you scrounge up as many firearms as you can find.”

  “What?”

  “We need weapons, but you can’t file any official releases for them. This op is completely off any kind of official radar.”

  “I knew you were an asshole the first moment we met.”

  “Believe me, I feel like an asshole for dragging Violet into this, but, right now, I’m the asshole who’s trying to rescue her as well as several other innocent victims.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said, before hanging up.

  I only had one more call, though this one would likely be a little less awkward, and I could use my own phone. I brought up the number for Johnny Kamoahoa and hit send, and he thankfully answered on the fourth ring.

  “What up? This is Johnny,” he said.

  “It’s Finn.”

  “Who?”

  “We met a couple of days ago. I’m the haole investigating Danny’s death.”

  “Oh yeah, what up? You find da guy yet?”

  “I did, and it’s several guys, and I’m actually going to need a little local help to take them down.”

  “Whatever you need, brudda.”

  “Can you meet me at Helena’s in about an hour?”

  “You buying?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll be der,” he said, before hanging up.

  “So, seriously now—who the fuck is this Johnny Kamoahoa?” John asked.

  “As I already said, he’s a local moke.”

  “And we can trust him?”

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy, and he was friends with Danny Keahi—the spear fisherman who Frank’s people killed.”

  “I suppose avenging a friend’s murder is a good motivator,” John said.

  “All right, now we have to figure out how to get John out of here without the Secret Service finding out.”

  “Good luck,” he said.

  “Jerasian, can you get a room service cart?”

  He smiled, as he instantly understood where I was going with the question.

  “Totally, I’ll be right back.”

  Jerasian left and returned about five minutes later and brought in a cart that had a food tray on top and, more importantly, a table cloth covering the lower section.

  “That was fast,” I said, lifting one of the lids and finding it occupied by a half eaten turkey sandwich.

  John stared at me and shook his head.

  “Have you figured out the plan yet?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I was just thinking that this may very well be the first time in history that the acting vice president of the United States was smuggled out of a hotel room beneath a half eaten turkey sandwich.”

  “At least you’ll finally be number one in something.”

  We pulled back the cloth sheet that covered the cart, then John squeezed onto its lower shelf and looked particularly uncomfortable. It was too funny not to immortalize with a picture, so I quickly pulled out my iPhone to snap a picture and managed to capture him just as he gave me the finger. Classic. If all went well, maybe it could end up as next year’s White House Christmas card. Now that we had John situated, Jerasian took hold of the cart.

  “So, where do I take him?” he asked.

  “Good question. How about you go to the back of the kitchen, and we’ll get the minivan and meet you there. Oh, and do you have any shorts in your satchel?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “The S in SEALs stands for sea, and that’s where you and I are going to be.”

  “No problem, I’ve got it,” he said, as he set off and pushed John slowly out the door and past Sandra, who was quietly standing guard.

  “What doesn’t that kid keep in that fucking Satchel?” Corn asked.

  “Condoms, obviously,” I responded.

  Now, I needed to dress Babs so he’d look more like me, and the first critical detail was to replace his fucking Speedos with a pair of my shorts. He followed me into my room, and I found a pair nearly identical to the ones I was wearing. They were black board shorts with blue trim, and Babs went from swishy Frenchman to American beach stud in a little under six and a half seconds.

  “Nice!” I said.

  He didn’t look amused.

  “Maybe I should carry a hotdog around and fart every few minutes in order to truly complete the image,” he said.

  “Excellent idea, and maybe even drip a little mustard on your shirt for good measure.”

  “Yes, though I’d use Grey Poupon, as having even a little bit of France would make it more bearable.”

  “Whatever it takes, Babs. Alrighty then, I believe we’re done here.”

  I grabbed a baseball hat from the dresser and handed it to Babs as we exited my room and joined the others in the lounge.

  “It’s go time!” I said.

  We gathered up everything we would need for our rescue mission, then Matheson senior, Babs, Beeber, and Doug left. I, however, remained behind in my room, as I needed it to appear as though John and I were still here. If I’d walked past Sandra without John, she would have been immediately suspicious about why he stayed behind by himself, and our rescue plan would have been over before it began. That meant I needed another way out, and I walked out onto the deck and looked over the edge to figure out how I was going to get to the ground. I was on the third floor, and while that wasn’t exactly like being on the top of a skyscraper, it was high enough that I could fall and do some serious bodily harm. I therefore needed to be extremely careful.

  I took a breath to steady my nerves then stepped over the rail and lowered myself down until my feet touched the lower deck’s railing. From there, I carefully climbed down and performed the same exact series of moves then dropped down onto the ground level to find it was occupied by a lovely topless brown haired female sunbather. She heard the noise and looked over her shoulder, and I was actually more startled than she was, for it was none other than the attractive brunette from the luau—the one who had called me shitter after my embarrassing bathroom incident.

  “Hello, shitter,” she said, with a smile.

  “Hello, witness to my most demoralizing moment on earth, I hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this,” I said, pun intended.

  She smiled and inexplicably rolled over and sat up, thus exposing her very lovely and very large tan breasts. As if that weren’t already unexpected enough, she opened her legs in a very suggestive manner then placed her feet on the ground on each side of her lounge chair.

  “Not at all. Do y
ou have time for a drink?”

  “Maybe later,” I said, as I exited the small gate that led to the resort’s grassy center courtyard.

  “And don’t worry, I have plenty of toilet paper!” she called out.

  “Good, because I’m bringing poi,” I said.

  I walked around and through the lobby then out to the parking lot, where I joined the others as they waited beside the Rothster. Everyone loaded in, and I drove us around the hotel to the back of the kitchen, where we found John and Jerasian standing beside the garbage dumpsters. Jerasian looked excited, but John appeared ill humored at having been sequestered in such humble circumstances. Oh how the mighty had fallen. They piled in, and off we went on our little scavenger hunt, with my minivan occupied by the oddest rescue team ever to have been assembled in the history of the world. Next stop, Walmart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Scavenger Hunt

  WE HEADED SOUTH towards Honolulu on the Pali Highway until it became Bishop Street, and then we made a right and parked at Walmart. Babs and Matheson senior stayed in the van, while John, Beebs, Doug, Corn, and I headed inside and were greeted by the door person, who did a double take when she saw John. We continued on to our section, and a twenty or so year old male employee asked if we needed any help. I said yes, and he approached us looking rather happy to have a customer.

  “So, what do you need?” he asked.

  “We’re running security for an adult video shoot and need hand held radios with headsets, and if any of them are waterproof it would be even better,” I said.

  The guy raised an eyebrow.

  “Um, waterproof?”

  “Adult movies can get messy if you know what I mean.”

  “Interesting, do you happen to need more security? I’m a film major, so, I’m always up for working on any kind of shoot,” he said.

  “Sadly, we’re already maxed out budget-wise.”

  “Oh well.”

  He turned and led us over to the shelf that held all the various models, and they fortunately had two of the waterproof kind available as well as eight more of the standard. All of them would work with the headsets, so we had settled our communication problem. I also grabbed a bag of extra long cable ties, and we went to the front, and the clerk told us it would be two hundred and forty two dollars and fifty two cents. We all looked at each other, as none of us were sure who was going to pay.

 

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