The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “You’re the man in charge,” I finally said, to John.

  “Yeah, but this is all your idea.”

  “True, but I came up with this plan, so that you can get married and become the most powerful man on earth.”

  “Fine, you cheap asshole. I’ve got it,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

  He ran his card, then we all waited for the transaction to clear. The machine beeped, and the clerk asked if he could see John’s card.

  “Is there a problem?” John asked.

  “No, it’s just standard policy to verify the identity of the cardholder.”

  Apparently, our clerk didn’t recognize the vice president of the United States. Classic. I couldn’t help but smile, and John looked at me and scowled before returning his attention to the clerk.

  “Do you need to see my license to verify my identity?” John asked.

  “No, it’s cool. Your credit card has a picture, so we’re good,” he said, handing it back.

  John signed his name, then the clerk pressed a button, and we all waited for the transaction to finish. When it was done, the clerk glanced at John, except this time I could see a little recognition in his expression.

  “Dude, you look really familiar. Are you famous?”

  John turned and smiled smugly at me before returning his gaze to the clerk.

  “A little,” John responded.

  “You’re the guy from the Viagra commercial, aren’t you!” the clerk blurted out.

  John’s smile faded, and he quietly grabbed the receipt, turned, and headed for the exit, leaving the clerk looking confused.

  “He’s not?” he asked.

  “Him? No, he’s just the vice president of the United States,” I said.

  “Oh well,” the clerk said, sadly.

  As we turned to leave the clerk spoke up.

  “Wait, why’s he buying a bunch of radios?”

  “We’re doing security on a porn shoot.”

  “But, he’s the vice president.”

  “Dude, exactly, so what the hell else is there for him to do?”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  We left Walmart and reentered the Rothster and headed to Helena’s to meet Dave and Johnny. They were already there and coincidentally were sitting one chair away from each other in the waiting area. I told the hostess that we’d need a large table, and she suggested we take the banquet room, which sat just off the main dining area. Our ever growing procession of people walked over and settled in, and I made introductions. Needless to say, Johnny was more than a little surprised when I introduced John. It wasn’t every day that you met the vice president of the United States in an impromptu hostage rescue strategy meeting at a Hawaiian barbecue restaurant.

  The waitress soon came in to take our order, and everyone looked perplexed as to whether or not they should eat. I suggested that it might be our last meal, and that inspired everyone to go with the daily special, and the waitress exited and left us to begin our unusual meeting.

  “Shit, brudda, I had no idea I would be meeting da vice president.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t want to say too much on the phone.”

  “Finn, would you please just tell me what the hell is going on!” Dave said.

  “Yeah, and I’d like to know too,” Johnny said.

  “Alrighty then.”

  I told Dave and Johnny the entire situation and what we were planning, and both listened intently, but Dave was the first to speak—though speak was perhaps too gentle of a term.

  “You fucking asshole! I can’t believe you dragged Violet into more shit,” he said.

  “I totally agree with you there, Dave.”

  “And now you need my help yet again. Man are you an asshole.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that at least twice, and I agree with you, but, Dave, this isn’t about you and me or even your fucking precious Han Job T-shirt.”

  Beeber suddenly butted into the conversation.

  “Hey, I have that same shirt!”

  “Lucky you, as somebody stole mine,” Dave said, gesturing at me.

  “Borrowed, and, either way, Beeber’s statement proves that my earlier claim that I’d bought it on Amazon could have been true, and it also proves that there is indeed another one out there.”

  “Which still doesn’t really change the fact that you were wearing mine.”

  “Dave, seriously. Please forget about the T-Shirt for now. Believe me, I understand that it probably represents something more important—namely your breakup with Violet, and I completely empathize with your feelings, but, right now, it’s time to focus all that angst into rescuing her and the others.”

  He was obviously stressed and using the T-shirt to redirect his anxiety, so I gave him a moment to consider my words, and he appeared placated, which allowed Johnny to enter the conversation.

  “Wait a minute bra. How the hell can I help?” he asked, looking a little confused.

  “I need some diving gear and a boat, but the boat has to look local. It’s important that we blend in. If we go anywhere near that place in something looking too shiny or rented, it’ll be over before it begins.”

  “No problem. My cousin Greg has a boat and dive gear, and he’ll take you.”

  “Well, sweet monkey tits. That’s pretty much most of what we need—aside from some additional firepower.”

  “Actual firepower?”

  “Yeah, and people to pull the triggers, assuming you have any friends who might be willing to join this crazy rescue mission.”

  “No problem der. You bring beer and I could get half de island to help.”

  “Cool, I’ll buy as much beer as you all can drink.”

  “That’s a whole lotta beer,” Johnny said, with a smile.

  “And we’ll need a creative way to get you and your friends onto the estate—preferably by sea, so you can reach the corner boathouse.”

  Johnny smiled.

  “Don’t worry, I got a way—and it’s old school. Real old school.”

  “So, what exactly do you want from me?” Dave asked.

  “Violet said you were a sniper in the Army Rangers, so I was hoping you could take up a position on the ridge above the estate and be our eyes in the sky. From up there, you could cover the entire place and more importantly our asses.”

  “Don’t you think it would be a hell of a lot smarter to just call in the FBI SWAT Team?”

  “It would, but we can’t. Our bad guy knows a lot of people, so we have to keep this operation closer to home. Besides, almost everyone at this table has been to the house and knows the layout. First hand knowledge of your target location is pretty useful.”

  Dave thought a moment and nodded.

  “OK, but just so you know. I don’t have a sniper rifle, nor can I get one on short notice from the Bureau.”

  “No problem, I’ve got one for you, and you’re going to love it.”

  Dave reached up and ran his fingers through his hair and looked troubled, as he was obviously used to doing stuff by the book, and being a part of a rogue rescue operation to free five hostages, one of whom was his ex girlfriend, was a little daunting.

  “Fine, I’m in,” he said.

  “Good, did you scrounge weapons?”

  “Yeah, and you’re fucking lucky as hell. We just got a load from a drug bust, and they haven’t been checked into evidence yet. I’ve got four Glock pistols, an AR-15, and an AU Aug assault rifle.”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  The food arrived, and everyone ate with little or no conversation, as it was time to take in precious calories, reflect, and think about what lay ahead. When we finished, the waitress cleared our plates, then Johnny made a few calls, and it was time to head for Waimanalo. We decided to give Frank’s Estate a wide berth and take the long way, and that meant following Johnny in his Toyota four wheel drive truck all the way along the Pali Highway before turning south and heading down the coast. He pulled over in front of the Blow Hole Bar and w
alked inside then returned a moment later with Lou and Jimmy, who Violet and I had met on our first visit to the bar. While the three talked, I went into the Seven Eleven and bought four twelve packs of beer and loaded it into Johnny’s truck. At that point, Lou and Jimmy jumped in his vehicle, and I took a seat in the Rothster, and off we went to the beach, where we parked near an old boat ramp. The area was fairly crowded with people all enjoying this scenic piece of Oahu, and several hundred feet off shore was a weathered looking fishing boat. It was about thirty feet long and had a small cabin as well as the usual assortment of nets, poles, and fishing tackle. Johnny waved, and a man on the boat waved back then dropped an inflatable raft over the side and came ashore and joined us.

  “This is my cousin Greg,” Johnny said.

  “Nice to meet you all. I hear someone needs a ride.”

  “That would be me and my squire. We need to get onto the old Robin Masters estate.”

  The guy laughed.

  “The old Magnum P.I. set. Yeah, I know that place. I’ve fished down there before. Lots of sharks.”

  “Big ones or little ones?”

  “Both,” he said, with a smile.

  “Do you have enough diving gear for two?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I also do scuba diving tours, so I have plenty of gear on the boat.”

  “Perfect.”

  We took a seat on the beach, and I explained our part of the plan to Greg, Lou, and Jimmy. Johnny also used the time to reveal his unusual water born insertion plan. It turned out that three of our helpers belonged to an outrigger club, and they would be using one of the smaller outrigger canoes to breach the beach.

  “Old School. I totally get it now. That’s fucking awesome,” I said.

  Johnny laughed, but then his demeanor changed, and he looked a little concerned as he spoke.

  “So, dis guy has the wife of the deputy director of the CIA, the fiancée of the vice president, an FBI agent, a CIA officer, and her sister all held as hostages—and all you got for help is us?”

  “Yeah, I know, and I also feel a little sorry for the bad guys.”

  Everyone laughed, and we were officially ready to get the party started, though I noticed that Jerasian had a perplexed look on his face.

  “What is it, junior?” I asked him.

  “Shouldn’t we all have cool codenames?”

  “Sure, any ideas?”

  “I was thinking I could be Rogue.”

  “Not bad, and I’ll be Santa Claus.”

  “Wait, why Santa Claus?” Beeber asked.

  “Because I’ll be bringing my presence to the estate. Get it? Presence spelled with a CE instead an NTS.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  “You’re both stupid, and in order to be less stupid and more cool, the team in the van shall be Trojan Horse,” John said, obviously in honor of Homer’s Odyssey.

  “Cool, and I’ll be Frodo, and Lou and Jimmy can be Peregrin and Took,” Johnny said.

  “I’ll be Captain Ron,” Greg chimed in.

  “Why Captain Ron?” Bieber asked.

  “Hello? The movie starring Kurt Russel and Martin Short?” I responded.

  “Oh, that Captain Ron,” he responded.

  “As if there’s another.”

  I had to admit that Greg just earned style points by choosing a codename that referenced one of my many guilty pleasure movies.

  “Do you have a red Speedo?” I asked, referring to Captain Ron’s outfit of choice in the movie.

  “I do, though I only wear it when I have French tourists out for a diving expedition. It seems to put them at ease.”

  I looked at Babs and smiled, but he returned the gesture by giving me the finger. Apparently, Frenchmen, while having the gall to wear them, still didn’t like being teased about their swimwear. I suppose it was one of the great ironies of being French. Now, everyone had a codename except Dave, so we all looked at him and quietly waited until he relented.

  “OK, fuck it! Call me Zeus.”

  “Zeus? That’s all you could come up with?” I asked.

  “Fuck you, Santa Claus. Are you forgetting we have Trojan Horse, Rogue, and three of the biggest fucking hobbits I’ve ever seen?”

  “Fine, Zeus it is, but why?”

  “Lightening bolts, and I’ll be residing upon my veritable Mount Olympus.”

  I thought a moment and smiled.

  “I take it all back, Dave. It’s a good codename.”

  Done picking codenames, first and foremost, we did a radio check, as communication and timing would be the key to our success. With our radios working and our plans in order, we each left to our assigned posts. John, Corn, Beebs, Babs, and Doug would drive south towards Robin’s Nest then park a short distance away and wait for the signal to go while Johnny and his unusual threesome would leave to pick up some rifles and hit the canoe club just up the beach from Robin’s Nest. Dave would drive south of Frank’s place, park, and then hump it up the hill to find a good sniper spot, and, as usual, I had the toughest job at the moment, but at least I had an assistant, and I was feeling fit and ready for the job.

  Jerasian and I got in the raft with Greg and paddled out to his vessel, and we were soon weighing anchor and heading south. The sun was now hanging low over the western horizon, and the water was fairly smooth and the wind light and coming in from the east as we passed by Bellows Field, whose beaches were mostly empty during the week, as it was reserved for military personnel use only. Next came Waimanalo Beach, and soon I could see Robin’s nest and its tide pool off in the distance. It was time to get ready.

  We put on all our dive gear then lay down on the deck on the outbound side of the boat. We were pretty far out, but we still had to be particularly careful to stay hidden from view on the off chance that they might be using binoculars to watch the boat traffic. Of course, that also meant that Greg had to set up some equipment to make sure he looked like a proper fisherman. To that end, he put out some poles and tackle then sat back and manned the helm while keeping his attention on his equipment rather than us. With everything ready, I relaxed on the deck and took the time to visualize the plan and mentally walk through all the steps. Finished, I reached back and double checked the zipper on my watertight dive bag to make sure that it was properly sealed, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I reached the tide pool.

  Greg told me we were on target, and Jerasian and I gave him a thumbs up then rolled off the side of the boat and submerged as quickly as possible, hopeful that the wake from the boat covered any evidence of our presence. Greg continued on, and the quiet thrumming of his boat’s engine slowly trailed off as we dove ever deeper under water. I reached the bottom at about twenty five feet down, got my bearings, then signaled Jerasian, and we started swimming towards Robin’s Nest. It was always strange to be in the ocean when the light of day was rapidly diminishing, and I wondered if I might have been wiser to have chosen Corn or perhaps even Babs as my swim buddy. Corn had been a Parajumper before becoming Deputy Director of the Agency, but those days were many years and many meals in the past. Babs, to his credit, had been a French naval Commando, but, like Corn, had done a lot of wining and dining since his time in the service, so, ultimately, this all left me here with a rookie in the big, dark blue Pacific Ocean.

  I swam along the bottom and performed regular checks of the surrounding waters, desperately hoping we didn’t run into any Tiger Sharks. Unlike Great Whites, which usually bit people by mistake, Tiger sharks were aggressive and territorial and even more so late in the day when they began hunting for their next meal. Of course, it was getting darker by the moment and our visibility was rapidly diminishing, so, if one decided to attack me, it would strike with such speed that I’d never actually see him coming. I proceeded to try and put those thoughts in the back of my head as I soldiered on and followed the coral, feeling ever grateful that the water was getting shallower. Ten minutes passed, and the setting sun was making it even harder to find
my way, but I at last reached a large open sandy expanse on the ocean floor. I had seen it on the satellite picture, so I knew I was perfectly on course, and, up ahead, I spied the breakwater that surrounded the tide pool. I altered my course ever so slightly left of the large opening, and, upon reaching the rocks, discarded my dive gear then unzipped the waterproof bag and pulled out the contents. Thankfully, everything was dry as a bone, so I pulled out the pistol, checked the action, and chambered a round. So far so good.

  I grabbed the duct tape and some cable ties then zipped up the bag and handed it to Jerasian, who would wait here until I took down the first guard and gave him the all clear. I set off and swam along the breakwater to my right and paused at the opening to scan the beach. On the satellite feed, the beach guard was just this side of the tennis court, but at the moment he was nowhere to be seen. Shit, the sun was now officially below the horizon, and it was creating great swaths of shadow, and any one of them could be inhabited by my target. I waited with my body perfectly still as I meticulously swept my eyes across the beach and used my peripheral vision to search the line of trees and shrubbery. Few people knew that our peripheral vision was actually more sensitive in low light than our main vision, because it hadn’t been burned out by a lifetime of looking into bright lights. On my second pass, I found him crouched under the eve of a tall tree, and he had a pair of binoculars in front of his eyes as he looked out to sea—probably at Greg and his boat. Perfect. We still had the element of surprise.

  I moved ever closer, and my heartbeat became more pronounced as I approached the point of no return. Things were about to get very serious, and fellow humans might die by my hand. I never enjoyed killing, nor did it ever get any easier, but the irony was that I was good at it. When the time came that I needed to pull the trigger to save the lives of the innocent, I did it without hesitation. Bad people came to bad ends, and I had lived with that truth from the time I was a PJ up until my years in the CIA’s Special Activities Division. Of course, I had been removed from that life for some time, but Frank and his men were bad people and therefore deserved a little old school justice.