T
he resonance of the volcano overwhelmed my senses as soon as the water closed over my head. It thundered like a freight train. It rumbled. It sounded like a living creature, mumbling incoherent incantations one moment, roaring curses and imprecations the next. Much louder than on the surface, it felt as if I had dived into the caldera instead of the sea. I was as immersed in the sound as I was in the Pacific.
The water grew warmer as I swam closer to the shore, and the sea turned sterile. Even the fish had deserted the area. I felt a fool, swimming toward the lava flow. There was no sane reason to be here, other than the lives of Tutu Mae, Donna Wong, James, Charles and the others.
I wondered what had happened to Felix.
It couldn't have been good.
I snorkeled along on the choppy surface, the cool ocean water percolated by the cavitating disruption of Hualalai's lava. The water was so disturbed that the normal visibility had dropped and I could barely make out the bottom. Following the heavy black electrical cables that ran from
Olympia
was difficult from the surface. Twice I had to dive to see which direction they ran from the point where I lost them in the tangle of rocks and coral, but I managed to swim to the place where they disappeared into the rock face.
It looked about thirty feet down, just as Donna had reported. The entrance to the ancient lava tube lay in a pocket below an overhanging wall. The noise of the lava reached a crescendo this close to its entry to the sea. It was so loud I could hardly think, and I could see flashes of orange light just to the north of the cave entrance as the lava pillows exploded. Black rocky shrapnel from detonations littered the coral bottom in front of the cave opening. It would be tricky getting in. I hoped that would be the trickiest part.
Felix had vanished. Remembering his demeanor the first time I met him in San Francisco, I didn't worry about him, knowing that he valued his own hide far more than anything else. The heat and the danger might have been too much for him, and he would have simply fled. There are things you can fight, and there are things you can't. That kind of thinking was forgivable in certain circumstances. What was not was his abandonment of the others.
Certain I had the right place, I put the emergency air supply into my mouth, cleared the mini-regulator, exhaled sharply, kicked my legs straight up into the air, and sank like a stone toward the bottom.
Clearing my sinuses twice before I reached the depth, I hovered only briefly outside the cave, cursing my stupidity at not bringing a flashlight. I must have pictured the entire cave lit up like a mining tunnel, not thinking that the lights would only be used at the location of the dig.
The cables were there, and I could follow them into the cave. That was now my only recourse.
Lava exploded nearby, stinging me with red-hot pellets. It was much closer than it should have been. I rocketed into the cave, hoping the entrance would be there when we wanted to swim out.
I groped blindly through the cave for what seemed like an eternity, keeping toward the top of the tube after I banged my head painfully against a boulder on the bottom. The tunnel was constricted at this end, jumbled with rocks and boulders of jagged lava, and there is no dark on the planet like the darkness of an
underwater cave. I pushed myself into the black hole by sheer will alone, forcing my body to do things my mind absolutely forbid me to do. It may have been only a dozen meters or so, but it felt as though I had crawled like a worm through the darkness all my life. I was one of those pale cave creatures, born to exist in the void, until I came to a bend in the maze and saw the pale glimmer of electric light.
I followed the yellow rays until I swam up into a larger chamber. Off to the side was an obviously carved opening, square cut and chiseled. Inside, the light was brighter.
I swam a little faster and came to a tableau.
Tutu Mae was hovering above a large skeleton. The ancient bones were surrounded by gold and silver artifacts, jeweled candelabras, swords with golden guards and silver inlay, golden crosses, silver chalices, boxes of treasure. I had imagined what it might look like, but seeing it in the reflected glare of camera lights and electrical illumination it was the personification of a childhood dream of pirate treasure. And if that wasn't the skeleton of old King Kamehameha, I had no idea who it could have been.
The others did not see me swim into the chamber.
I grabbed Charles, pointed at Tutu Mae, and signaled for him to take her up. He nodded and gently touched his great grandmother. She turned, startled; her eyes found mine and I pointed toward the roof of the cave and then crossed my throat with the same finger. Charles tugged at her and she did not resist.
Donna and her sisters kept the lights on and the cameras rolling and followed Tutu Mae, as if documenting her presence was somehow important to the experience. James, his arms filled with equipment, brought up the rear. I took one more look around, took in the bones of the giant skeleton, the treasure, the carvings on the tomb wall. It was a find, all right. And Donna had left it all in place. I had to admire her lack of greed. Had I found it first I might have stripped the cave of every valuable before I said anything about it, if I said anything about it at all.
I looked, and didn't touch, and swam out the narrow tunnel toward the open sea.
Outside, the lava was now piling up near the entrance, exploding at regular intervals. The others had made it out. Only James and I remained inside the tube. And both the frequency of the explosions and the volume of molten rock had increased.
I shoved him, and he balked.
My emergency air supply whistled and stopped flowing.
Rapidly cooling lava dripped over the edge of the entrance and piled on the rocky ocean floor in front of us.
James backed away, deeper into the tube.
I shoved him forward. He shoved back, refusing to move.
I willed him to move. He stayed at the mouth of the tunnel, his knuckles white, gripping the rock walls.
Another puddle of lava spilled across the entrance. This time the lava was hotter. The water churned from the catalytic heat. Bubbles streamed from the steaming rocks. I had never seen fire underwater, did not know it was possible, but dull orange flames licked the bottom of the newly minted rocks, and smoke swirled out into the ocean. Water boiled around the rocks. The water at the entrance to the tube grew so heated that it hurt. If we didn't move now, and if we weren't sealed into the cave by the lava, we would be boiled alive.
We had no more time and I had no more air in my lungs. I grabbed James's harness and swam as hard as I could from the tunnel and into the open ocean, dragging him along beside. He was so surprised by my sudden assault he didn't fight me until we were outside of the area of the nearby lava flow, in the relative safety of the sea. And he stopped fighting once we reached open water. He grew eerily calm, and I let him go and we swam to the fractured silver mirror of the ocean's surface above us.
I drew in a deep breath, and immediately regretted it, inhaling a lungful of the thick sulfur fumes that hovered on top of the surface of the water. James surfaced beside me, saw me coughing, handed me his emergency regulator, and together we submerged again, kicking along the bottom until we came to
Olympia
's shadow. We rose slowly together and hung floating in the water, hanging onto the boarding ladder, panting and gagging.
“Hey, you going to get up here before you boil?” Charles peered down at us. “Can I take your equipment?”
We tossed up masks and fins, and James climbed up first, painfully, carefully. Something was wrong, and I didn't see it until he was halfway up the ladder and then I saw the raw, charred flesh of his calf.
“Help him! He's burned!”
Charles appeared from out of nowhere and helped drag his brother on board. I followed him up the ladder.
Donna appeared. “Get the first aid kit!” I told her. “Get us the hell out of here,” I ordered. David cut the cables and goosed the engine.
Olympia
spurted ahead, clearing a coral head, and turned, heading out to sea.
“You going into shock?” I asked James.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“It hurts like hell, but I'll be okay.”
“You'll have a hell of a story to tell. How you spent your summer vacation.”
He closed his eyes.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself, Mr. Caine. I'm just resting.” He put his hand on my arm. “I'm sorry. I just panicked. That lava, the heat ⦠it terrified me.”
“Me too.”
“But we got out of there.”
“We did.”
“You got us out of there.”
“Don't worry. I'm not telling anybody anything.”
He looked at me with Kimo's eyes, nodded once, and closed them.
Donna came with the first aid kit and knelt beside him, her face a mixture of fear and concern.
“Get the antiseptic and the burn ointment. Then get on the radio and see if we can rendezvous with a police launch or Coast Guard. They'll have to get him to a hospital burn unit chop-chop.”
Despite what he told me, he looked like he was going into shock.
“I'll finish here, Donna. Get on that radio.”
She handed me the antiseptic and ran to the cabin.
Charles appeared at my elbow.
“Anything I can do?”
“Stay with him,” I said, standing up. “Elevate his feet. I think he's in shock.”
Charles propped his brother's feet on the railing and sat beside him.
“Cover him,” I ordered. The boy had nothing on but his shirt, and he took it off and covered James's torso. He sat next to his injured brother, alert to any change in his condition.
“Let me know if he gets worse.”
“Sure.”
“Anyone see Felix?”
Charles shook his head. “I was just wondering. He was on lookout outside the cave. Is that why you came?”
“He didn't answer the radio. I thought he was hurt. Or something.” I didn't tell him my real fears.
“He didn't like what we were doing. I didn't think he'd stay.”
I wondered where he'd gone. He couldn't have made it to shore except by swimming all the way around the reef and finding a beach on either the north or south side. And then what would he do? There weren't any beaches along this coast, and damned few of them on the island. Hawaii was too young to produce many beaches, and this side was one of the youngest.
The
youngest now, Hualalai competing with Kilauea to create new land for Pele.
It was, I decided, not my problem. Felix had never been my problem. He was Chawlie's problem. I just never understood why my old friend had insisted on hanging him around my neck on this trip. It made no sense.
“You're bleeding.”
“I know.” I'd lost my bandages in the salt water and my wounds had opened again. No telling what kind of bugs had
entered my body. These tropical waters had sea maggots and other worm larvae, and I wouldn't be surprised if a host of microscopic creatures had taken up residence in my flesh. The doctors would be apoplectic when they learned what I had done. It was a sure bet that I would be back in the hospital. I might even have company, but at least I wouldn't be alone in the world. Hualalai's lava and Madam Pele would have buried my friends in old King Kamehameha's tomb. I could not have lived with that.
I sank down on a stern cushion and let the others carry out my orders.
“You want to raise the sails?” David asked from behind the wheel.
I shook my head, too tired to consider the process. “Keep her under power. Make a course for Kailua Harbor. And see what Donna's raised on the radio.”
I felt exhausted and exhilarated, the adrenaline rush peaking as I sat there, giving me a tingling from the small of my back all the way up my spine to the nape of my neck. It was a familiar feeling. It meant that I had won. We had beaten the odds. We hadn't lost anyone to the volcano. Aside from the missing Felix Chen, we were all aboard and headed toward safe harbor.
Madam Pele, the goddess of fire, the mistress of the underworld, had been good to old John Caine.
It helps to have friends in low places.
T
he Coast Guard plucked James from the deck of the
Olympia
and flew him to the trauma hospital in Hilo, on the far side of the island. Tutu Mae and Charles went with him for moral support and to relay information to the family back home until Kimo and Neolani could get there.
With James on his way for treatment, and Felix among the missing, what remained of the crew motored back and forth off shore, watching the lava pile onto the reef over the cave. We watched the lava advance until it covered the reef completely, pouring molten rock down into the crevices and crannies that had once supported abundant life forms. By the time the sun went down it was obvious to everyone of us that the cave had been sealed. Whatever and whomever was down there would remain. Treasure hunters would have to spend more than it was worth to uncover the rocky tomb, even if they knew the location. If those giant bones were the remains of old King Kamehameha, he would continue to be the Lonely One, secure deep inside the rock of the island that had been his birthplace.
Of Felix there was no sign. It was inconceivable that he had been killed or injured. At the time he disappeared his station was relatively safe. Had something hit him I would have found him. No, he had cut and run. I used the field glasses to search the shore all afternoon, but I saw no sign of him, and I spotted few places
where a swimmer could easily come ashore. But I knew he had made it. I knew he was gone. When, and to where, I did not know. Felix had not wanted to be with us in the first place. He had been drafted by Daniel, forced to come along, told to dive near the volcano without his consent. A free spirit, and an intelligent one at that, he must have resented all of it.
Felix had wanted to work for Chawlie. He must not have thought it all the way through before he found out, too late, that working for Chawlie meant doing things Chawlie's way for as long as it was agreeable to him. The simplest way to disengage from Chawlie's service was to disappear.
That's just what he did.
I didn't understand the kid, but I wished him well. All the same I would have to tell Daniel that I had not been able to hold onto the lad.
I went below for my cell phone.
We sailed into Kailua Harbor at sunset, just one more boat riding at anchorage off the little seaside village. We crowded into the Avon for a quick trip to shore, showering and changing clothes, and finding an agreeable Italian restaurant built like a houseboat directly on top of a seafood restaurant, which was, in turn, constructed atop a dock at the edge of the sea. The outside deck overlooked the harbor. We ate angel hair and Caesar salad, drank four bottles of a light pinot grigio, and topped it all off with one of each from the dessert tray, the meal accompanied by the sound of the gentle surf washing the pebbles on the shore below. We had a quiet celebration, somewhat muted by our concern for James and the disappearance of Felix, but satisfied that what Donna had set out to do had been accomplished. Of the skeleton's identity, we would never be sure. Refusing to take a sample because of her respect for the Hawaiian people's feelings, Donna had sacrificed what could have been the most important find. She disagreed with me when I asked her about it.
“The fact that I have proven that the Spanish reached Hawaii more than a hundred years before any other Europeans is good enough,” she said. “We will have to live with the mystery.”
Legends would grow. She did bring back video and photographs. She had measured and analyzed the bones. There would be speculation enough to last her for the rest of her career.
We agreed to sail
Olympia
back to Honolulu on the morning tide. It would be an easy sail, one that we would remember. Donna called the university, told them that she was coming and what she was bringing back, arranging for a truck to meet the boat and pick up our equipment and supplies. They asked about artifacts.
“Artifacts?” she said into her little cell phone. “Artifacts are nonexistent. We left everything in place.”
Whoever she had called gave her a long speech that made her close her eyes and pinch the skin of her forehead together. “No,” she said after a long pause, “we can't go back and retrieve the artifacts. You'll have to get along with the photographic evidence.”
The treasure would remain hidden where it had been deposited.
And would remain hidden forever.
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It was a peaceful sail home. My last view of Moana Loa was of a long, humped peak jutting through the clouds, barely recognizable in the marine mist. Another giant lay off my starboard. Haleakala, Maui's own massive shield volcano, brooded silently, brown and barren from the sea.
I took us into Pearl Harbor and sailed right into the slip, a neat job, one that can only be accomplished when the winds are perfect. And they were. It was the perfect ending of the perfect day. Donna's university contact met her as promised, and soon her gear was unloaded and the entire crew trudged up the dock and vanished into the evening air. And suddenly I was alone.
It felt good. It was the first time in months that I had been alone on my own boat, with nothing hanging over my head, and no obligations to fulfill. I had done what I'd had to do. I retained my freedom and some of my sanity.
Olympia
needed a lot of work. As I began to feel better I would tackle the small chores,
then the larger jobs, and then the big ones, until she was like new again. A classic wooden-hulled sailing vessel of the thirties,
Olympia
demanded constant attention. The tropics demanded even more. She had been neglected. But I was back now. Injured and hurting, but back, and in one piece. Maintenance would be my therapy. It would be good for
Olympia
and it would be good for me.
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Nothing lasts forever. Peace, whenever I find it, is always one of those fleeting destinations, a mirage that vanishes even as I approach it. So when I find it I celebrate. I opened a bottle of La Crema Pinot Noir and drank half of it, savoring the taste, sitting in my lounge listening to some favorite old CDs and becoming reacquainted with my home. Other people's mana had invaded the place. Their scents and leavings surrounded me. It would take some time, and the investment of my own Mana, to recapture the place. But I was comfortable. And I was home.
I went below, dug into my private stash and came up with a Ramon Allones. Taking it topside, I lit it and accompanied the remains of the La Crema. Evening breezes found me on my aft deck, brightening the end of my first cigar in months.
I was safe.
Until I closed my eyes.
My old bedtime partner, that Vietnamese warrior, returned for his regular visit.
“They're in the wire!”
I heard the call again from that panicked, disembodied voice, the terror and the realization of the man's own mortality manifest in his cry. It might have been the last sentence he ever uttered. I'll never know. It was instantly followed by the chaos of M-16s and AK-47 fire, explosions, the sound of men screaming, the sound of their dying. And in my sector, men started dying in front of me, killed by my hand, dead because of political implications that none of us cared about or fully understood.
I shot the man in the trench, firing from the hip, blowing
away most of his head. The figure crumbled, collapsing into the mud at my feet.
Above me, Felix Chen lunged toward me, armed with a long-bladed bayonet at the tip of an old rifle.
I aimed my carbine at his center mass.
It clicked empty.
The bayonet slid into my chest.
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I started awake, sweat pouring off my body, opened my eyes and looked directly into the face of Felix Chen.
He stood over me, armed with a long Bowie knife. The blade hovered near my throat.
“Don't move!”
I lay absolutely still, watching him, watching the knife.
“Caine?”
“I hear you.”
“I'm going to turn on the light. Don't do anything that might annoy me, okay?”
“That's reasonable,” I said. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my neck from my hairline to dampen the pillow.
Felix took the knife away, but kept it in his hand while he closed the curtains and turned on the cabin light. He wore shorts and a new sweatshirt and carried a small backpack. And that long knife.
“Hello, Felix.”
“Hello, John.”
“You could have knocked.”
He put his finger to his mouth. “I don't think anybody saw me come aboard. You never know who's watching.”
“You could have called.”
“I could not. Your line's tapped.”
“Not my cellular.”
“I forgot your number.”
“Okay, fine. What do you want?”
“I need your help. I have to get to San Francisco. Can this thing make it?”
He saw me glance at my headboard bookcase where I stored the Colt .45. Felix smiled, and wagged his finger at me.
“You never know who your friends are,” I said.
“Just stay away from it.” Felix motioned with the knife. “Come into the lounge.”
I rolled out of my bunk, careful not to get too close to the huge pig sticker he held in his hand. The blade looked to be at least a foot long. “Mind if I put on my shorts?”
“Sure, old man.”
He stepped away as I reached down and picked up my old khaki shorts. The comfortable weight of my new knife told me he hadn't checked them. I watched him as I slipped them on.
“You first,” he said, and followed me into the lounge.
I touched a bench seat and sat down, conscious of the Colt .22 automatic that I kept behind the paperbacks near my right hand. I'd put it there last night, right after I'd cleaned it and reloaded it. Safety on, clocked and locked.
Felix sat across from me, within striking distance of that deadly knife. “Can you take me to California?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I was your bodyguard. I looked after you.”
“Why don't you get on an airplane? You need money?”
“I can always use money, but money won't get me to California. Daniel is after me. He and Chawlie want me dead.”
“Why?”
“You don't want to know, Caine. Just take me to California. I'll be fine then.”
“Chawlie is my friend. Why does he want you dead?”
Felix shook his head.
“You'd better leave,” I said. “I won't take you to California. And if Daniel wants you dead it must have something to do with the attempt on Chawlie's life. Is that it?”
Felix smiled. He looked exhausted, the strain evident in the
way his smile sagged. “You are stupid, Caine,” he said. “I heard stories about how tough and smart you were, but you must have lost it. You sure missed it this time. Nobody wanted to kill Chawlie. He was never the target.”
“What do you mean?” Chawlie had told me the same thing, but I must have forgotten it. Now I remembered.
“Can I trust you?”
“If Daniel knows about you already, you're a dead man. You can't run far enough. Nothing I have to say will save you. Who was the target?”
“Daniel was the main target.”
“Daniel?”
“You know the story of Cain and Abel?”
“Which brother wanted him dead?”
“You can guess.”
“Gilbert?”
“Maybe you aren't so stupid. But it's been all around you for the last six months and you didn't see it.”
And then I did see it, all of it, the vision that I'd had just before the volcano erupted in its one final spasm. I remembered Chawlie's mentioning that the family had been in revolt. And I knew now who he was talking about. “Gilbert wanted Daniel out of the way.”
“Chawlie is making noises like he wants to retire, all those bonsai trees and the meditation garden, and his work with the old Hawaiian woman. He has other interests besides the business. Gilbert is his oldest son. He naturally assumed that Chawlie would leave everything to him.”
“But Chawlie chose Daniel.”
“Right. He's the natural successor, not Gilbert.”
“So Gilbert ⦔
“So Gilbert decided that if something happened to Daniel, Chawlie would have nobody to turn to. Except him.”
“Back in May. You had something to do with that?”
Felix nodded. “Tit for tat,” he said. “Simultaneous revolutions. Gilbert had an idea. My lover and I wanted to take over the
San Francisco Triads. The old men were running them into the ground. No energy. Other interests. Gilbert wanted to take over Honolulu. He set it up over a year ago, just after Chawlie had been so damaged by the woman with the emeralds. Gilbert thought the old man was growing weak and stupid; letting a woman steal that much from him damaged his credibility. When Daniel suddenly rose as the heir apparent, Gilbert contacted my brother, who lived here.”