Sinister Paradise (6 page)

Either way, Nancy knew, she had to fit those puzzle pieces into their proper places. Otherwise, she and her friends might not get out of this alive!

• • •

“Uh-oh! Looks like there's roadwork up ahead,” Nancy announced.

They were heading north to Honolulu's financial
district. Long, low-roofed bungalows from the 1940s flanked the street on either side, a reminder of the days when Paawa had been a suburb of the city.

“How bad is it?” asked Bess.

Nancy stuck her head out the side window. Up ahead, the line of traffic was snaking around a city water department excavation. Propped up against a sawhorse was a huge sign: warning!
EXPLOSIVES IN USE! TURN OFF YOUR RADIO
!

“Slow going, but we'll get there.” Nancy put the car in neutral.

“We should've called George at the bank. Let her know we're coming,” Bess observed. “You know how she hates to be kept waiting.”

Nancy sighed. “It can't be helped. I'm sure she'll understand.”

“What's the next stop after the bank?” asked Ned.

“The Ka Lae apartment house.” Nancy frowned in determination. “I want to see how reliable Boomer's information is.”

The car ahead of them lurched forward. Nancy shifted into gear, then pressed the gas pedal. As their car rolled forward, she checked the dashboard, making certain that their radio was off.

The flagger waved his red banner back and forth. Beside him stood a mammoth pile of black volcanic sand. Halfway up the pile sat a small battery-powered lantern.

Suddenly the lantern's bulb turned bright red.
Nancy spotted it at the same moment the flagger did. Dropping his banner, he made shoving motions at Nancy's car. “Go back! Go back!”

Whonk-whonk-whonk!
A klaxon bleated a deafening tone.

Uttering a cry of alarm, the flagger threw himself on the ground.

Bess blinked in bewilderment. “Nancy, what's going on?”

Nancy shoved the gearshift into reverse just as a fireball erupted from the pit, hurling a shower of debris straight at them!

D
UCK
!” N
ANCY YELLED
.

Covering her head, she leaned against the steering wheel. Ned braced himself behind the glove compartment. Bess plunged down behind the front seat.

The blast wave bounced the car on its springs. Rock fragments spattered the roof and hood, and the stench of burnt TNT permeated the air.

Coughing, Nancy switched off the engine. “Everybody all right?”

Ned got back into his seat. “I'm fine,” he murmured.

“No injuries here,” Bess said. “Nancy, what was
that?
”

The flagger came running, with a police officer right behind. The construction crew stood farther away, jabbering in confusion.

“Are you kids okay?” the cop asked. The name tag above his silver badge read “Pukui.”

“Nobody hurt,” Nancy reported. “Just a little shaken up.”

Hands on his gun belt, Officer Pukui asked, “What happened here?”

“A TNT excavation charge went off,” the flagger said, gesturing at the smoking trench. “Good thing the work crew was on break.” He glanced at Nancy. “Didn't you see the sign? Why didn't you turn off your radio?”

“My radio wasn't on,” Nancy replied.

“It must've been. The charge can't go off by itself!”

“Are you certain of that?” asked Officer Pukui.

“Positive!” The flagger lifted the brim of his safety helmet. “The charge was armed with a radio detonator. If someone comes too close with an FM radio, the signal can set it off.”

Officer Pukui sat behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition key. The engine purred to life. “She's right. The radio wasn't on,” he told the flagger. He turned to Nancy. “Did you leave anything in the trunk? A transistor radio from the beach, maybe?”

“This is a rental car. We haven't even opened the trunk!” Nancy replied.

The cop switched off the ignition. “I'm going
to try something.” He lifted his walkie-talkie from his gun belt and turned it on. Static crackled harshly. His thumb turned the dial. All at once, a pulsing squeal burst out of the speaker. “Something in this car is broadcasting at seventeen hundred and sixty-eight megahertz. That's what set off the TNT,” the officer said grimly.

“Ned, Bess—help me look,” ordered Nancy.

“Got it!” Ned announced after a minute of searching the underside of the seats. He withdrew his hand to show them a small electronic device. The unit was the size of a cigarette case. A tiny operating light on its side glowed green.

“May I?” Nancy took the unit and examined it closely. Two inscriptions were stamped into the black vinyl—one in Japanese, the other in English. The English phrase read “Higashi Electronics, Ltd.—Osaka.”

“What is it?” asked Bess.

“A radio transceiver—a bug,” Officer Pukui said, taking it from Nancy. “Higashi specializes in this miniature stuff. This baby can probably transmit fifty miles.”

Fifty miles, Nancy mused. That would cover all of Oahu!

“I sure hope this wasn't someone's idea of a joke,” the cop said. “Letting you drive around with a live transceiver under your seat. That explosive charge could have killed you
and
a whole lot of innocent bystanders.”

Satisfied that Nancy and her friends were not
at fault, Officer Pukui took their statements and gave them the transceiver. They continued on their way after Nancy had disabled the bug.

As they drove through downtown Honolulu, Ned said, “Nancy, do you think that was done on purpose? Did somebody try to get us blown up?”

Nancy shook her head. “I doubt it. For one thing, they had no way of knowing we would drive by
any
construction site, let alone that one. No, somebody decided to eavesdrop on us.”

“When do you think it was planted?” asked Bess.

“Probably last night. Anybody could have walked by our car in the Ala Wai lot, opened the door, and stuck that thing under the seat.”

Ned cast her a curious sidelong look. “Do you think it might have been someone from the Malihini Corporation?”

“Could be. Or it could just as easily have been the moon-faced man. Or somebody else.” Nancy let out a deep sigh. “All we really know is, someone is awfully interested in what we talk about! Let's go pick up George.”

Her face was grim. Someone was hunting them—that was certain. Some faceless, ruthless enemy was tracking them back and forth across the island.

And Nancy hadn't the slightest idea where that enemy would strike next.

• • •

The Windward Fidelity Bank was a sleek, clean-lined monolith that dominated the business district. After Nancy had parked the car, the three of them dashed across the boulevard and strolled into the airy lobby of the bank.

The tellers' windows were packed with customers, so Nancy tried the loan section. A good-looking young man with chestnut hair was leaning over a calculator at the main desk.

Nancy cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

He looked up and smiled. “Hi! What can I do for you?”

“I'm Nancy Drew.” She gestured at her friends. “Bess Marvin—Ned Nickerson. We'd like to see Mr. Rafferty, please.”

“Oh, of course! You're with George. She's upstairs with the Old Man right now.” Rounding the desk, he extended a welcoming hand. “I'm Jack Showalter, junior accountant.”

“Have you worked here long?” asked Nancy.

“Since June. I just graduated from business school.” Jack picked up his telephone. “Let me call the Old Man for you.”

Jack buzzed Mr. Rafferty's secretary and told her that Nancy had arrived. Then, looking puzzled, he hung up.

“What is it?” Nancy asked.

“Odd. She said he'd be down in person,” Jack replied. “Mr. Rafferty
never
does that!”

Bess pointed at the elevator. The green light
descended the row of numbers. “Here he comes.”

The elevator doors slid open. Nancy found herself staring at an irate middle-aged man in a navy blue pin-striped suit. Ross Rafferty was a slim, vain-looking man, with pudgy jowls and thick auburn hair combed into an unlikely pompadour.

Then Nancy noticed the men in the elevator with him. Big, competent-looking bank guards. They had their guns out.

“That's them!” Ross Rafferty pointed at Nancy. “Place those kids under arrest!”

U
NDER ARREST
?”
ECHOED
Bess.

The bank guards surrounded them.

“Bring the other one,” Ross Rafferty ordered.

A tough-looking guard ushered George out of the elevator. Her eyes blazed furiously as she looked at the banker. “Mr. Rafferty, your hospitality leaves something to be desired.”

Facing him, Nancy said, “Mr. Rafferty, my friends and I were hired to find your stepdaughter.”

“I know who you are.” Mr. Rafferty flexed his shoulders arrogantly. “You private eyes are all alike. This is nothing but a cheap shakedown.”

Nancy blinked in disbelief.

“I know how you people operate,” Rafferty continued. “You've conned poor Alice into thinking you can help. You'll feed her little bits of information—just enough to keep her anxious. Then you'll milk this—this situation—for years!”

Anger colored Nancy's face. “That is untrue—and unfair, Mr. Rafferty!”

“Save your breath!” Rafferty looked highly pleased with himself. “I've got you all now, and I'm going to turn you over to the police!”

Nancy managed to stay calm. “Mr. Rafferty, I intend to find Lisa—with or without your cooperation. Frankly, I'd rather work with you than have to tell Mrs. Faulkner you wouldn't cooperate.” She pointed at Jack Showalter's phone. “So why don't you give her a call and tell her what you think?”

She could see that she had called his bluff. As the leading shareholder in Windward Bancorp, Alice had the power to fire him instantly. Which meant Rafferty didn't dare defy her!

“We'll see about that!” he said huffily.

Nancy watched as he picked up the telephone and dialed the Faulkner estate. “Hello, Alice? Ross Rafferty here. I've captured that girl who was conning you. With your permission, I'll turn this Nancy Drew over to the—”

Ross Rafferty wilted like a balloon with the air leaking out. “But—but—but—!” He sounded like an old motorboat.

“Yes, Alice. Of course, Alice. Good day!” Ross hung up quickly. He pressed a crumpled handkerchief to his lips, then turned to face Nancy and her friends. “Ahem! Perhaps I was a little brusque before.”

He dismissed the bank guards, then told Jack Showalter, “I'd like you to serve as the bank's liaison in this matter.” Turning to Nancy, he said, “Since we have to work together on this, I suppose we should make the best of it.” He spread his hands in mock invitation. “How can I help?”

“I'd like to look at the safety deposit vault, if you don't mind.” Nancy circled the table. “And I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Ross Rafferty led them all downstairs. The vault was as large as a barn, with a huge circular door. Inside, a tall Japanese man was examining some papers. He had iron-gray hair, a bristling mustache, and mournful eyes that reminded Nancy of a basset hound's.

“Nancy, this is Mitsuo Kaimonsaki, the president of the bank.” Ross caught Nancy's questioning glance and explained, “I'm chief executive officer of the company that owns the bank. Mitsuo here is in charge of the day-to-day operations of the bank itself.”

Mr. Kaimonsaki cocked a slim eyebrow. “This is related to the matter of Mrs. Faulkner's grand-daughter?”

“Yes,” Nancy replied. “Mr. Kaimonsaki, did
you suspect anything Friday when you let Lisa into this vault?”