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Authors: Charles Knief

Diamond Head (21 page)

BOOK: Diamond Head
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T
hompson was too busy to notice me scramble aboard. For a moment I nearly lost my grip when the next comber crashed down upon us, sending both boats spinning in the trough. Green frothy water sent me slithering along the slick fiberglass roof of the cabin, nearly washing me overboard until I found a handhold.
When the water cleared I discovered I'd been grasping an edge of the forward hatch. I opened it and jackknifed inside, hauling the inflatable package with me. I landed on the forward bunk. Before the next wave rolled across the deck I shut the hatch and dogged it down tight.
I was aware of a small body lying next to me. Kate lay on her side, tossed in the corner like a discarded rag doll. Her eyes were closed and she was so still and quiet I thought she was dead. I put my ear next to her mouth and listened to shallow, rapid breathing. Her pulse was quick and weak. Her face was the color of oatmeal. When I checked her I found a wet, spongy spot in her skull behind her left ear.
“Kate!”
She didn't move. Whatever was going on in the irreplaceable gray jelly of her brain wasn't registering my voice, or was incapable of answering.
“Kate!”
There was no response. I had seen concussion before. Unless she could get medical attention soon there would never be any response again.
I watched for Thompson and the other man who had been described boarding this boat. Looking through the aft porthole I could see part of Thompson's leg as he struggled with the wheel. Of the other man I could see nothing. He had either been swept overboard by accident or Thompson had eliminated him, further lowering his overhead. It didn't matter. Either way it was only the two of us now. And the sea would play the winner.
I searched the tiny cabin. I'd taken no weapons with me when I jumped other than the little .357 magnum derringer and my Buck Folding Hunter. The derringer had all four barrels loaded. Everything else I owned was aboard Duchess. It began to look like everything I owned would soon be at the bottom of the Pacific.
Water-soaked cardboard boxes were piled on the floor and the settee in the lounge, piled all the way to the overhead. They would be Thompson's master tape library. Other boxes lined the deck. They were more sturdy, made of wood and banded by double metal straps. I tried to lift one and found it almost too heavy for one man. Few common metals have that weight: lead, uranium or gold. I guessed gold. Seven boxes of the stuff were going to the bottom with us, more bounty to be found by some future treasure hunter with an ability to get to eight thousand feet.
Sitting on top of the boxes of gold was a crocodile leather briefcase. It was locked, but it was relatively easy to open with a church key I found in one of the galley drawers. Inside the sodden leather case were many small manila envelopes. Each envelope had an abbreviated script scrawled across it. One said, 2 CT. VVSI. I opened it and found a diamond whose brilliance reflected fire even in the darkened cabin.
There were over a hundred of the little packets. I had no idea what the value of a diamond was, but I knew that one this size, if it was perfect, could be worth more than five thousand dollars a carat. I estimated the value of the briefcase to be close to a million dollars. This was the bulk of Thompson's movable retirement fund. It was perfect for him: small, portable, unreportable and untraceable; better than cash. On impulse I decided to take it along. If it was good for Thompson, it would be even better for me.
Taking the briefcase, I crawled to the forward berth and lifted Kate from her bunk, carefully cradling her head. Her respiration was so quiet I had to put my ear to her mouth again to make certain she still survived. I opened the overhead hatch and maneuvered her onto the deck, keeping low and trying to keep from washing overboard at the same time. Thompson hadn't seen me yet. When he did he would react. I didn't need the complication. Getting off this boat with Kate was my only priority. If I didn't have to deal with Thompson, so much the better. This boat wouldn't last and I'd be happy to let the elements finish the job.
When I had Kate tied off I reached below and grabbed the briefcase. Another wave poured over the bow, pushing us underwater so long I thought the boat had been sucked down for good. The boat's positive buoyancy finally overcame the weight of the sea and rose to the surface again, giving me a chance for a single breath before the next one buried us.
The boat remained under longer with each successive wave. I'd left the hatch open and water was filling the air space below. A few more waves and it would be gone. The next time we were underwater I untied Kate and the briefcase and pulled the D-ring on the life raft. It inflated immediately, but too late to rise above the hull. A fluke caused that wave to be shallow, and the life raft inflated on deck, twisting and trapping the little doughnut of air in the stainless steel deck lines. As I worked to
untangle the steel cables from the raft I heard a hoarse cry. Thompson had seen us.
A bullet struck the deck inches from my leg, nearly taking off my knee. Two more little wasps buzzed by my ear. Galvanized by adrenaline, I placed Kate into the habitable space of the raft, tossed the briefcase in after her, and shoved the raft into the sea. Another shot plunked into the water near the raft before the crest of the next wave washed over us, knocking me off my feet. The raft bobbed away in the turbulence, the wind rapidly pushing it toward Oahu. I grabbed for a handhold but was washed toward the cockpit.
The force of the wave ripped me along the length of the boat, bouncing me between steel stanchions and the cabin wall. I crashed against something solid and was pinned against it by the weight of the water. When it subsided I found myself upside down beneath Thompson's feet.
He would have killed me, but he was entangled in the safety railing. He knew I was there but couldn't get at me. I reached for the derringer in the hip pocket of my shorts but it was gone.
Thompson kicked me in the chin. Stars exploded in my head. His second kick struck my right shoulder. Something collapsed inside, lighting up a fiery agony. My vision dimmed around the edges.
Another wave flooded the cockpit and knocked him back against the railing. I was aware that the boat was settling deeper. Water didn't drain from the scuppers anymore. Now it flowed in from the sea.
Because I was protected by the cabin superstructure I was the first to regain my balance. Thompson saw me on my feet and with a superhuman effort fought against the wave and righted himself. He still held an automatic pistol. He aimed it at my face and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“You! You fuck! You fucked me!” Fury swelled him, making the muscles along his jaw rigid with the emotion. I could
almost smell his anger. He pulled the trigger again, and again nothing happened. He threw the pistol at me. It bounced off my chest.
He had something else to say but I didn't want to hear it. In a single, practiced motion my hand went into the right front pocket of my shorts and brought out the Buck knife. A flick of the wrist locked the blade in place as my hand was rising toward him. Before Thompson could react I stabbed him in the solar plexus, just under the rib cage, up through the heart, pushing the blade all the way to the brass pommel. He was dead before I withdrew the knife and the next wave washed him away and he was gone, vanished as if he'd never been.
As I stood there watching for sign of Thompson, the biggest wave yet rose before the bow of the little sloop. It was twice the height of the aluminum mast. When the boat rolled nearly vertical I made an instant decision. I reached into a cockpit locker, grabbed two life vests and dove into the water. I got four strokes away before the wave broke and the world was transformed into white, pounding turbulence.
I tumbled inside the maelstrom until it subsided and I could surface. Unlike Thompson's boat I'd been near the top of the swell when it broke and my natural buoyancy had been aided by the vests. The boat's positive buoyancy had been almost zero when the wave broke over it, and it remained toward the bottom of the trough.
This time it didn't come back and I was alone in the middle of the mountains of the sea.
A Sea King helicopter picked me up about noon. Max found me by triangulating the little transmitting beacon he'd given me the night before. Conditions were calmer. The hurricane had shifted again and was heading west, toward Wake Island. Local conditions had been downgraded to tropical storm intensities.
Aboard the helicopter I learned that Kate had been picked up earlier by the coast guard and had been rushed to Queens
Medical Center for an emergency operation to relieve the mounting pressure of a massive traumatic cerebral hemorrhage. I refused to cooperate with anyone until I knew her condition and then I became an immense pain in the ass until they took me to Queens. Max ran interference with law enforcement while I waited.
We were still there five hours later when the big policeman who frisked me at Kelly's that first day I met Kate came into the room and told me to come with him. Max blocked access and I thought there would be a fight until the policeman, whose name I learned was Kimo Kahanamoku, relented.
“She's not comin' back, Mr. Caine,” he said. “Doctor told me a few minutes ago. They did all they could do. They couldn't do nothin'.”
It was like being hit in the chest with a fist. Max put his arms around me and pulled me tightly into an embrace. “It's over, John,” he said.
The room lights dimmed, gone blurry by water that suddenly filled my eyes. I nodded absently, thinking of the little time we'd spent together. There wouldn't be a chance to see her again, to feel her touch, hold her hand, smell her hair or feel her breath on my neck and her body against mine. All the solid, powerful essence of her was gone. There wouldn't even be a chance to say goodbye. She was gone. We have so little time here and there's such a long, long time afterward. Like forever. I wanted us to have more. I wasn't ready to lose her.
And I was suddenly ashamed of myself. It wasn't just my loss. It was also hers. Kate didn't want to die. It was not her intention to slide off into that uncertain blackness alone. She'd wanted to live, too.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it's over.”
“You gonna come with me now?”
“I don't think so,” said Max. “He's already in federal custody. Mr. Caine won't be going anywhere.”
Kahanamoku nodded. “We thought you'd say that,” he said. “There's a federal judge who's issued a warrant. That means he's coming with me.”
Max looked at his watch. “How old is that warrant?”
The big policeman shook his head. “I dunno. Couple hours. Why?”
“Check with the judge. See if it's been canceled.”
There was a brief staring contest. Neither man was accustomed to bluffing. Each man saw that in the other. Kahanamoku nodded. “I'll check. You two wait here.”
Max put his arm around my shoulders. “We'll be here, Lieutenant, when you get back. You can bet on it.”
 
 
T
hey say that no good deed goes unpunished. A corollary to that should be: The greater the good, the harsher the punishment. I'd gambled almost everything and lost everything I'd gambled, but in the end I'd succeeded, to a point, and that point meant everything. Admiral MacGruder's reputation and that of his daughter remained intact and her killer had been quietly punished. Evidence of Mary MacGruder's disintegration had either burned or gone to the bottom of the Pacific.
Thompson spoke of winners and losers. He'd lost, I'd won, although the difference between the two of us was mere survival. That being the case, then Kate had lost, too, and I'd lost Kate. The Pyrrhic cost of my success was something I was not yet ready to contemplate too closely. I'd lost the one thing that meant anything to me in this whole event. Maybe, in the end, survival was the only thing that really mattered.
Numb from the sheer magnitude of the loss, I plodded through the next few days, facing whatever happened. The experience was not all that new to me. I'd been here before. If survival were to be my only reward, then surviving each day seemed wholly appropriate. To mark the time I started a beard, a measure of my days of confinement.
There were many questions to be answered, many questions
from many people from many different agencies, because there was, as one investigator put it, a basic question of jurisdiction. Kimo Kahanamoku, the Honolulu police detective, took a special interest in my interrogation and after a silent, internecine struggle between the relevant law enforcement agencies I understood he finally had the lead in the combined investigations.
Someone arranged temporary accommodation for me in transient officer's quarters at Makalapa. It didn't shelter me from law enforcement but it did keep the media types away. I wasn't officially under arrest, but it was clear that I wasn't supposed to leave the CINCPAC compound, either. That wasn't a problem. I had nowhere to go and no way to get there. I was provided unmarked utilities to wear. From my window I could see a portion of the little marina that had been my home for over a decade. It might as well have been a photograph of a Martian landscape. I couldn't go there, and had I been able to leave the base there was nothing to go to. I spent my days speaking to detectives and federal investigators, and I passed my nights staring at the ceiling and thinking of Kate, thinking about what would have happened if …
If
is a terrible word.
A week after Kate died, Kimo came to my quarters. He brought me civilian clothes, pants and shoes and a loud Hawaiian shirt and tersely told me to put them on. I dressed while he watched, followed him to his car, and allowed him to drive me to the InterIsland Terminal at Honolulu Airport. We flew in a tiny Aloha Airlines prop plane to Princeville on the north shore of Kauai. He said little. During most of the flight he stared mutely out the porthole at the ocean below.
It was one of those breathtaking, spectacular Hawaiian days of sunshine and warm breezes, the kind of day pictured in hotel brochures and sugar cane commercials. We were met at the airport by a large Hawaiian man wearing ratty shorts and a clean white dress shirt. He was barefoot and heavily bearded, and what was visible of his face, arms and legs was decorated
with crude tattoos. His graying black hair hung nearly to his waist. He gave us open-ended leis made from aromatic maile leaves, draping them around our necks in a solemn ceremony. He gave Kimo a bear hug and gently shook my hand, as if he were aware of my injuries. He knew my name and introduced himself simply as Ed. Ed had an ancient green pickup parked in the lot. I crawled in between the two giants and we headed west on the two-lane highway toward Hanalei.
“Your name is Caine,” Ed said. He had a deep rumbling voice that matched his bulk, a voice that carried a kind of natural authority. Ed was used to talking and having other people listen. I guessed his age at around fifty, but he had seen a lot of sun and a lot of living and he looked at least a decade older. “You know the Bible?”
I nodded, understanding the reference.
“Cain was a farmer. He tilled the soil until his brother tried to take it away from him. Do you know this passage?”
“I've read it.”
“Ah, a reader. Then you know that Cain killed his brother, Abel. He was cursed by God to wander the earth forever. He was the man who was closest to the earth, and his punishment was never to have a home of his own. Is that you, Caine? Did you kill your brother? Is that why you're cursed?”
“I never had a brother.”
“All men are brothers.”
I'd heard people talk about my name before, as if it had some significance. I was descended from Welsh-English stock who came to America in the late nineteenth century. The name had existed for as long as anyone in the family could remember. I was the last of the line. My parents were dead and I'd had no children. I glanced at Kimo. He was looking out the window.
“Kane,”
Ed said. He pronounced it Kah-nay, accenting the first syllable. “That's the Hawaiian language. Do you know what
kane
means?”
“It means ‘man,'” I said.
“You're right. Kane was the basic man. Kind of like a Hawaiian Adam. Not all Caines are bad, you know. You are not an evil man. I can see that. You may have done bad things, but you're not a bad man.”
“Thank you.”
“Kimo tells me you saved Kate Alapai. Is that right?”
“I tried. If I were faster or smarter I would have succeeded.”
“You sailed into a hurricane and took her away from an evil man.”
“I didn't save her life.”
“You did everything you could. Kimo and I thought you should attend my sister's memorial service.”
I looked at Kimo again. He did not look in my direction.
“Your sister.”
“Kimo is my best friend. He is also my cousin. His mother's sister was my uncle's sister on my mother's side. We are not really related, but we're close. My family name is Alapai. Do you know the significance of that?”
“No.”
“It is from Alapa. The Alapa Guard were King Kamehameha's personal bodyguard. They were chosen from the largest and the most fierce warriors he could find. We three are direct descendants, some of the only ones left. What Kate lacked in big, she made up in fierce. She was a warrior, as you are a warrior. You would have been well matched.”
“She told you about me.”
Alapai nodded. “As did Kimo. He looked after Kate. We are a close family, and she spoke about the two of you. She thought you might have had a future, even though you disappointed her when you took off on your own. But even that she understood.”
Kimo shook his head. “I had less than five minutes to speak with her when
Pele
came up empty. She knew you had another
agenda, and she told me she would have been disappointed if you'd done anything else.” I noticed that once he approved of me, Kimo's pidgin disappeared.
Ed Alapai said, “Kimo says you have friends in high places. He received a visit from a very interesting gentleman. An admiral in the United States Navy.”
“He was accompanied by a very senior noncommissioned officer,” said Kimo. “A man you know.”
“Max.”
“Yes. Senior Chief Maximilian White. They both told me some things that helped your case.”
“My case.”
Kimo nodded. “The coast guard wanted to charge you with piracy. That's still a capital offense. Then the alphabet soup agencies wanted to charge you with a variety of crimes that would have landed your ass in a federal penitentiary for the rest of your natural life. I wanted to hang you for murder, but I found myself at the back of the line. For a while.
“Your friends let me know some of the facts. I didn't know everything Kate was working on. I was her supervisor and I didn't know how deeply she was into this case, or the extent of the damage. She and Captain Yoshida knew things that they didn't share. When they died, well, it just wasn't there anymore.
“You helped put down one real bad man. We solved over thirty murders and missing persons. All little girls. The admiral told me some of the details. In the end it was decided that you saved the taxpayers the cost of a trial. It helped that the admiral spoke for you, though.”
“Is that an understatement?”
The big policeman nodded. “Yeah. That's an understatement. But what helped you the most was the United States Attorney said you'd most likely walk if you went to trial. Did you know that Thompson tried to blackmail MacGruder?”
“He bragged about it.”
“That's when your friend, the chief, got involved. He went to you and asked your help.” Kimo was silent for a moment. “You go back a long way.” It was a declaration. When I was silent he continued. “Back to Vietnam?”
“Yes.”
“Always a SEAL?”
“Yes.”
“You're a real hard case, aren't you?”
“Not anymore,” I said.
“Yeah, well, maybe you get over it.”
“I liked Kate.”
“Liked? She was in love with you, man. That's why you're here. You were someone she could trust. Do you know how rare that was for her?”
“And I couldn't save her.”
“Don't beat yourself up, Caine,” said Alapai. “She knew the risks. You brought her back. She would have been lost from us forever.”
The truck bounced off the paved road onto a red dirt track across a field of grass. A small group of people were gathered in the field near the edge of a cliff. Beyond was the Pacific, its calm blue surface showing no trace of the storm. A warm, gentle breeze blew in from the sea, carrying the scent of salt and kiawe and the tangy smell of passion fruit.
The truck stopped near the other cars, a collection of ancient local transportation. We got out and walked toward the assembly of men and women and children. They looked like an extended family, and I realized that was exactly what they were. They were dressed in casual clothes, old shorts like Ed Alapai's or lightweight trousers. Tees and short-sleeved shirts predominated. Mine was the only Hawaiian shirt, I wore the only shoes and I was the only haole, the only outsider.
The service was brief. Ed Alapai said a few words, and
chanted an ancient chant that seemed to come directly from the days of King Kamehameha. He sang it first in English and then in Hawaiian. I remembered a few details about a tiger shark, resting without fear and a girl with flashing eyes and a restless, questing gaze. The girl was Mary MacGruder. She was Kate. She was all the little girls who'd been abused and then murdered. I didn't retain any more of the chant. Tears stung my eyes. There was no tune, but Alapai's passion made me feel his loss, and mine. For a short time we were all brothers and I was a part of the family.
Kimo had brought Kate's ashes in a small box and when the breeze changed, sprinkled them from the top of the cliff where they scattered over the ocean. In a few moments the mortal remains of the woman who had briefly loved me were merged with the earth.
When all the others were gone Kimo Kahanamoku, Ed Alapai and I stood on the edge of the cliff. Bright clouds scudded across the horizon in neat formations with dark, flat bottoms and white, billowy tops. A lone albatross fluttered in from the open ocean, saw us standing near its nest and fled.
“Kate had something with her when the coast guard picked her up. Do you know anything about that?” Kimo watched the albatross attempt another landing. She seemed desperate to get to her nest, but she was not brave enough to challenge us. He smiled and walked away from the edge of the cliff.
“A briefcase.”
When we were a distance from her nest, the albatross landed and scurried across the tall grass toward her chicks.
“It wasn't Kate's. Was it yours?”
“I guess so.”
“You guess so. Can you describe it?”
“Brown leather. Alligator.”
Kimo nodded. “Not crocodile?”
“That's illegal.”
He smiled. “Alligator. Okay. You're sure it's yours.”
“Yes.”
“You left another briefcase at her apartment. That's yours, too?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, it had your wallet in it. When we get back you can have them. Both of them.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Call it whatever you want. When we get back you're free to go.”
“No charges?”
“None. You did us some favors. Why bring up stuff that should remain buried?”
“You may come back.” Ed Alapai put his hand on my shoulder. “I live on Anahola Mountain. There is a
heiau
up there that needs attention. You can weed taro. Let your soul heal. It's been wounded, same as you.” He pointed to my broken shoulder and the burns on my face and hands. “I know you will not stay forever, but you must rest awhile before you go on. A warrior must rest sometime.”
BOOK: Diamond Head
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