Half way to Hawaii

by Torben Sonntag

  "Is that all you came to tell me?!" I ask.

  "No. Is Steve here?"

  "Steve..." I say thoughtfully. Does she know something?! "Steve isn’t here."

  "You know, this might sound weird, but is he okay?"

  All right, she knows; and I’m not willing to have this conversation lying in between empty beer bottles on a balcony.

  "Come on, let’s go inside; I'll make us a coffee. Why do you think something might have happened?"

  "First, tell me if anything is wrong. I don’t wanna drag you into something by explaining why I’m asking."

  "Too late..." I reply, shuffling into the living room.

  She doesn’t really know what happened, but suspects something and is obviously worried; otherwise she wouldn’t have come by. While I make coffee, I give her a brief recap on what happened after the party. She seems shocked by the brutality of our attackers, but not surprised by the attack in general.

  Now it’s her turn. I'm excited to hear her story. She drinks her coffee with milk and we sit on the balcony. I quickly clean up by putting all the trash into the empty cooler. Christine doesn’t comment on any of this; not a word about empty bottles, a full ashtray or me passed out on the balcony. This is definitely a plus. Most women would have made a stupid remark. I hate it when girls get upset about such trivialities.

  "Two weeks ago I broke up with my boyfriend. It was nothing really serious. We only went out for a few weeks. He didn’t have much time, so we didn’t see each other very often. His name is Mark. He’s a true gentleman: always attentive, always polite, always a small gift for me, and he always picked up the dinner tab.

  “But gradually his attention decreased, he showed up without a gift and you were disappointed, because you found out he was just an ordinary man. Classic," I guess.

  "Wrong. I slowly began to fall seriously in love with him. So I got curious. I wanted to know how he earns all the money he threw around. And if he’s only temporarily on the islands, or if I can look forward to a future with him, maybe even start a family. Whenever I asked him about his job, he made up excuses. Whenever we met, we went out to eat, or he came to me. I have never been at his place. He said he lived in a villa, but not his own. A company’s estate he’s allowed to use. So he wouldn’t take me there. Once I asked if we should go on like we were, and he suggested he could rent a house in Haiku, so we have a place of our own. I found it all very dubious and slowly got concerned. I was about to fall in love with a man who constantly carried large amounts of cash, but let me know nothing about his job and allegedly lived in a villa that didn’t belong to him.

  When his phone rang, he usually walked away a couple of feet or into another room. Once I overheard him mention the abbreviation ‘AGM-65G.’ I googled it the next day. Do you know what an ‘AGM-65G’ is Tom?"

  Well, I don’t know, but she doesn’t leave enough time for me to answer anyways. After a sip of coffee she continues.

  "It’s a rocket. An air-to-surface missile, fired from a bomber or an F16. It finds its target by an optical guidance system on the ground and pulverizes it with 136 kg of explosives. When I found that out, it was too much for me. I pulled back a few days and didn’t respond to his calls. Somehow it all fit together. Mark is an arms dealer, I'm pretty sure. After a few days, I called him and asked about his job. I threatened to hang up if he didn’t tell me the truth. He started talking without really saying anything, so I mentioned the rocket. After a moment, he explained that he was working for a company that clears minefields for the US Army and disposes of unexploded ordnance devices. What nonsense. Minefields on Maui? Really?! He should have at least been honest! Then I might have let him be my sugar daddy. But he preferred to continue to lie to me. This was too much. I claimed to have a new boyfriend and told him to leave me alone."

  Lost in thought, she pauses in her story. I take the chance for an intermediate question: "So you really think your ex went berserk because of jealousy and started to kill and kidnap people?"

  "No, that would be too much of an honor for me. I let Mark know that I told my new boyfriend everything about his suspected criminal activities and that he would report it to the police if anything happened to me. After the party I got a text message while driving home. I don’t know who sent it. It was probably sent from the Internet. It said ‘Hide! He already got your new boy!’ I drove off the road immediately and was hiding in the rainforest. I wanted to warn Steve, but didn’t know how; I don’t even have his number. A Swiss couple at the beach told me where to find you. It wasn’t easy; I had to be careful not to be seen. Now, after Steve's kidnapping, it’s obvious they’re after me."

  "But why exactly? What do you really know? Can you even be a danger to Mark?"

  "No," sighs Christine: "That's the problem. I don’t know anything and poor Steve knows even less. I didn’t even tell him about Mark. But I got Steve into serious trouble. Tom, my God, if they tried to kill you, what will they do to Steve?"

  There’s probably only one answer to this question, but I don’t dare say it aloud.

  We continue talking for almost two hours. The result is disappointing. Christine is wracked with guilt and rambles on nonsensically. Poor girl is totally worn out.

  My phone rings and Bob asks when our trip to Big Island starts. I had completely forgotten. He and his plane are ready to go. I tell him I'm gonna be with him in twenty minutes and hang up.

  "Christine, you have to keep your head down. Hide yourself in the jungle again. But somehow we have to keep in contact. Is there some way I can reach you?"

  "I threw my cell phone into the ocean and got myself a prepaid card. Only a few friends know the number. Wait, I’ll give it to you..."

  "No," I say, "throw that phone into the ocean as well. Get a new prepaid card. Don’t give this number to anyone - not me and not even your mother! You can call friends, but only if you block the number. Don’t tell a soul where you’re staying. If Mark gets a hold of your number, he can find your phone; nowadays you can easily do that on the Internet. Call me tonight. Then I'll tell you if I found out more. I assume Mark doesn’t know who I am. I’ve just been caught in the crossfire. It was dark and probably no one took a second look at me. To be safe, I'm going to park the Jeep behind the house and drive the Toyota from now on."

  We say goodbye and shortly after I meet Bob and Kiara in front of the plane.

  "Fancy car!" Bob greets me.

  I glance at my rusty Toyota and reply, "I brought it for you! It’s almost as old as you and has excellent power steering."

  Bob picks up on the reference to his plane and replies, "I’ll have to pass. Besides my daughter here, I have nothing to offer in return. And her steering never worked. She does what she wants!"

  "Well, add the plane and the car is yours. But I have to warn you, the radio doesn’t work."

  Kiara gets involved: "The un-steerable daughter is now leaving the bazaar. I hope your flight is more meaningful than your conversation; otherwise today’s page in the history books will remain empty. Bon voyage, you camel traders."

  A few chauvinistic remarks about the loose mouth of today's youth later, we roll towards the runway.

  The takeoff is just like yesterday: from the tarmac almost vertically into the air, one and a quarter rotations along the longitudinal axis to the right into a radical curve, which ends after one and a half rounds, instead of one. Yesterday we flew along the north side; today we head to the south coast, before flying southeast to Big Island.

  Before we fly over Kihei, Kahoolawe, then Lanai, come into view - both very unusual Islands.

  James Dole, the head of the group's eponymous pineapple company, bought Lanai in 1922 for $1.1 million. Shortly thereafter, Lanai became the largest pineapple plantation in the world. Today, one-fifth of the island is still planted with pineapples. There are also two or three luxury golf hotels and large cattle ranches. Much of the island is left untouched and can only be accessed by helicopter or by foot.

  In 201
2, Oracle CEO Larry Ellison bought the island. The exact price is not known, but is estimated to be at least in a three-digit million-dollar range.

  A Hawaiian island of his own - very nice! I wonder if Mr. Ellison has any female descendants my age?

  Kahoolawe is probably the least popular Hawaiian island; maybe even the most unpopular in the world. The highest point is only 1,500 feet above sea level, not high enough to capture clouds in the trade winds. Apart from that, hardly any cloud makes it to Kahoolawe at all, because it sits in the wind shadow of Maui. So most clouds rain empty on Maui and dissolve. Therefore, there was never much fresh water on Kahoolawe, which allows only steppe-like vegetation on the island. In the 18th century, the island was used as a penal colony. Many prisoners died of thirst, unfortunately, which is why some of them, driven by hunger and thirst, tried swimming the 12 km through the ocean to reach the humid and fruitful Maui.

  By the end of the 18th century, a cattle-company leased the island, but the lack of fresh water remained a problem. The cattle grazed the entire island bare and the grass didn’t grow fast enough. In the beginning of the 19th century, there were times of heavy rainfall and the cattle breeding was successful for a while. But the drought returned and in 1941 the cattle company leased the island to the US military. After the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japanese fighter pilots, Hawaii became a strategically important point in the Pacific war. The military declared martial law for the Hawaiian Islands and took over control of Kahoolawe.

  Overgrazed, dry and deemed useless, the small island became a giant target for the American force. The success in the Pacific war depended largely on the accuracy of the large rib guns from battleships and the precision of dropped bombs. Kahoolawe was littered with target dummies and the Navy bombed and fired as hard as they could onto the poor island.

  That's not fair, there are eight larger Hawaiian Islands. One is private property and another is shot to pieces by the military. What about me? Where’s my island?

  After the war, Kahoolawe remained in possession of the military, which further did a number on the island. Hey, you never know when you’re going to need to attack an uninhabited enemy island; plus it’s always good to stay in shape. In addition, new explosives, bombs and rockets were tested and soldiers were trained on Kahoolawe.

  In the 70s, a group for the protection of Kahoolawe got a hearing and filed a complaint to the Federal Court. In the 90s, it got quiet on Kahoolawe - no more bombs or rockets - instead, a plan to clean up the mess. The island was expected to be free of any explosives and rehabilitated by 2003. Whether that actually happened is beyond me. Reason enough to ask Bob.

  "Hey Bob, what's up with Kahoolawe? Is the military still there?" I ask over the radio.

  "A damn shame that is! They should have cleaned up the island almost eight years ago. But they’re still there and there’s no end in sight. Either there were a lot more duds than they thought, or the disarmament company is deliberately delaying things just to fill their pockets!"

  MAN AM I STUPID!!! OF COURSE!!!

  "Bob, Bob, BOB! Fly over Kahoolawe. Now! I want to see the whole coast," I roar into the microphone like some kind of a kook.

  "Scream into the headset like that again and I’ll fly upside down until you fall out of my plane! What's going on? I can’t cross Kahoolawe. It’s a restricted area."

  Suddenly, it all fits together. Measured from the place of the attack, the sea route to Kahoolawe must be slightly shorter or at least no longer than the westerly way around Maui. Even if it’s a little longer, you can be almost certain not to be seen when you pass Maui on the east side. When driving around the West Maui Mountains, you pass Kahului, Kaanapali, Lahaina and Lanai. If you want to remain unobserved, it makes sense, in any case, to circle around Maui on the east side. You just have to pass Hana and there’s, as already mentioned, not much happening.

  This must be the reason the speedboat turned right and that's why we couldn’t find it on Maui's North Shore. Mark didn’t lie to Christine. He might really work for a disarmament company. He never had much time for her, because he’s stationed on Kahoolawe. That explains the speedboat. If you want to keep Steve on Maui, a car would probably have been sufficient.

  I quickly tell Bob about Christine's visit and my latest discovery. He’s not as euphoric as I am and doesn’t quite believe the whole thing, but proposes to fly past Kahoolawe from a distance. Thankfully it’s not a crime to fly south of Kahoolawe on the way to Big Island and pass its north shore on the return flight.

  Kahoolawe is as meager as expected. I guess this is what the steppe in Africa looks like; only here it’s rockier. There’s no significant vegetation, the wind hits unrestrained on the soil and erodes it. Good soil accumulates only in furrows and ditches where small bushes and grass are able to grow. Elsewhere the island is rough and barren; steep cliffs, interrupted by a few small bays with beaches, form the western part of the island.

  Altogether, the island makes a rather uninviting impression. In the south, the relief is flat. The highest point is located on the northern side.

  Here it gets interesting. The harsh relief gets smoother and there are a few beaches. At the southernmost tip I can make out a few buildings and so far the only road on the island. There will probably be some kind of barracks. Unfortunately, we are quite far away. But I'm sure there are no black boats in the turquoise waters of the beach in front of the barracks. A harbor or quay wall can’t be seen. My euphoria slowly fades.

  Now, to keep up appearances, we head towards Big Island, and just happen to fly past Kahoolawe on our way to the main destination. The coast of Big Island no longer interests me. Probably every hotel and diving school owns a boat that fits my description.

  I ask Bob to fly over Kilauea. The volcano has been continuously active for the past 30 years. Until today I had only known molten lava from television. When do you ever get the opportunity to see a volcanic eruption? In the National Park at Kilauea, you can move relatively freely. I’m amazed to see people just a few feet away from the lava streams; tourists photographing themselves in front of the glowing torrents.

  Sometimes I don’t get Americans. On the one hand, there are the safety fanatics from hell. Everything is controlled to the finest detail. I once got thrown out of a club because I was standing next to the dance floor and moved a bit up and down with the beat of the music. With the words "dancing off the dance floor is forbidden!", a doorman rudely grabbed and threw me outside.

  In some clubs, walkways are separated with warning belts. In these "thoroughfares" you aren’t allowed to stop. Even if you meet a friend, you must immediately go on - all for the sake of security, by reason of panic prevention and escape routes and such. We don’t have that in Europe and Europe is definitely more experienced in excessive parties than America. So I once inquired what this is about and just got the answer "federal law.”

  So the federal law governs that I’m not allowed to stand still in a club. But I’m allowed to do somersaults two feet away from a 2,000-degree hot lava flow. I don’t get it!

  The lava flows from the mountain into the sea at several points where it disappears under an impressive column of water vapor in cool water. This must be impressive in the dark! I need to come back at night with a boat. Mind-blowing!

  We turn around and make our way back. Kahoolawe is coming closer and I can see the only road, starting at the barracks on the east side of the island. A few minutes later, I see where it ends: it looks like a bunker, next to a huge crater. Whether it’s the result of explosive tests or of natural origin, I can’t tell from here. Overall, not much to see from this distance. The barracks and bunker complex don’t seem inhabited. Apart from the paved road, a few dirt roads are leading in different directions. An off-road paradise!

  Something around the middle of the island attracts my attention though: in a secluded bay, an object seems to stand on the cliffs. It looks like a small lift crane. The dirt road between the crane and bunker seems to be well traveled. A
moment later, we can see inside the little bay below the crane. My heart skips a beat - I can’t believe it.

  Below the crane, there are two black rubber boats, about 12 feet long, with huge outboard engines. Both boats are moored to a 60-foot long and 15-foot wide floating device. The pontoon is anchored directly below the crane. With the crane, loads or people can be transported to the floating platform.

  Bob is also amazed: "Why do they have a crane here when you can just go five miles south? At the barracks you can load anything into boats without any hassle."

  Good question. Unfortunately we can’t get closer to take a good look around. With a strange feeling in my stomach, we fly back to Maui and touch down 20 minutes later.

  Back on solid ground, Bob asks me what I think of the whole thing.

  "There's something wrong on this island: a crane that no one needs in a bay with hidden speedboats. I'm sure that has something to do with Steve's disappearance. Bob, I’ll get to the bottom of this. I need to go to Kahoolawe.”