Half way to Hawaii

by Torben Sonntag

  "So Christine used me as a human shield."

  "Don’t be too hard on her," I say. "She didn’t realize what Andrews is capable of. The evening with you just happened; she didn’t plan it. Otherwise she wouldn‘t have come to me; that was putting herself in danger. Without Christine, I would never have thought about searching for you on Kahoolawe. If she hadn’t given me any advice, you’d soon be disappearing between Hawaii and South America."

  I spend the rest of the evening telling Steve about my attempts to find him, about Bob and Kiara and everything I've seen on Kahoolawe.

  We fall asleep on the beach. My body is tired after a hard day, and the beer shuts down my brain. I sleep deep and dream wild. But then again, I always have wild dreams.

  Tonight I'm on board a jumbo jet that gets hijacked by terrorists. After some fighting, the pilots and all the hijackers, except one, are dead. The last kidnapper loses consciousness after he trips over one of my feet and my other foot gets swiftly delivered into his face.

  I rush into the cockpit and send an SOS over the radio. After a while, another plane responds. The pilot explains how the controller is set up in front of me and what I need to do. Shortly after, I find myself with a packed Boeing 747 on approach to an airport. Just as the machine touches down on the runway, someone chokes me from behind: revenge for the footprint I left on his forehead. I grab a small fire extinguisher from under my seat and smash it into his face.

  It’s quiet once again and the guy lies unconscious in the hallway. However, during the attack I didn’t get around to actually braking and, on top of that, we’ve veered off the runway. We race unrestrained towards the terminal. I engage the reverse thrust and give full throttle. The turbines roar and everything that’s not nailed down flies forward. Although I’m pushing the wheel brakes with all my might, we can’t stop in time. The nose of the jet crashes through the front of the terminal. Glass shatters and shards fly everywhere. Not until the wings also collide with the building, does the jumbo stop abruptly. The police storm the aircraft, and the nightmare is over.

  I wake up and need a moment before I realize where I am. Grinning, I think: "Magnificent. Anyone who dreams like me never needs to go to the movies," then fall back asleep.

  We wake up early, go for a swim and drive to Lahaina. After a hearty breakfast, we check into a hotel using a false name and pay cash and up front.

  On the balcony, we enjoy the anonymity a large hotel complex provides. For me, it’s puzzling why people spend their holiday here. Many come here, voluntarily cram into an ugly high-rise with thousands of other people to spend two weeks at the pool. They don’t see anything of the wonderful island, except maybe a few attractions during a guided tour in an air-conditioned bus. So be it, it also has its good side: at least the beautiful beaches remain empty, and most of the island stays untouched by mass tourism.

  "What do we do now?" Steve asks.

  "If I only knew! Most of all I’d like to just walk away from all this shit and continue to have a nice holiday. But the guys over there on Kahoolawe are extremely dangerous and we know enough to properly piss them off. They can’t afford to just let us go on our way."

  "I agree. We should go to the police."

  "Oh, you know," I reply, "the police on Maui will send five cars with lights flashing to a disturbance of the peace like a bunch of teenagers barbecuing in the yard. Maybe I'm underestimating them, but I think this is too big for them. Even if they get help from Honolulu, how can we even get them to believe us? Sure, we can prove we’ve been on Kahoolawe, but Andrews and his men will deny everything and it’ll be his word against ours. The testimony of two foreign tourists against the testimony of twenty US military."

  "You’re right! Even if we’re lucky, we’ll still be imprisoned for unauthorized entry into a restricted military area or even grand theft. After all, they are missing a speedboat."

  "We need evidence," I think aloud. "One of Bob's friends is a big shot in the army. Once we know what's going on and have evidence, we can meet with him and fill him in. But where do we start?”

  "Hmm. We could stake out Kahoolawe and try to find out more about the freighter."

  "And how do you want to go about doing that? Paddle over again and spend a few days sitting on top of the mountain with binoculars? "I ask.

  "Definitely not. Wild horses could not drag me back to that island. But we can monitor Kahoolawe from Haleakala; either from the top of the crater or from somewhere in Kula."

  "Good idea! Let’s do it. Get yourself a different rental car each day, and put it under a false name. Don’t stay at the same place too long, drive around all day on Haleakala and keep checking out what's going on at Kahoolawe. Maybe buy a video camera with a good zoom. We need to focus on the bay with the speedboats. Sorry, the speedboat; they only have one now. I want to know what happens when the legendary freighter arrives in a few days and where it docks."

  "Wait a second! Sounds like a good start, but what’s your part in all this?"

  "I'll take care of the second part of your proposal."

  "Excuse me?" Asks Steve.

  "I need your passport and ID from Singapore Airlines."

  "You want my passport and pilot's license? Are you insane? What for?"

  “Steve, my friend, I’ll travel to Shanghai and try to find out something about this freighter of theirs. Since Andrews can see who’s coming to the island, he might also be able to control who’s leaving. If he has the chance, he’ll scan the airline passenger lists. I'll make sure your name is on such a list. That way you’ll be out of the line of fire. No one will be looking for you on Maui, so you can move about more freely.

  Let's see if I might even be able to set a trap for the boys. It's time to turn the tables and add a few of our own new rules to this game."

  For the next three hours, we put our heads together and devise a plan. In the afternoon we buy two HD video cameras with 50x optical zoom, a waterproof case, two matching stands, some spare batteries and six prepaid phones.

  After our work is done, we go surfing in Launiupoko Beach Park. The waves are not very big, but clean. On the water I chat with other surfers and ride off on a wave from time to time; I block out everything around me. We stay in the water until sunset. Shortly afterwards, we sit on the beach drinking an aloha beer. An aloha beer is one you drink watching the sunset at the beach. In South Africa, they call it a “Sundowner.” It’s only meant for relaxation and by no means to get you drunk. I look out at the Pacific, and for a few moments I’m totally relaxed.

  The next day, I go to Paia and book a flight to Shanghai on Steve's behalf. I also make a reservation for a hotel room, including shuttle service from the airport. I pay for both using Steve’s credit card. Except for the wounded Joe, none of our opponents know what I look like, so I can move about freely on Maui. Steve has to be more careful; they are dead set on finding him.

  On the way back to my car, a really good-looking girl attracts my attention. She’s working in a sunglass shop. I stop and watch through the window for a while. It suddenly dawns on me: I actually do need sunglasses!

  So I enter the store and look around for a bit. Since I’m the only customer, we start chatting.

  No glasses truly fit on my crooked nose. If the lens is touching my right cheek, there’s still a gap of almost an inch. My face just wasn’t made for glasses – it’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Before coming here, I tried to buy a pair of sunglasses in my hometown Kiel. After an hour, the salesman broke down saying: "Mr. Heuser, let’s stop this; there’s simply nothing in my store that fits your face.”

  Of course I tell the pretty salesgirl this anecdote and offer a challenge to her: find a pair of glasses that fits me in less than half an hour, and I'll buy it!

  It’s no easy task. I try on different models, she bends an earpiece here and a nose bridge there, and she also fires some female charm into the sales conversation. Twenty minutes later, three pairs of glasses lie on the counter that at
least don’t make me look totally shitty.

  "I’d say you won the bet," I admit.

  "Very nice - which ones would you like?"

  "Since I almost never find glasses that fit, I figure I should buy all three of them!"

  Beaming with joy, she goes to her till.

  "You have an exclusive taste. That comes to $1,564 altogether, but let’s make it an even $1,500."

  "Oh, price is no object," I say haughtily and hand over Steve's credit card with a wide smile on my face.

  For our plan to work, it’s not absolutely necessary to use Steve’s card so much, but it doesn’t hurt either. And in case one of the pairs look good on Steve, I’ll give it to him as a present.

  Once outside, I’m curious to see how much each of the glasses cost. I take the receipt out of the bag and check. There’s something written with a ballpoint pen on top of the receipt: "575-4932," the pretty salesgirl’s number. I won’t call her, but it's nice to know I’ve still got the touch.

  In a good mood, I put on the sunglasses and a drive up Baldwin Avenue to Makawao. I lived here for half a year when I finished school and the general store is a mecca for people like me.

  It’s actually more of a take-out restaurant than a supermarket. There’s hot and cold food, all sorts of sandwiches, sushi, Thai, Chinese, Italian, Mexican and many other treats I can connect neither a country nor a continent to. Paradise!

  I buy some lasagna, sushi, sashimi, chicken wings, chocolate donuts and a six-pack of cold Coca Cola.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pass by Kula and the crossroad that leads off to the Haleakala Crater. I don’t turn, but keep straight on the road, following the Kula Highway. If you stay on this road, you end up in Hana. Part of the way is only approved for four-wheel-drive vehicles, which has always been a mystery to me. I tried the route 15 years ago with a regular old rental car and had no problems.

  Kula is located 3,000 feet above sea level and offers a breathtaking view of Maui; you see the north shore on the right-hand side and the south coast on the left.

  Two miles beyond the village, I park on the gravel strip next to the road and call Steve's prepaid cell phone by using my own new prepaid phone.

  "The name’s Bond, James Bond!" he answers.

  "Man, you’re quick," I laugh.

  "An anonymous prepaid phone, and only one person in the world knows my number. Don’t you also feel like a secret agent?" asks Steve.

  "I didn’t know this fascinated you so much. If you want, we can buy prepaid phones on every holiday from now on. Where are you?"

  "Somewhere behind Kula on one of those scenic view parking lots. I have to admit: the view is very nice indeed."

  "Okay, I’ll be right there," I hang up and start the engine. Two minutes later, I reach the parking lot. To my surprise, Steve is not leaning against a car, but on a motorcycle.

  "I didn’t know you had a motorcycle license," I say in amazement.

  "I don’t; but the rental agency doesn’t know that. The old German driver’s license is too much for them to deal with; no wonder, since there’s no English on it. I’m actually only allowed to drive mopeds up to 80 CCs, like anyone with a class 3 license. At the agency, I just told them I’m allowed to ride anything over 80 CCs."

  "You sly dog. But why do you even want to ride a motorcycle?"

  "For one, a bike is quick and agile. Secondly, I’m wearing a helmet while driving, which comes in handy if some killers are looking for you."

  "Absolutely. Have you found a spot?"

  "I guess so."

  We climb onto the bike and ride off. After a few miles, we turn onto a dirt road and stop after a few hundred yards next to a bush.

  Steve removes an HD camera, complete with tripod and waterproof case, from the backpack. We put it together, aim it at Kahoolawe and set it so that it takes a picture every 30 seconds. We are especially interested in the east coast of the island, because it can only be seen from the uninhabited south side of Maui. On the east coast of Kahoolawe, you can basically do whatever you want without anybody noticing. Theoretically, even a freighter could anchor there unnoticed.

  Steve keeps Kahoolawe under surveillance, but can’t keep watch 24 hours a day. The camera won’t provide us with all the details, but it’ll give us a good idea of what’s going on.

  Back at the parking lot, we take care of the goodies from the general store and enjoy the view. After lunch, Steve arms himself with binoculars and the other camera and heads off on his first observation post of the day.

  I swing myself behind the wheel and drive to the airport. As hoped, I find Bob at his plane. After the reunion, I update him on the events of the last few days and give him a prepaid cell phone. In the phone’s memory are only two numbers: Steve’s and mine.

  Afterwards, I go to the beach and meet the two Swiss. No surprise to find them so easily; they’re pretty much part of the inventory here. I tell them I accidentally got dragged into a bit of a mess, but can only tell the whole story once it's all over. They also get a cell phone and agree to let me know if anyone on the beach asks for us.

  Originally, I intended to give Dave, my landlord, a cell phone as well. But he’s not the type to be content with weak excuses. Naturally, I can’t tell him that there are a bunch of villains after me. Then he could, not entirely unjustified, get scared and go to the police. Right now I want to keep the police out of this. Also, it’s better for him and his wife if they don’t know anything: Andrews could visit them and ask questions.

  Suddenly it occurs to me that Christine and I planned to get in contact every evening. On Kahoolawe my phone was switched off. Last time we spoke on the phone was three days ago.

  I leave the road behind "Mama's Fish House," sit down at the beach and turn on my iPhone. Shortly after it has connected with a network, several messages arrive. Almost all of them are missed calls from an American mobile number.

  This is the one weakness of anonymous callers: even if the number isn’t displayed when ringing, the receiver still gets an SMS with the person’s phone number if the call isn’t connected.

  With the phone I intended to give Dave, I call back the number specified in the SMS. After a few rings, Christine answers: "Hello?"

  Funny, in the GDR, everyone answers the phone with a simple "Hello." Even today, more than twenty years after the wall came down, many people in democratic Germany still don’t answer the phone with their name, but with an anonymous "Hello." I wonder whether this is in some way related to the permanent fear of being spied on?

  "It's me," I say.

  "Finally! I'm so relieved! I couldn’t reach you for two days! Did anything happen to you?"

  "I'll tell you in person. Can you be where the highest waves break in 15 minutes?"

  "Yes," she replies.

  The highest waves break at a place called “Jaws.” Even a non-surfer can easily find that out. But where exactly Jaws is, is not as easy to discover. Locals call it “Peahi Bay,” and that’s the name you’ll actually find it under on the road map. There you’ll find the highest waves in Hawaii, maybe even in the world. In order to keep amateurs away - who would kill themselves in the seamounts - and to keep the place a private playground for the world's top windsurfers and surfers, nobody reveals the exact location of Jaws. Of course, it was impossible to keep the place completely secret and nowadays there are a few hundred spectators there when a high swell hits the island. Nevertheless, the circle of people who know the exact location of Jaws, is still quite manageable.

  If Andrews is bugging Christine’s phone, he’d first have to quickly find out the exact location of Jaws and also get there in no time. By then, we should be long gone.

  After the call, I remove the battery from the phone and throw the phone into the sea. I dispose of the battery in a trashcan. Better safe than sorry, even if Andrews has listened to this conversation and got my number, it doesn’t help him anymore. He can’t track me now.

  To get to Jaws, you have to turn left behind th
e Valley Isle Memorial Park into the pineapple fields. I have little faith in my Toyota’s off-road capability, so I wait for Christine shortly after leaving the main road. This way, we won’t actually meet at Jaws, like Andrews may be thinking, rather next to the road.

  Two minutes later, Christine drives by in a white compact car, turns around a few hundred yards later and passes me again. Coming by for the third time, she finally stops. Clever girl: she checked the situation before pulling over.

  I take the battery out of her phone and place the phone in front of my front wheel. Then I get into my car, step on the gas and she follows me. At the Haiku Mall, we stop and have coffee at Colleen's.

  First, I hand Christine my last prepaid phone. Now Bob, the Swiss, Christine, Steve and I make up a small, exclusive group with our own private communication network.