by Pam Richter
The stairs ended on the 20th floor. There was a private elevator in that hallway that led exclusively to the penthouse suite. When they opened the stairwell door they saw Samson entering the restricted elevator.
"You need a special key to use that elevator," Heather whispered, breathing hard, hand over her ribs. They both stood in the doorway to the stairwell. "But I bet that's where Michelle is. She probably went up there to confront Omar."
Nakamura nodded grimly. He was a loss at what to do next and could hardly move because of the pain in his ankle. He might go downstairs and ring the bell and asked for admittance, but the notion that Omar would let them in if he had Michelle was absurd. He was becoming more and more worried. He had seen two of Omar's witches within the last hour. One had been trying to kill Heather. The other one was probably still unconscious on the stairs behind him. How Omar was turning these beautiful young women into homicidal maniacs was hard to contemplate, but the notion that they had been given some sort of mind altering chemicals had crossed his mind. The white haired witch in Heather's hospital room had been crazed and ferocious. The one unconscious in the stairwell had tried to kill Heather on the beach. Whatever Omar was doing to these so-called witches was frightening. Omar might, at this very moment, be pumping Michelle full of drugs.
"We have to figure a way to get in there," Heather said. She was still breathing hard.
"What kind of pretext can we use?"
Just then the door to the private elevator started opening. Samson strolled out. The giant was carrying three large suitcases. Two women exited the elevator with him, one carrying another suitcase and the other holding a cat box. Lucifer was inside. They both recognized his cries.
One of the women pressed the button for the regular elevator. It looked as though they were leaving for an extended trip, but where were Omar and Michelle?
"They're going somewhere to meet Omar," Nakamura said.
"My car's in the garage," Heather whispered. "They'll probably take one of Omar's cars. He has a Jeep, a van and a small Jaguar."
They both started down the stairs, almost running, not wanting to connect with Omar's staff of witches, or the ubiquitous Samson, in an elevator. When they were a couple of flights down they decided it would be safe to take an elevator the rest of the way.
The garage was composed of several levels. Heather's car was on the first, near the entrance gate. If Omar's people had not already left, they would have to pass Heather's car to get out of the garage. They dodged low around several cars and made it to Heather's small Mercedes.
Heather handed the keys to Nakamura, "You're the race car driver."
"How'd you know?"
"Michelle."
Nakamura nodded and then ducked low when he heard a car squealing around the bend from a lower level. He peeked over the hood of Heather's car. It was Omar's gang in a large blue van.
Later, Nakamura wondered what undercover agents, covertly shadowing the bad guys, would do in a situation like this. He and Heather sat in her car and helplessly watched the plane take off, carrying the grotesque Samson Stoker, two of Omar's witches and one cat. It happened so fast. The three people got out of the van and just walked directly over to the plane, which had evidently been gassed, warmed up and ready to go, complete with pilot.
"They must be going to another island," Nakamura commented. "They couldn't use a small plane like that to reach the U.S. mainland."
They watched the lights on the plane wink as it taxied down the runway and then lifted off over the ocean.
The airfield was evidently a private one, located near the Honolulu Airport. Although it was almost 11:00 p.m. there were still lights on in a one story, wooden, office building. Private planes were neatly tied up in rows along with several Lear jets, which probably belonged to wealthy businessmen and real jet-setters. Nakamura and Heather were parked without lights and with the engine still running, outside the chain link fence surrounding the complex.
As they watched, the office went completely dark.
"Quick. Drive in. We have to find out where they went!" Heather urged.
He drove swiftly to the office and screeched to a stop.
A thin man somewhere in his mid-forties was just locking up. He turned around quickly and squinted at the sound and the unexpected automobile lights, which blinded him.
Both Nakamura and Heather leaped out of the car and ran up the few wooden stairs to the entrance. The man was unlocking the door again, probably preparing to hurry inside and lock them out, believing they were thieves, the way they had screeched up and blinded him.
"We want to follow that plane," Heather said, grabbing the man's sleeve to prevent him from going inside, and pointing to the now almost invisible wing and tail lights out over the ocean.
The man had been expecting thieves. He turned around at an unexpected woman's voice and smiled when he saw her. She was too tiny and cute to be threatening. Nakamura watched and smiled himself. Heather had that effect on men.
"Well, see here, I'm not a taxi driver," the man drawled, grinning at her. "And this isn't New York, thank God."
"I know. And this isn't a movie. But it is urgent," Heather said, fixing her large blue eyes on the man.
"That flight was the last one out of here tonight. It was chartered in advance. I'm really sorry."
"But you fly, don't you? I mean, you must own this place," Heather guessed, waving her hand around the little field.
"Well, yeah."
"And I bet you even own a few of these planes," Heather said, her big eyes showing very animated admiration.
Nakamura decided to be background and watch her operate. She was too good at manipulation to interfere with at a time like this.
"So you do charter planes," Heather went on, smiling with dimples. "And with pilots and everything. That's exactly what we need right now. And we'll pay you whatever you ask."
The man was obviously entranced with Heather, but still doubtful. He had been glancing sideways at Nakamura's torn clothing and abraded face.
"Well, hey, I know it's late and everything, but it really is extremely important," Heather said. "We're supposed to surprise our friends. And you must know where they're going?"
The man nodded, almost with misgivings, and held out his hand for Heather and Nakamura to shake in turn, "I'm Guy Thorner, owner of this airfield. And I would love to accommodate you folks. Maybe tomorrow. I'll fly you all over Kauai, if you like. Beautiful scenery. You see, I've been teaching student pilots all day long, just about, and I'm plain tuckered out. Been a real long day, you know?"
"I'm no haole," Heather said, using the slang Hawaiian word meaning that she was not a white stranger to island ways. "And Mr. Nakamura, here, isn't either. He will pay anything you ask."
She cut her eyes over to Nakamura and he nodded slightly.
The man dropped his country fellah act and was suddenly all business, perhaps noting their desperation. "Maybe Mr. Nakamura and I can arrange something. It would take, flight time, about three hours, over and back again. Plus the plane rental. My time. Gas...."
"Plus the fact that you're working after hours, and on short notice," Nakamura said nodding, finally speaking for the first time. "Add to that, we would probably ask you to wait for a while and take us back. With another passenger."
"A red eye. And an all-nighter," Guy murmured.
"Worth your while, I can guarantee," Nakamura said. He fished in his wallet and took out a corporate credit card, handing it to Guy Thorner. "Now you just hold on to that. You can fill out the blanks any way you want."
Guy studied the card. "Heroshi Corporation. Big business here in Hawaii. Own several buildings, don't they?"
Nakamura nodded, "I'm controller of Heroshi, so I authorize all expenses for the corporation. That card has my picture in hologram, so it can't be duplicated."
Nakamura took out a business card and his drivers license and handed them to the man.
Guy, who had been studying the picture on
the credit card, smiled, "In that case, Mr. Nakamura, you have just ransomed your first born son. But we're on our way."
CHAPTER 29
Michelle didn't think she was heading toward the island of Oahu as she slowly got closer to shore. It looked too small. Maybe Omar had taken her and Vincent to another island entirely, Molokai, Kauai or even Maui, because all she could see were cliffs ahead of her, with waves crashing into the face of huge, high volcanic rocks.
The Hawaiian chain has 132 small isles and atolls, but the fact that she had seen lights made her think this island was populated. She didn't recognize the area at all.
Maybe Omar had never intended for her to survive this Trial-by-Water. It looked impossible. They would be irrevocably dashed into the rocks by the strong tide, which was even now drawing them nearer. After all this incredible effort, to be smashed into volcanic cliffs was totally unacceptable. There had to be a way to survive.
The whole island was dark. The lights she had seen earlier were gone. The smaller islands, like Kauai, did not have the night life of Oahu. She and Vincent had been in the water for more than four hours. It was close to midnight.
Volcanic rock naturally has nooks and crannies that are possible to climb, but Michelle knew she would be too weak to make the effort after this grueling swim, even if she were not battered to death against the rocks. The wall appeared hundreds of feet high and covered the whole side of the island facing them. She didn't think she could swim around the island, she was beat. Even clinging to the rocks above the waterline until morning came, when someone might spot them, seemed more than her tortured body could endure.
As she drew closer, the nearly full moon lit the cliffs ahead, illuminating enormous and ferocious waves splattering high up as they hit the rocks explosively, but there was another source of dim light. A glow just a little to the right, at a seam between two of the cliffs. She pulled the belt in her teeth in that direction as she turned her head sharply to see what it was.
A gurgling sound, then a cough, stopped her.
Michelle spit the belt into the water and turned around.
"I'm okay. Just got a little water up my nose," Vincent said. He coughed a few times and Michelle grabbed his chin and held his face out of the water. The ordeal seemed to have aged Vincent, his face appeared small and wizened, although he smiled at her tiredly and revealed his yellow rodent-like teeth. His appearance did not reflect his character at all, which Michelle considered gallant and very brave. He had been talking almost non-stop for the last hour to keep her spirits up, and had never complained once, although he had certainly been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Omar had decided to abduct her. Vincent was the added bonus. The means to kill two birds with one stone.
Michelle put the belt back into her mouth and started swimming again.
During his monologue Vincent told her all about the witch's ritual that Omar conducted, and that he had clandestinely watched at Three Tables Beach a few nights ago. He described the beautiful young woman who had been covered with sword wounds and finally murdered on that night. He also told Michelle about the old woman with her dire predictions at the occult store.
To keep her spirits up, Vincent earlier had reflected upon his travels in India, England, Scotland, Africa, Russia and the island of Haiti, where he had studied manifestations of occult and paranormal phenomena. He repeatedly told Michelle to believe in herself and in the powers she possessed.
Now, Michelle let out a little joyful yell of relief. It was more like a horse’s happy snigger, with the belt between her teeth. She had been angling toward the dull glow she had seen. Now she saw a small beach, like a little shelf of sand between two of the forbidding rock faces.
Vincent, lying on his back, could see nothing. "What?"
Michelle spit the belt out of her mouth again. "A beach! A tiny, beautiful beach. Oh, Vincent, you have to look."
Vincent let go of the belt and started his ineffectual dog paddling. He was so tired that he could keep only his eyes above the waterline. The waves were moving him up and down, and he finally saw the minuscule spit of sand.
"And a beacon. A fire, I believe," Vincent said, making a tremendous effort to get his mouth above the waterline so that he could speak. He finally allowed some gloom into his voice, now that Michelle was so thrilled. "I fear it's our nemesis."
"I don't care. I just want to get out of the damn ocean." Michelle knew she sounded like a petulant child almost ready to cry.
"Of course you do," Vincent said soothingly.
"We'll go in together. He can't do anything to us if we're both there. And we must be out in the boondocks. A road or even a house would be impossible for you to find this time of night. You'd have to go over the cliffs to get help."
"Still, it's better if we stick to the original plan. Omar had to get to the beach on a road."
"Maybe he took the helicopter."
"Not over those cliffs. He would have had to approach by sea in the helicopter, and I would have spotted him." Vincent bobbed under the water and came up again, spitting water, only his eyes visible. He angled his head back so he could talk. "I've been on my back. I would have seen him. He couldn't go straight down the cliff side in a helicopter at night."
"Maybe he flew directly there, after he dropped us."
"I can't see him sitting on a small beach for hours," Vincent objected. "It's not in his nature to be that patient."
"Or that uncomfortable," Michelle agreed with a tired smile. "I think this is Kauai. He probably has some sort of luxurious home here, and waited out the hours in comfort."
Michelle looked at the waves crashing against the cliffs. If she was surfing, she would never even attempt to go out in these conditions. Even about half mile away, as they were now, the water was getting rougher. She had been swallowing more water and it had become almost impossible for Vincent to speak.
"It's too dangerous for you, Vincent," Michelle pleaded. "You can't attempt the swim to shore by yourself. That beach is tiny. You'll crash right into the rocks if you don't head straight in. Unless you catch the exact right wave, the surf will propel you right into the cliffs."
"I promise I'll be careful," Vincent said. "You'll have to keep Omar faced away from the ocean. I will come to shore on that beach."
"You better promise me," Michelle warned. She was scared he wouldn't be able to make it. Vincent had never experienced how powerful the ocean could be in a really high surf; he didn't understand how dangerous it was.
"I know. You worked too hard to save me. I won't throw your wonderful gift away," Vincent said, smiling gently.
"You better not," Michelle answered sternly, but she could feel tears, real tears, not salt water on her face.
* * *
Guy Thorner was as good as his word, swiftly preparing a flight plan and readying a small two engine Piper. Now Nakamura and Heather were in the air, only about fifteen minutes behind the plane carrying Omar's thug and the two witches. They were swiftly catching up, as their quarry had taken off in a one engine Beechcraft.
"You aren't planning to do anything illegal?" Guy asked. He glanced at Nakamura, who was sitting behind him. Heather was in the co-pilot seat.
They had to speak loudly over the noise of the engines. Guy had opened the hand operated air vents situated on either side of the cockpit, and the incoming wind made the noise level even louder. Heather's long hair blew back and brushed Nakamura's face.
"What ever gave you that idea?" Nakamura asked.
"You really didn't know where your friends were going, did you?"
"Not really. And they aren't friends." Nakamura admitted. "But we aren't planning anything illegal. More like a search and rescue."
"For my best friend," Heather said, nodding, leaning forward so Guy could hear her. "She disappeared and we think they're heading to the place she was taken."
"Strange people," Guy commented. "All those beautiful woman, with that grisly monster always accompanying them. They do pay right
on time, though. You don't really think they kidnaped her? Against her will?"
"Yes, we do," Heather said.
Guy turned his head sharply and looked at her in surprise.
"Why? Is there a ransom?"
"We don't know why. Another man, Omar Satinov, is the one who seems to have the hidden agenda."
"Maybe he just wants another beauty to add to his harem," Guy said, smiling. "I know Omar. He does like the ladies, but he didn't fly out from my field tonight."
"He didn't use one of your planes?" Nakamura asked
Guy shook his head. "No. He probably took her in the helicopter."
"What!" Both Heather and Nakamura yelled almost simultaneously.
"He's a helicopter pilot. Keeps it at my place most of the time, but there's space to tie up where he lives. On the roof. He's had it there for the last few days."
Nakamura had believed they could very possibly be going off on a wild-goose chase. Now he had the rather grim satisfaction of thinking that they weren't.
"Can you call ahead and get a rental car?" Nakamura asked. "We're going to follow them."
Guy nodded and used his radio. He seemed to have many friends on the small island because he called several places, it being late at night, and finally arranged for a Jeep to be waiting at the airport.
"I'm going to get you in about ten minutes before Satinov's people arrive," Guy said. "You'll have time to get in the Jeep and wait for them. I'd like to go with you, if you don't mind. Waiting in the plane is pretty boring. And you have no idea when you're coming back."
Nakamura and Heather exchanged glances and nodded at each other.
"Okay. Fine. We might need a witness," Nakamura said.
As they got closer to the island, Guy went into his regular tourist mode and informed them that Kauai, called the Garden Island, was the most ancient of all the islands in the chain, formed by one large volcano. Kauai was the wettest place on earth, with an average of 444 inches of rain in a normal year. It boasted the first sugar cane plantation, with land rented from King Kamehamaha. Captain James Cook had landed on the island in 1778.
