Preston hated the most recent developments. He’d already been troubled about the decline in tourism due to the odd behavior of box jellyfish and other sea creatures, and now it was even worse, after that insane Kimo Pohaku led his rabid environmentalists in an assault on the beaches of Hawaii, and then escalated it to encircle every island with a barrier of live marine animals. The old man didn’t believe any of Kimo’s excuses for the barricades, the lie about a rogue member of the Sea Warriors who had gone beyond anything he had intended. The Pohakus had always been crazy, and now they were reaching new depths of lunacy, and broadening their poisonous influence.
For more than two weeks Preston had been worried about the safety of his granddaughter, and he blamed Kimo for luring her into his dark web of influence. As far as Preston was concerned, all of the Pohakus were spawns of the devil, springing forth from Satan’s hellfire to torment the Ellsworths, and now every legitimate businessperson in Hawaii. The ramifications were terrifying. If Kimo could interfere with swimming beaches, and even with boating and shipping, the islands would lose much, and probably most, of their traditional tourist industry.
The Ellsworth Ranch could survive the disaster and even adapt, bringing in tourists by air to see the “world famous” ring of sea monsters in the water—but it would be a circus freak show, instead of the traditional tourism that was based on the spectacular beauty of the islands and their aquamarine waters. Helicopter tours would continue, perhaps even increase, and there would still be backpacking and horseback-riding adventures into the interior valleys and waterfalls, but a large portion of the reason for visiting Hawaii—to swim at its stunning beaches and snorkel or scuba dive in the jewel-like waters—would be gone. The floating barriers ringing the islands were like a theft from him and from the other tourist-related businesses, and from tourists as well. Actually, it was like a death—a curtain of darkness that had been drawn down over the most beautiful place Preston had ever seen.
He rattled past tiger-claw trees with blazing red blossoms and entered Wanaao Town, where he came to a stop and waited for a family of tourists to cross the street—two overweight parents and a sunburned daughter. They wore cheap Hawaiian tee-shirts and caps, and obviously were not in the economic class that could afford to stay at his hotel. He could always determine that at a glance. As he waited, he watched a large sailing yacht out on the shimmering waters of the bay, but he didn’t know who owned it, and assumed they were visiting. He always liked to keep track of people in the area who had money.
Preston proceeded to the next block and turned onto a side street where a parking spot was reserved for him beside the Wanaao Central Market—one of the numerous businesses that he owned in the islands. As he climbed out of the vehicle he heard crowd noises, and saw a throng of people gathered in the town park down the street. He went to investigate, walking on a grassy area alongside the street.
He passed a knoll with a covered barbecue area, then made his way down a grassy slope to an expanse of lawn where Easter egg hunts, luaus, and picnic-concerts were customarily held. To his dismay he saw Kimo’s mother, Ealani Pohaku, standing on the wooden stage with a bespectacled Catholic priest and a female minister from the local Congregational church. They were accompanied by four older women who were kahuna healers like the wretched Pohaku woman, claiming that they could bless people and properties, to drive away evil spirits. It was all bunk, in Preston’s opinion—a racket and a swindle.
A crowd of townspeople was gathered in front of the stage, sitting on the grass and on portable chairs. Whatever these healers and religious leaders were doing seemed about to begin. Preston found a place to stand on one side, and waited. Many people in the Wanaao region were looking for answers to the ocean and tourism crisis, and were anxious to receive blessings to make their own misfortunes go away. Any time of turmoil and misfortune was a time when charlatans surfaced, like worms crawling out of the ground.
Dressed in a soft gray muumuu decorated with images of Hawaiian flowers, Ealani began, in that earthy, know-it-all voice he had always found so irritating. “Many of you are fearful of what is occurring in the waters of our islands, worried that the gods and goddesses of the sea have turned against our little community. A number of you make your living from the sea, just as my late husband did—and now that you are unable to go out on the water, your income has been drastically affected. You are wondering when the crisis will end. My husband Tiny had a philosophy about fishing, and he always harvested the bounty of the ocean carefully, with great respect. He never overfished an area, or took too many of any species. Tiny taught this way of life to many of you, and I know you have followed his advice, and you share his deep and abiding love for the ocean. It is not your fault that sea creatures have rebelled against human beings; it is not the fault of any native of Loa’kai island, or of any of the other Hawaiian islands, because our people have always respected the waters that have given us so much life, and such incredible beauty.
“No, something else has happened, and it is the fault of outsiders who have plundered the resources of this planet, without regard for the consequences. My friends, the consequences are with us today, and the creatures of the sea are speaking; they will not tolerate any more mistreatment.”
She reached out to the Catholic priest on one side and the Congregational minister on the other, and clasped hands with them, and they in turn held hands with the other kahuna healers, on each side.
“For any of you who are in need of personal blessings, we will make the usual appointments—though it will take some time for us to get to all of you because so many are suffering. Until we can make the personal calls, please bow your heads with us now to observe a minute of silence, praying for the welfare of the ocean in any manner you find suitable.”
Preston Ellsworth bowed his head, but did not like her comment about an all-inclusive way of praying, which obviously included any non-Christians in the gathering. He was Catholic himself, and knew the priest, Father Tamblyn, but did not attend church as much as he should, because his business interests kept him so occupied. The good priest was either being duped, or—more likely—he had been forced to live in harmony with local pagan ways, without fully embracing them himself.
After a minute, Ealani gazed out at the vast ocean and said, “The ocean is troubled, and all mankind must listen to what it is saying. Each of us must look deep into our hearts and into our actions, and attempt to do better, to treat the seas of Earth with even greater love and respect than we already have. We can always improve, and each of us must do our small part to make things better.”
What a bunch of rubbish, Preston thought, bitterly. The Congregational minister was about to speak, but before she did, the old businessman took this opportunity to slip away.
Later that morning, Jeff Ellsworth flew the tour helicopter around the base of the volcano to the more densely-populated western shore of Loa’kai island, only a twenty-minute flight from the other side. The strange floating barrier was all around the island, packed with immense sea creatures, some of which looked like the stuff of legends and fantasy novels, rather than actual living animals. And yet, there they were.
Flying over the water, he used a pair of field glasses to look through the open passenger doorway, and got a view of his exclusive oceanfront condominium unit, the penthouse of a nine-story building. On the garden terrace he saw a bearded man and a woman in a skimpy bikini at a table, where they were being served breakfast by a uniformed waiter.
Jeff sighed, set the binoculars aside and flew on. It irritated him that he could not use the unit himself, or the Ferrari that he loved so much. It was a classic older model that actually had a higher value than the $600,000 he was paying for it, but he was afraid he was about to lose the car, the penthouse, and the whole luxurious life he’d enjoyed on this side of the island. The costs were high for that lifestyle, and he didn’t even have a near-term prospect of getting his hands on the kind of money he needed.
Turning back
toward the ranch, he flew over the strange floating barrier that circled the island, passing so low that two ferocious-looking creatures in the assortment of species tilted their long necks to look up as he passed. This was the older amphibious chopper that had a history of mechanical problems, but the engine sounded good, and it was flying well. It was his only option now, because he’d secretly ditched the newer one in the sea, and the matter was being handled by an insurance adjuster. So far the claim was proceeding in a satisfactory manner, and his grandfather was no longer complaining about the high deductible that would be subtracted from his insurance settlement.
In the meantime Jeff hoped this helicopter did not fall out of the sky, and especially not now, because those long-necked monsters looking up at him appeared to be agitated and had mouths full of sharp, glistening teeth. From pictures he’d seen in news accounts, he was certain they were the prehistoric plesiosaurs that had mistakenly been thought to have gone extinct—creatures of the deep that resembled the legendary Loch Ness monster. His sister, involved as she was with the Sea Warriors, was part of all this weirdness—and word had it that she and Kimo were not the only ones who had been transformed into fish people; reportedly they had also recruited more than two hundred volunteers from around the world, and all of them were able to swim underwater as if they’d never walked on land. Jeff had no idea what in the hell was going on, and he didn’t like it any more than his grandfather did. It was creepy; that was the best word he could use to describe the situation. Creepy.
Outside the floating, live-animal barricade, Jeff saw cargo ships, fishing boats, and pleasure craft stranded and going nowhere, just bobbing on the waves. He flew over several of them, noticed that a number of the pleasure boats appeared to be abandoned, with no crews or passengers in sight. The main deck of one sailboat was covered with shorebirds, almost making it look as if they had commandeered the vessel and were about to sail away with it. This gave him an idea, and he wondered what valuables might have been left aboard the boat, and others like it. With his drug income interrupted, he would like to develop an alternate source of income, to supplement the modest salary his grandfather paid him at the ranch.
He considered how to do it. With its pontoons, the helicopter could set down on the water downwind of any anchored boat, and he would then use a long line to tie onto each boat and investigate it. He’d have to get wet swimming from the ‘copter to the boat with the line, and he would need to make sure the rotors stayed away from the boat, but he would be quick, and thought he could manage it. He just needed to find the right targets, far enough away from others that no one would see what he was doing. And he needed a large waterproof backpack to carry any valuables he found.
He continued on, noting the locations of a number of candidates that he intended to check later.
As Jeff landed the ‘copter back at the ranch, he saw his grandfather awaiting him, along with two men in dark blue jackets—garments that he realized were emblazoned with “DEA” on the backs when one of them went to a vehicle and returned with a German Shepherd dog.
With his heart hammering in his chest, Jeff stepped down onto the pavement, and ducked to pass under the moving main rotor, as it wound slowly to a stop. He wore white trousers and a Hawaiian shirt, with the shirt tails out in typical fashion. He had stopped wearing his gold jewelry, not wanting to call attention to himself any more than necessary.
One of the federal men stepped forward, flashed an identity card and introduced himself as Agent Walker, and the man with the dog as Agent Jackson. Both were young, and Walker, a short man with a butch haircut, had small almond-shaped eyes that glared intently as he said, “Mister Ellsworth, it has been reported to us that someone has been operating an illegal drug operation in the islands, using helicopters to transport cocaine and other banned substances.”
“I don’t know anything about it, sir.”
“Perhaps that is true, but we’re checking on every helicopter tour business in Hawaii, and there are a lot of them, as you know. We have a search warrant, which we have given to your grandfather.” The man with the drug-sniffing dog circled the helicopter, then opened the cockpit door and let the dog poke its nose inside.
Presently, he shook his head, and Jeff said, “I’m sure you’re just doing your job, sir. Of course, I will cooperate in any way possible, but I don’t know anything about an illegal drug operation.”
“We understand you crashed your other helicopter.”
“That’s true. The insurance company has a full report on what happened, and it’s my understanding that they sent a diver down to inspect it.”
“We have their report, and photos. The cockpit was empty, didn’t even have any of your personal articles.”
“Are you suggesting that I ditched it intentionally, to hide evidence? If that’s what you’re saying, I see no reason to continue this conversation, and I’ll contact my attorney.”
Agent Walker smiled reassuringly, “Hold on, young man. I don’t mean to give you the wrong impression. We know you’re a decorated war hero, from a fine family. We don’t suspect you of anything. It’s just that we have to go through the motions, ask all the questions, and fill out the proper forms. Your personal articles were probably washed away in underwater currents, and any snacks you might have had aboard—as you told the insurance adjuster—were undoubtedly carried off by sea creatures.”
Jeff took a deep breath, felt his pulse go down. “All right, I understand you’re just doing your job.”
“It’s just that with the ‘copter underwater for several days, it wouldn’t have any odor of drugs inside.” He smiled, petted the head of the dog, which had come over to his side. “This fellow doesn’t do any drug-sniffing dives.”
“There was nothing to smell even before I lost the ‘copter,” Jeff said.
The agent nodded. He only asked a few more questions, about where Jeff had been today. In response Jeff lied, told him that he had intended to drop in unannounced on one of his girlfriends and take her for a surprise ride to impress her, but had changed his mind. It was plausible, because the girlfriend, Stephanie Bickel, lived near where he had flown today. Jeff had only been on a few dates with her, he told the agent, and she’d always seemed a little reserved to him—both truthful statements. He said he had hoped to improve their relationship with the helicopter ride.
The agents seemed to be satisfied with Jeff’s answers and demeanor, and after a torturous hour that seemed more like a week, they drove away.
***
Chapter 18
Kimo Pohaku stood on the south shore of Oahu, gazing out on the cordon of living sea creatures that encircled the island, knowing that every other major island in the Hawaiian chain was barricaded as well. Most of his Sea Warriors were in the water now engaged in training exercises, and on missions to investigate any possible changes in the behavior of the large-bodied creatures at the entrance to Pearl Harbor, whose numbers continued to increase by the hour. He had noticed (and it had been reported to him) that the animals had their own rotation system, in which whales, dugong sea cows, sunfish, and other creatures in the sea barrier left regularly for their own purposes, sometimes to feed, but not before they were replaced by other animals. It appeared to be a fine-tuned operation, but a perplexing one.
The military attacks against the cordon outside Pearl Harbor had ceased for the moment, but all morning long the Navy had been using large helicopters to airlift seamen off the three stranded warships—an obvious rejection of the Sea Warriors’ offer to rescue them with a system of escorted dives. Kimo worried what would happen after the ships were cleared of people, if the bloody assaults would resume. It seemed likely, because the military force was doing whatever it wanted to do, without conferring with Kimo’s leadership team.
Now it was midday, with the sun so bright overhead that it forced him to squint, which he usually didn’t need to do. Earlier that morning he and Dirk had taken a second wave of Sea Warrior recruiting candidates—one hundred
ninety-eight of them—down to see Moanna , locating her further to the west in the same deep ocean trench she’d been in before. Her ruby-red glow was still much dimmer than usual, not brightening when the two swimmers neared her, and she’d said very little. The water had been cold around her, and he remained very concerned.
Still, Moanna had cast her weakened red glow over the would-be recruits, and had transformed all but one of them into human-fish hybrids.
“You have an impostor in your midst,” Moanna had finally said to Kimo in her murmuring, faded voice, “not the actual person named on the list.” The red darkness of her realm was hazy, from the faintness of her glowing orb.
“An impostor?” Kimo had said, noticing that the Sea Goddess had left one of the recruits inside the bubble tube that took all them down to her. The man stood inside the oxygen-rich enclosure peering out through the clear membrane formed by the bubblefish, looking angry.
“The U.S. Navy sent him.”
To Kimo, he didn’t look anything like a military man, with long blond hair and a scraggly mustache—but that must have been an intentional makeover, to throw people off. Deeply concerned about why the Navy wanted to infiltrate his group, Kimo had called Dirk over and instructed him to interrogate the man when they got back to the surface. Kimo needed to remain behind, to speak further with Moanna.
Moments later, the bubble tube had begun to rise to the surface, with Dirk Avondale swimming upward beside it, taking the new recruits with him, who were all gill and swim-bladder-equipped members now, along with other bodily enhancements for surviving in the ocean. There were a total of four hundred three members now, including Kimo and Alicia.
But Kimo learned later that the interrogation never took place, as Dirk would inform him that several hundred feet beneath the surface, the bubblefish had inexplicably separated from one another, breaking open the membrane and leaving the man in the water without the oxygen he needed to breathe. Dirk had attempted to breathe air into the man’s lungs (like a buddy-breathing system used by divers in emergencies) but the underwater breathing system of a hybrid with gills was not compatible with that of an ordinary human, and the attempt had not worked. In a panic, the man had clutched onto Dirk, and died….
Ocean: The Sea Warriors Page 14
