Hawaiian Thunder (Coastal Fury Book 4)

by Matt Lincoln

  He nodded, grabbed his hat and shades, and we headed out. It was a mild day, and driving with the top down was what I needed to ease some of the tension I felt with everything happening. It was hard to tell if this helped Holm, but at least his shoulders weren’t so stiff, and he melted into the passenger seat.

  The parking lot was only half full. I found a spot at the outer edge to lower the chances of anyone hitting the Ferrari. I looked to Holm.

  “What do you want to do?”

  He took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. Sunlight reflected off of his sunglasses. “They’re looking down on us, y’know. All those people who died that day. I like to think I served well and honored the memory of everyone who went before.”

  “You did,” I reassured him. “Robbie, you’ve always been the best of us. The platoon, MBLIS, everyone. We did the jobs we had to do for our country, and hell if you didn’t do those jobs and come back yourself.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not scarred,” he muttered. “But I am alive.”

  “We both are. You sure as hell tried to change that when we fought Simon Kelley. He was a tough son of a bitch, and you survived.”

  He nodded, sat up, and got out of the car. That was his answer, and I knew it would do him some good. I closed the roof and locked the car as I watched him walk toward the visitor center’s entrance.

  Holm was my best friend, a partner and brother. We liked to play tough, but the truth was that if he’d died, I don’t know what I would’ve done. They talk about the people who are anchors in your life, and after Gramps died, Holm was my strongest anchor. When life got rough, he was the one to go get beers and cigars with. The one to go fishing or diving with.

  I took a deep breath and strode after Holm. The big feelings didn’t hit me often, and I didn’t like it. But a place like Pearl Harbor made you think about life, and what you’ve done with yours. All those kids on those ships, and the innocent people onshore, they died on a day that should’ve been for relaxing. They didn’t get to go on like Holm and I had after our time in the service.

  We went up to the entrance and found that there were tickets still available for visiting the USS Arizona that day. The boat was out, so we took that time to go to the Remembrance Circle. The concrete memorial’s semicircle of blue plaques glowed in the midday sun as though Heaven was reading the names of everyone killed by the attack on December 7, 1941, and the memorial faced the direction of the sunken Arizona.

  A pedestal stood at the center of the memorial. On top of the pedestal was a topographic map of Oahu as it sat in 1941, and it included sites attacked that day. The island had evolved so much since then that I wondered what the last few survivors thought of the changes.

  “Ready?” I asked Holm.

  “I am.”

  We had a ritual, he and I did.

  “Ten hut!” I called out.

  We both snapped to attention between the pedestal and the arc with the plaques. Holm and I offered our sharp salutes. We held there for eleven minutes. Eleven minutes. That was how long the attack took.

  Other visitors stared, and some took photos. A child walked up and asked what we were doing. The mother explained that we were saying hello and goodbye to the people who went to Heaven when airplanes attacked the island. She had to comfort the child when he worried that the planes would come back, but I was still proud of her for getting it.

  At the end of the salute, we dropped back to attention.

  “At ease,” I called.

  Maybe we were out of uniform, but we would always be sons of the Navy.

  I looked across the harbor which was quiet that day. It was hard to picture the smoke and flames, bombs whistling through the air, bullets ripping through metal and concrete. The acrid stenches of hot oil and steel would have stained every breath those service people and their families took.

  Now, almost eight decades later, Pearl Harbor was all business with our military branches overseeing the safety of the Pacific from this crown jewel. I moved away from the memorial, and Holm followed.

  Our next stop was the dock for the boat that would take us out to the Arizona. We didn’t speak during the ride out. I figured Holm had as much on his mind as me, if not more.

  At the memorial, I stared down at the ship and tried to imagine being trapped as the water and fire took her down. Those sailors had gone in the worst ways, and some probably didn’t know why. It was no wonder guys like Holm felt the screams and terror.

  The oily surface at the slow fuel leak was yet another reminder of the cost humanity paid for progress into the modern world. Other thoughts swirled through my mind, and I lost track of time.

  “The boat is leaving,” Holm told me at last. “We need to go.”

  I nodded. We had a job to do, and it was getting close to time. The boat ride back was as quiet as before but in a more comfortable way. Maybe it was my imagination, but I always felt buoyed by the spirits of the sailors who’d come before me.

  As we got off the boat and started toward the exit, a man dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt approached me.

  “Are you Ethan Marston and Rob Holm?” he asked with more than a hint of excitement.

  In my line of work, having a stranger come up and ask if you’re, well, you, is unsettling… moreso, given the circumstances. I tensed but then noticed he wore a National Park Service badge on a lanyard. The name on the badge was Bruce Burkholder. That sounded familiar.

  “We are,” I said with a nod. “What can we do for you?”

  “Whey they told me they saw you here, I had to come see.” Burkholder held out a hand. “Bruce, but my friends call me ‘BB.’ I’m on the Arizona’s preservation team.”

  I clasped his hands in both of mine. “Thank you for all you do,” I told him. Holm did likewise. “They call you ‘BB,’ huh? Like BB Thirty-Nine?”

  “Funny how that worked out,” he said with a slight shrug. “That was my nickname since I was little. It’s like it was my destiny.”

  “How’s she holding up?” Holm asked.

  BB walked with us to a quiet area. “She’s holding her own,” he reported. “We perform maintenance and scientific dives on a regular basis. It allows us to keep tabs on the fuel storage tanks and other structural points. For now, things look good. In the next ten to twenty years, though, we’ll have to find ways to reinforce some of the weaker areas.”

  “The Arizona is over a hundred years old,” I pointed out. “I’m sure it’s seeing wear in the saltwater, not to mention the stresses from the attack.”

  “Nineteen sixteen,” Holm said. He met my eye. “They modernized her starting in nineteen twenty-nine. She was a hell of a ship.”

  “That’s right,” BB said. “I’m glad to see you know so much about it. That’s as it should be.” He cleared his throat. “We’re doing our next dive in a few days. You two have been on my short, and I do mean short, list for a long time.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and Holm shifted behind me.

  “What list?” I asked.

  A warm smile lit the man’s face. “I take a select few divers once or twice a year to help photograph and collect information and samples. Sometimes we find species new to the wreck, and sometimes we come across sailors’ possessions we haven’t seen in the past. You never know what the tides will do.”

  “That’s a fact,” I said with a calmer tone than I felt.

  “We’re on an important case,” Holm told him. “At this time, we can’t make promises.”

  I pointed my thumb at Holm. “Also a fact.”

  “I understand that. If you can make it, I need to know in the morning two days from now.” He tipped his USS Arizona ball cap. “It’d be an honor.”

  “Are you kidding?” Holm blurted out. “It’d be our honor.”

  We left our contact information and walked out to where I’d parked the Ferrari.

  “Hell of a thing,” Holm ventured. “I want to do it.”

  I nodded but knew it would be awhile before
he could dive again. Maybe the next time we got out to Hawaii, we’d take BB up on the offer. I should’ve said something at the time, but it was the first time I’d seen Holm happy since Ronnie went missing, and I had no intention of stealing that moment.

  CHAPTER 20

  The blanket no longer warmed Ronnie’s frigid bones, and the water bottle had been empty, at her best guess, a day. Ronnie tried to focus on a story that she could sell to Volkov in exchange for warmth and water. Hell, she needed a story good enough for him to keep her alive… and safe from leering guards.

  The smaller guard, who she’d come to think of as the Brain, had taken to opening her cell door and taunting her. He’d lower the noise volume as if his boss was coming in, and then he’d stand there looking. Each time, he was silent at first, staring mostly, but sometimes he’d lick his lips and caress his holstered gun as though it was something else. Once he was done with that, he’d tell her Florida trivia. Since they truly did know her name, they had learned she hailed from the Sunshine State.

  “Florida is fifteen thousand, four hundred acres larger than England.” Brain’s latest offering did nothing to warm her. “Of course, a crap-ton of Florida is swamp, but let’s not be picky. Land is land, right?”

  He took a step into the cell. If only Ronnie could get his gun, she might have a chance at escape, if she could push through the weakness.

  “Fascinating,” she rasped.

  Laryngitis had snuck up on her in the past few hours, and her nose was beginning to drip. The taller, scrawny guard had a cough when they first dragged her in, and she remembered him sneezing all over the place. Whether it was from his cold or normal for him, his cheeks were always a little flushed, and she’d taken to thinking of him as Pinky.

  She was never given their names, so she named them herself. That tiny act gave her the sense of, well, not control, but certainly something. Her mind wandered even as that last thought formed.

  “Here’s an extra fact about Florida,” Brain said with a smarmy grin. “It’s the only place where wild crocodiles and alligators live together. But you probably knew that one already.”

  Ronnie tucked her head under the blanket.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Brain snapped.

  She heard him step closer. The blanket was thin, and she opened her eyes to see his silhouette approach. If he got much closer, she could reach him. She flexed her muscles as inconspicuously as possible.

  “I don’t have to look at you,” she challenged him.

  “You little bitch,” Brain seethed. “The boss would’ve done anything for you if you’d played along like a good girl. Well, that’s changed. You tried to betray him, and nobody does that. When he’s tired of your games, it’ll be my turn.”

  Ronnie tensed. She learned from her last attempt when her legs cramped up. A little stretch here, a little stretch there, and she’d worked the knots from her muscles over the days since. She was too weak to pace, let alone exercise. The water helped, and she was ready. She needed Brain to take just one more step.

  He stopped further away than she wanted. Screw it, she thought. Go!

  Ronnie sprang out from the blanket, held onto it, and tackled the unsuspecting guard. He reached for his gun, but she whipped the blanket around that arm. He swung and caught her on the shoulder as she brought her knee up into his groin. Brain doubled over with a grunt, and Ronnie pulled his head lower as she slammed her knee into his chin. A satisfying crack led to him howling, which was sure to attract attention. For good measure, she elbowed him on the temple, and he sagged, out cold.

  Ronnie shoved him to the side and grabbed his gun. Her adrenaline rush started fading as she checked to see how many rounds she had. There were ten rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber.

  Ronnie wondered if they had working cameras in that cell after all. Nobody came rushing in. On the other hand, maybe it was a trap, and the bullets were blanks. She moved to the door with her back to the wall and listened. Even though Brain had turned down the noise, it was still too loud for her to hear if anyone moved in the hall. She peeked and found it empty.

  There were two other steel doors across and to her left, one of which was at the end of the corridor. To her right was an opening which, if she were lucky, would lead to a way out.

  Ronnie held the gun ahead of her as she trudged forward. Her atrophying muscles burned as if she’d finished another Iron Man competition, and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest.

  She reached the open end of the hall, and yes, there were stairs. They led up to another door, this one heavy wood rather than steel. It had a regular doorknob, but when she reached it, she found it locked. Someone had locked it to keep people in. That had to be what it was.

  Ronnie didn’t want to shoot the doorknob. That would make too much noise. She raised the gun and then smashed it butt-first into the knob, which clanked and rattled but held. She hit it again. It bent. She grabbed and shook the knob. Something in the mechanism had given way but not enough to get the door open.

  Ronnie’s arm’s felt like lead, and the gun was heavier than a damn horse. It would’ve been much easier to lay down where she was and give in to Volkov’s demands, but Robbie wouldn’t do that. Not ever. His strength had always inspired her. Her dorky older brother was also a bigtime badass.

  She tried to imagine what he’d do in the same situation. Robbie would smash the shit out of that doorknob. She’d tried that already. He’d shoot it next. It was a bad idea because that would bring Volkov’s men running. If they heard her fire the gun, they’d come running and catch her. If she didn’t break out, they’d catch her.

  Ronnie took a deep breath to steady her trembling hands. Hell, her entire body shook worse than a dog with fleas.

  She fired once at the doorknob. It broke loose, but the noise left her ears ringing. She used the muzzle to nudge the inner part of the mechanism, and the latch finally let go. She took another deep breath and pushed the door open only to emerge into a closet full of clothes, ties, and shoes. She recognized the blazer from the night Volkov’s men took her captive.

  “Shit.”

  The word slipped out before she could stop it. She crept out to the edge of the closet and found a dark bedroom. The drapes were open, so it was night. Nobody was in the bed.

  Shouts from outside the bedroom got her heart racing. Her hands were numb, and she could collapse at any moment, but at least two men were running toward the room. Ronnie crossed over to a French door and opened it to a balcony that led to nowhere. The drop went over a cliff to rocks with treetops and mist below. She left the glass door open and dropped to the side of the bed. Drawers or some kind of base blocked her from going underneath.

  She crouched out of sight from the main bedroom door as the men burst in. They went into the closet and found the broken doorknob. Ronnie would’ve made a run for it while they were in there, but she didn’t have the speed or strength to go.

  “Where are you?” Volkov called. “Are you on the balcony, Veronica Marie?”

  She hated when anyone called her that. In Volkov’s voice, it was downright vulgar. He would pay for everything, especially for stripping her dignity down to her very name. She scooted back to where the wall and bed met and held the Glock with her knees bracing her hands. There was nowhere else to go, nowhere to hide.

  “Veronica. Or Marie? Whichever you prefer. Come on out.”

  Volkov’s sing-song cadence and now-soothing voice made her want to believe in warmth and security. He’d promised so much for so little in return, and Brain said Volkov would’ve done anything for her at one point. And yet, her moral code made it impossible to give in. If only she hadn’t encouraged the man by telling her middle name as an alt identity.

  Someone flicked on a light. The brightness was like a stab to her head. She clutched the gun as her vision blurred. They’d have her within seconds unless she shot them. Ronnie knew it was the only way out, but she’d never killed. Volkov wasn’t a
killer, as far as she knew. Then again, he’d hired gunmen, and killing was what they would do.

  Volkov appeared in front of Ronnie. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to get away. All of her firearms and martial arts training prepared her for this moment…

  A great shudder tore through her body. She knew this feeling even as her thoughts scrambled. Her body spasmed, and she lost her grip on the Glock. As she fell over, she saw Brain. He stood between Pinky and Volkov and glared as he hit her with another burst from the taser.

  CHAPTER 21

  “No Sadie tonight?” Holm asked on the way back to the hotel.

  “I haven’t planned anything,” I admitted. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I need a beer or six. Meisha told me about a watering hold that we might like.” He shrugged. “She as much as ordered me to take some downtime and keep busy so I don’t think too much.”

  We were at a red light. I reached over and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Sounds like a plan, depending on how this call goes with Jones’s appraiser.” I slipped through traffic smoother than sugary sand through a sieve. “We just don’t know what he’ll say.”

  “Hell, if he wants to meet right away, I’m all for that,” Holm stated. He slumped in his seat. “I just want her back alive. I’m not okay, Ethan.”

  “I know.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m doing the best I can, brother.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without her. When I believed she’d run off to start a new life, I at least knew she was probably safe.” He shook his head. “It’ll kill my folks if she comes home in a box.”

  “Don’t start thinking that way.” Even as I said it, I knew it wouldn’t matter. The harder a guy tried not to think about something, the worse it would get. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you and your family.”

  He gave me a light punch on the shoulder. “Copy that, partner.”

  Four o’clock was rolling around when we got back to the hotel. We went straight to the room, but when I held my key card to the deadbolt, the light turned red. I tried again, and it went red.