But Stephen Kyle was an expansive kind of guy and the stores just weren’t enough for him. He employed half the local teenagers and housewives to ply his wares from inside fake grass shacks set up outside parks and along roadsides. They sold slices of Keoloko pineapple, cones of shave ice, sunscreen, and more leis. Their husbands, boyfriends and brothers were employed by Keoloko car and tour services and fishing boats. He ran another boat out to Molokai regularly to bring provisions to the three bed and boards on the island and one place that few knew existed and fewer still knew had a name. This was the place Stephen believed Josie was looking for: Ha Kuna House on Molokai, not Ha Kuna Road on Maui.
“Sure you don’t want me to call over first? That might be a better idea then just popping in.”
That was the last thing he had asked her the night before and the first thing he said when she got in the car on the way to the harbor. Both times her answer was the same:
“No. I don’t want Hannah to run. I want one shot at convincing her that the two of them will be safe at home.”
“And how would you go about doing that?” he asked.
“I’d tell her I would die before I let anyone hurt her or Billy,” Josie answered.
“If she thought there was one chance in a million it would come to that, she would never come home,” Stephen countered. “I haven’t met her, but even I know that.”
No response was called for. In a short amount of time she had learned that Stephen Kyle wisdom was a thing to be reckoned with. She and Hannah would never put the other one in jeopardy and that was why Josie needed to see her face to face. That’s how she would know Josie was telling the truth.
They drove twenty minutes from the house to the harbor where he commandeered one of his fleet, a sightseeing boat called No Problem, for their journey across the way to the island of Molokai.
Stephen’s chitchat was punctuated with expressions of gratitude that the day was calm. One thing he could not bear was a choppy sea. His brother, Stephen said, drowned in a choppy sea. Of course, the sweet bastard had been drunk which might have had something to do with the unfortunate accident. Still, the sea had been choppy that day. And chilly as the English seas were, there was hypothermia to consider. And, Stephen added, his stomach – not his brother’s – was sensitive to motion. Always had been since he was a child. This caused him a great deal of derision at boarding school.
Josie basked in the warmth of the sun, relished the taste of sea salt in the spray, and caught half his stories as they cut through the water heading toward Molokai. Her new best friend amused her in the best possible way. She seldom ran across people like him: curious, magnanimous, accommodating, brash, and smart. The phrase, ‘he would give you the shirt off his back’ seemed coined just for Stephen Kyle. She imagined a third of his stories were true, a third had basis in fact, and a third were the product of his raging imagination. Josie reciprocated with stories about Faye, Max, and Archer. Stephen countered with more stories of his mum, his ex-wife, and his favorite goat that, sadly, had been lost in a tragic accident atop the roof of his historic country home in England. He quieted as they closed in on Molokai, a magnificent, awe-inspiring bit of nature that was at once fearsome and beautiful.
Sparsely populated, Molokai was home to the highest sea cliffs in the world and every inch of them was covered with the most brilliant green. Those cliffs rose from a sapphire sea and into a cobalt sky so bright it hurt the eyes to look at it. By the time they tied up the No Problem and got the car, Stephen was back in true form and giving her the two-dollar tour as they drove. That eastern part of the island where they were headed was cut off on three sides by the Pacific and bordered by the Kalaupapa National Historical Park. Deep in a canyon at the foot of the mountains was the leper colony founded by Father Damien. Leprosy was gone; the buildings where lepers were nursed and museum that documented their suffering were the island’s only tourist draw.
“Have you ever seen the place?” he asked. Josie shook her head. “Well, then we’ll come back another day. You must take a mule down miles of switchbacks to get there. They took quarantine of those poor buggers quite seriously. I’d have to send you alone though. I don’t care for those mules. Riding a mule is like being in a boat on a choppy sea. Upsets the tummy. Malia likes it. I’ll send her with you.”
That, Stephen said, was for another day when they had no chore to do. The place he was taking her was reached by car on a narrow road through some of the most beautiful terrain she had ever seen. The Molokai uplands were cool and he took great care on the roads that sometimes skirted the edge of the cliffs. Finally, Stephen stopped at a turnout.
“Here we are,” he announced.
“I don’t see anything.”
“It’s not far. Deliveries are made from a different entrance. There’s a wider road and all. We’d have to drive too far around. Besides, this affords us a lovely walk.”
They both swung out.
“Might be best to take it slow,” he suggested.
“Is there a problem?” Josie asked.
“If Hannah is being held prisoner here as you suspect, I’d be disappointed to walk into some den of crime and find a knife to my throat. You’re a pretty thing, but no one is worth that and, while I am dashing, I cannot be mistaken for James Bond.”
“I didn’t say she was kidnapped,” Josie pointed out. “Besides, I thought you worked with these people. How long have you been delivering supplies here?”
“Six years, but it’s not like we’re gossiping around the water cooler with the folks. They fax their orders and my boys over here meet the boat and deliver the supplies. I don’t have what you’d call a relationship really,” Stephen muttered.
“Has anybody ever pulled a knife on one of your guys?”
“There’s always a first time for such a thing,” he complained.
“I promise, it won’t be today.” Josie patted his hand, slid it off her arm, and headed down the path that cut through the tropical forest.
“Could be that you’re crazy,” Stephen grumbled as he followed. “Maybe you have a knife.” He raised his voice. “It dawns on me that could be the case.” He lowered his voice to grumble some more. “They won’t be happy if I bring a crazy woman here. I’m just saying that it would have been polite to call.”
They walked that way for a bit and then he took a hop and a skip and came along side her.
“In for a penny,” he sighed, but Josie wasn’t paying attention any longer.
She was tuned to the turn of the earth, seduced by the place in which she found herself. Whatever was going to come, she was glad it would come here where the plants had leaves made of satin and flowers of velvet, where the perfume in the air was blown on trade winds, the ground was dappled by sunlight sifting through a canopy of exotic trees, and the silence was the stuff of cathedrals not tombs.
“I’m glad she’s been here,” Josie said.
There was no need for Stephen to answer. Such, his silence seemed to say, was the power of island magic. Here Josie could be convinced that wishes came true and that all intentions were benign. He did not point this out anymore than he would mention that Josie was talking as if she had already found the girl. If her bubble were to burst, it would do so in its own good time with no help from him. Besides, Stephen Kyle was in no hurry for this walk to come to an end. He fancied himself a bit of Adam in the garden with Eve by his side. Pity this Eve kept her clothes on, but one couldn’t have it all.
The road rambled through the forest revealing signs of human intrusion as it pleased: a small greenhouse just off the path to the left, a bench on the other side, a hoe that had been left leaning against the tree and, ahead, the first glimpse of a two story, white clapboarded house.
Ha Kuna House.
The architecture was Victorian, a reminder of the days when well-meaning missionaries nearly destroyed the Hawaiian culture. The juxtaposition of formal architecture and the riot of unbridled landscape were astoundingly beautiful.
>
The windows on the ground floor were tall and overlooked a wrap-around porch. Six rocking chairs were lined up on one side of the front door. On the other side there was a single wheelchair. Just beyond the house Josie could make out the edge of another building. She leaned a bit and saw that there were two.
“It’s a compound,” Josie commented. “How many people live here do you think?”
“Figuring what we bring over in provisions, six or seven. Mr. Reynolds is the man who does the ordering. They keep to themselves.” Stephen’s gait changed to an amble, his voice dropped a decibel. “I’d forgotten how lovely this place was. I was only here once to secure the account.”
“Some hands on businessman you are,” Josie drawled.
“No need to be when things run smoothly. They order, we deliver, and they pay like clockwork. Would that all the world worked that way,” Stephen answered.
“Do you ever bring anything unusual?”
“Such as manacles for young girls held captive?” Stephen caught himself before he laughed aloud because Josie’s expression indicated she was not amused. “Sorry about that. No, is the answer. Food, toilette and cleaning supplies are always on the list. Once my boys brought a doctor from Maui.”
“Would your men let a couple of kids hitchhike on one of your boats?” Josie asked.
“No. My boys are good workers. They know the rules.” He paused to consider the building. “I’ve often expected to have one of my men come back one day and tell me the place is empty. It has that feeling, doesn’t it? Like your granny’s house, you know. You go every Sunday when you’re a child and then one day you’re older and forget to go and the next time you see her she’s in a coffin. That’s what this place feels like to me. Pretty but lonely and all worn down. It’s as if it has lingered past its time.”
Josie thought he was wrong. This looked like a place where two scared kids could feel safe. She gave his arm a tap.
“Today isn’t the day granny’s going to kick the bucket.” Josie took the porch steps with Stephen Kyle right behind her. Gentleman that he was, he hurried around to open the screen door.
Josie walked through it and into a time warp.
***
Eugene Weller had his finger on the pulse and it was a healthy beat he was hearing.
He was well ahead of schedule planning for the convention. He had a short list of vice-presidential candidates who had been put forth by the senator’s personal caucus even though they all knew there was little reason to vet them. Woodrow would be the nominee. Ambrose hadn’t said as much, but Eugene could read the signs. They all could. Still, their ‘just-in-case’ list was interesting.
They unanimously liked Sam Hemsly out of New Hampshire: a fine, upright man who was a little left of Patriota but loyal. He could be counted on to adhere to the platform, but Eugene could make a case that he was not the prime pick.
Sam Hemsley had not been blessed with Patriota’s good looks, nor had he aged well. That alone would not have been of concern to Eugene, but he was now in possession of medical files that, in the hands of an astute strategist on the other side of the aisle, could compromise a Hemsley/Patriota ticket. Any hint of difficulty dealing with stress, any spin that Hemsley might be on death’s door even if it wasn’t true, might give the voters pause. Patriota was the oldest candidate ever to seek the office and statistics being what they were, he might die there. If Hemsley were seen as vulnerable, Patriota’s popularity would take a hit, too. An electorate perceiving the demise of two older men in the highest offices which would open the door to a possible accession of the Speaker of the House who no one, save her own constituency, could stomach was something to consider.
The governor of California was a possibility and one Eugene would accept. As was the ex-governor turned senator for the great state of New York. He was young, energetic and good-looking. Eugene was quite taken with a picture of him and Patriota at the Kennedy Center during the awards ceremony. They were perfect foils. Patriota, aging and still virile looking, the young senator, blonde blue eyed giving off the boy next door vibe with a CV that included Harvard and Yale.
There were also the recommendations from the head of the party, various donors who thought they had bought Patriota and, of course, Lydia. She shouldn’t even have had a voice but even Eugene had to admit that her suggestion of the governor of Alabama was not a terrible one.
Of course, they hadn’t quite finished screening any of them and, as Eugene knew, that always turned up a few clods of earth that a politician wished had stayed tamped down. Although with these three, he doubted anything major would come up. Thankfully, Ambrose had been around long enough to know how to gracefully handle anything out of the ordinary, but it would be better if he didn’t have to.
“Mr. Weller?”
Eugene looked up as Ann came into his office. The woman had the most annoying habit of knocking and opening the door simultaneously. How she managed with a stack of reports in her arms he would never know. He did appreciate her talents though. She was an insanely organized person.
“I have almost everything you requested yesterday.” She started to flip folders with the most impeccable rhythm, giving him just enough time to look at the routing slips, open the top folder to glance at the overview and judge the extent of the reading that would be required. “This is the EPA report on the fracking issue and I’ve included the rebuttal from The University of Oklahoma and J.P. Goodings. I took the liberty to cull it down to three talking points that meet the Senator’s agenda.”
Thump.
“Blow back from the State Department regarding the Eastern European crime hearings the Senator conducted. Albania was not thrilled and has made their displeasure known. State suggests no action on the part of the senator but our ambassador has contacted their ambassador and is smoothing things over. You’ll see that I added a few notes on projections regarding trade with that country in the next few years, extrapolating to cover the senator’s transition to the White House.”
Thump.
“This is today’s correspondence from home. I’ve separated it into fan mail – just as an FYI since I’ve already taken care of answering those with the general letters – complaints, donor letters, and local issue reports. I broke the last into issues that might have national importance so you can start drafting an address and those that are purely local to Texas.”
Thump.
“Excellent as always, Ann,” Eugene said.
“And, finally, here’s the ISOO list you requested of the Defense Department’s declassified documents. These correspond to the dates and search parameters you requested but it looks like they went back a little further because it popped up some older stuff that seemed relevant. If you want to let me know what you’re looking for, I’ll cull it down for you.”
“No, thank you. I can manage,” Eugene answered.
“Okay, but you’re going to be up all night with this monster.”
Thump.
Ann was out of folders. She left the same way she came with a flip of the door. Eugene didn’t notice. He was already running through the list of declassified documents that carried any mention of Chatter, Artichoke, and Marigold. Ten minutes later he picked up the phone again. This time he connected to the ISOO and asked that copies of specific documents be sent to his office immediately with cross-reference to any groups or individuals who had requested similar documents under the Freedom of Information Act. Finally, Eugene opened his drawer and took out the cell phone that he had put away so carefully.
He hit call.
***
The house in which Josie stood was true to its architecture and purpose. There was no front desk, no receptionist, no sign-in for visitors, nothing to indicate that this was anything other than a private home. A wide-blade fan turned lazily above them, moving the still air in the entry. The wood floors were dark and polished. A straight staircase ran to the second floor and the railing matched the color of the wide floor planks. The stairs were not
carpeted but a blue runner led down the long hall that ran parallel to the staircase.
“Kitchen’s back there; Reynolds’ office, too. I’ll see if I can scare him up.” Stephen started on his way, hesitated and put one finger to his lips as he thought out loud. “Don’t be disappointed if Hannah isn’t here. Once people start to run, it’s hard for them to stop.”
Josie tucked in her bottom lip as she inclined her head. He saw by her posture that his warning had come too late. Josie’s hopes had been up since the minute she heard Ian Francis whisper in her ear. Since there was nothing to be done about that, Stephen took off leaving Josie to wait.
She didn’t do it very well. She never had.
To her right were wide doors that opened to reveal a comfortable drawing room. Deep chairs were covered in chenille; there was a sofa with rolled arms and an old television console. The windows looked out onto the porch. She closed the door and went to the other side of the entrance hall and opened those. The room was identical to the first except this one had books on dark shelves built into the wall, a game table surrounded by four chairs, and another wheelchair. An old black man sat in the wheelchair seemingly asleep with his eyes open. Josie was careful to be quiet even though there was probably nothing short of the end of the world that could distract him. There was a buffet with a silver urn on top. Josie took a look at the books: classic fiction, Hawaiian history, and a full encyclopedia. The man in the wheelchair hadn’t moved so Josie went back to the hall. The time dragged on and still Stephen did not come back. Josie was about ready to follow him when she heard a noise upstairs. She listened harder and heard it again. Without a second thought, Josie went toward it, taking the stairs lightly.
The first.
The second.
She took the third and fourth and paused.
Forgotten Witness Page 11
