Primal Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  Parry studied the lay of the land and then the layout of their makeshift headquarters: an unpaved, red-sand parking lot outside a small grocery store, nestled among the foothills, serving a shy, retiring community of peaceable island dwellers, both well-to-do and otherwise up here, who'd carved out a little place of their own. Even the houses up here, tucked away behind thick greenery and blooming mango trees, seemed to be hiding from this influx of machines and human activity on the mountain. The only exception was the store and the little man who owned it, a Korean who knew opportunity when he saw it; he'd been peddling packets of peanuts, raisins, candy and Twinkies along with soft drinks and coffee to the army that had descended on the area and had bivouacked at his doorstep. He looked as if he had God to thank for his sudden prosperity, but that thanks would have to wait until after the end of a business day.

  “What about the homes in the area?” asked Jim, looking over an aerial map on one of the tables here. “Have they been canvassed and cleared as possible hiding places for our man?”

  “Yes, all done within a fifty-mile radius,” Jessica walked him to a second rickety table below a tent where she pointed to a map held down in the wind by stones. “No irregularities, no suspicions reported, and no one's seen a hair of this guy's head.”

  “Then we move out to a hundred-mile radius. Give me the radio. I'll make the order.”

  “He's not here, Jim,” she softly said.

  He looked curiously at her as she stared off into the lush distance. “Just how do you know that?”

  “If he hasn't been flushed by the dogs by now...”

  “It's a bastard of a mountain range, Jess.”

  “The dogs've picked up no trace of him. If he were here, or if he'd been here...”

  “Do you propose we just give in already? Tell everybody in the islands it's over, that he's given us the slip?”

  “Just being practical. Don't forget, I know something about hunting, and this hunt?” She paused and pulled tiredly at her aching neck with one hand. “Just isn't panning out, Jim. We're looking in the wrong place.”

  “Any suggestions?” Jim's frustration was like a jagged file against his words. “He's either the goddamned invisible man or he's somehow gotten off the island.”

  “Bound for where?”

  “We've checked and double-checked all the airlines, including the island-hoppers and chopper lines. No one boarded Lopaka, so he didn't fly out of here.”

  “Then he got aboard a ship or a boat of some sort.”

  “You been talking to Tony?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “Look, the Harbor Authority wasn't alerted to the emergency as quickly as the airlines, but they claim there've been no irregularities.”

  “Come on, Jim.”

  “Regardless—”

  “How many times do those guys look the other way?”

  “—regardless,” he continued, “we radioed every ship that left port yesterday. We're tracking every destination, and we've got agents waiting at each destination port. Each vessel will be thoroughly searched. So we've long ago assumed a correct posture there, and we've got every ship's master cooperating.”

  “So you covered the big ships, but what about the fishing vessels that work the islands?”

  “They're all accounted for, according to the harbor patrol.”

  “And if there was an unscheduled boat in a slip the other night?”

  “Assuming such... that he got a boat out. Where'd he go to?” he pointedly asked. “Best guess... hunch... anything?' Parry was feeling his way in the dark, looking for corroboration for his own amorphous theory, looking to form it into a conviction, to convince himself he was about to do the right thing.

  “Some safe harbor, or where he feels at home,” she suggested. “Perhaps... maybe Maui? He was comfortable there once.”

  “Again I'm ahead of you, Jess. I've already alerted authorities there. They're on the lookout for Lopaka, armed with his photo. So far, nothing.”

  “Now whata we do?”

  “Keep our fingers crossed. Hope he makes a slipup? Whataya suggest?”

  She gritted her teeth and returned the empty coffee cup to him. “That's not good enough, Jim.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly, dear Doctor.”

  “Talk is cheap, Jim. We've got to take some action and we need to do it now.”

  “What the hell do you think I've been doing with my days and nights? What the hell do you want from me, Jess? Miracles?”

  For a moment, they glared at one another until she relented. “I'm sorry. Just have every nerve rubbed raw by this butchering bastard. Something about this beast that's primal. Savage monster's worse than Matisak and the Claw combined. I'm sorry but...”

  “No apology necessary.”

  “I had no right to—”

  “Shhhhh! Tell you what, Doctor. Maybe what we really need is a chance to completely clear our minds. I don't know about you, but what clears my soul is a good dive.”

  “What's that?”

  Birds chirped and darted in and out of a nearby kukui tree grove.

  “Maybe it's time for a return visit to Maui for you; you could take up where you left off. Get in some diving before you're called back to D C.”

  “What, just forget about the case and go off diving? Alone?”

  He smiled. “Who said anything about being alone?”

  She smiled brighdy and looked long into his beaming eyes. “A few days' diving does sound great,” she admitted. Then with an accusatory tone, she asked, “Just what'd you go and do, Jim Parry?”

  “Arranged a little excursion for us. Maybe get in a day's worth of diving. Whataya say? Come on...”

  “How long? A day, two, three?”

  “I know it's not much time, maybe get in one day's diving, but it'll be made up in quality, I promise. You haven't really seen the islands until you've seen them by helicopter.”

  “Helicopter? Is-sat right?”

  “That's right. A few days, all expenses paid, kind of a reward for giving up your vacation for us.”

  “Reward? Hell, Jim, we haven't even apprehended the bastard yet, and you're doling out rewards? Some people might view it as something other than a reward...”

  He ignored her protests. “Whataya say, Jess?”

  “I'm paying my own passage,” she insisted.

  “That's not necessary. This is on me.”

  “Ahhhh, I don't know.” Could get sticky, she thought.

  “We can argue on the chopper.”

  “We do that well anywhere, don't we?” She smiled.

  “You're getting quite good at being contrary, yes.”

  She gave a mock frown. “All right, when do we leave?”

  “Soon as you're packed. I've cleared the way for us, and Tony's been placed in charge here, so there's absolutely nothing standing in our way.” He suggested she get her things together and place them into his car, handing her the thermos he'd brought as well. She obeyed as he lifted the radio mike and called for Gagliano, looking over his shoulder to be certain she was out of earshot for the moment.

  Gagliano, who was somewhere up in the mountains with the armed forces and the HPD officers sent by Scanlon to assist, acknowledged his call. 'Tony, I want you to return to conduct the search from command, here at... at...” He looked over his other shoulder at the sign on the Korean's store which read Kawaohomaenape's. Obviously, the Korean had bought out the establishment from a Hawaiian owner but had retained the sign. 'The store,” Parry said, giving up on pronouncing the name. “Dr. Coran and I are outta here, Tony, and next time I get in touch it'll be from Maui. You got that? Out.”

  “Maui? Don't you mean Molokai, Boss? Over.”

  “Maui, Tony, but you don't know my whereabouts, understood? Out.”

  “Sure, sure. Boss.” Gagliano's voice crackled over the radio. “How long do you think we should keep these boys out here, Jim? Over.”

  “Give it till nightfall. Over.”

&nb
sp; “And then?” Click.

  “Call it quits. Out.”

  “Roger that. How long'll you be in Maui?”

  “Two, three days at tops, and thanks, Gag, for setting me straight. Over.”

  “Setting you straight? Boss, I said Molokai, not Maui, remember? Out”

  “I'm aware of that. Gag. Thanks anyway. Be in touch...”

  “We'll cover your backside. Over V out.”

  “Thanks, Gag.”

  She caught the tail end of his signing off with Gagliano. 'Tony's going to be upset with us. You know that, don't you?”

  “Tony knows we're doing the right thing. He even wished us well,” he said.

  She remained skeptical, her eyes telling him as much. “Well, if we're going, let's go.” She started off again for his car, mumbling to herself before turning, stepping backwards as she continued toward the car and saying, “You're really serious about our disappearing to Maui?”

  “Couldn't be more serious.” He took her hands in his for a moment, warming her.

  She started around the car, reluctantly parting her hands from his, still mumbling to herself. He pursued, coming round to her side, opening the door for her but barring her from entering, asking, “What're you going on about, Coran?”

  “You...” She stopped to stare him down. “You know you're just flying in the face of good sense? If the newsies get wind you've split in the middle of an investigation of this magnitude for... for some fun in the sun with your M.E. —”

  “To hell with 'em. Besides, they'll never know.”

  “But if they do, think of the consequences. Your name'll be mud not only with the coldly logical Hawaiians and Orientals here, but with the muckety-mucks in their homes on Diamond Head and Pacific Heights and with the luncheon set at the Pacific Club. Think of Marshal, who'll see to it Washington knows. Think of Scanlon, who's just waiting for you to stumble.”

  “I'm willing to risk it. What about you?” he countered.

  “Me? What about me?”

  “Are you secure enough in your relationship with Paul Zanek to follow my instructions for a little R & R?”

  “I'm not the least worried about my superiors, but I'm supposed to be on vacation, remember?”

  “Stop worrying about what others will think,” he said firmly. “I have.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  “Does that include Scanlon?”

  “Him most of all.”

  “And your superiors?” she challenged, her unerring eye pinning him to the truth now.

  “They owe me,” he countered, catching her mischievous glint, kissing her quickly and offering her a seat with a flourish of his hand like some coachman out of a fairy tale, she thought.

  Once they were inside with the motor revved up, he spoke across to her. “Don't forget, I'm the Sherlock who uncovered this whole ugly business with Lopaka in the first place, and with your help, I'm the one who's brought it along this far; together we've I.D.'d this animal. The rest can be left up to others.”

  “You saying leave the collar to others? Your sure you can live with that?”

  “I can. So long's he's caught. That's what matters, after all. To see him brought to justice, right?”

  “You want to give Scanlon more rope to hang himself, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  She smiled in response, feeling she understood now.

  “So, Jess”—he tried diversionary tactics—”what about your superiors?”

  She laughed lightly and then looked him in the eye. “They really owe me!”

  “All right!” He gave a little cheer and a high-five sign.

  21

  Somewhere the Sky touches the Earth, and the name of that place is the End.

  Anonymous Wakamba Saying

  6:15 P.M., July 19, over Maui

  The chartered helicopter flight was stupendous and breathtaking and spectacular all at once, revealing areas of the majestic islands that could only be reached by the eye of God or modem technology, the hovering craft. She and Jim flew over the ocean and around the island of Maui at breakneck speed, slowing and stopping at places he and the pilot alternately wished to point out to her. Jim, speaking to her through the requisite headphone set, was enjoying himself tremendously, she realized.

  It was coming on dusk, and it was lovely just to watch the sun slowly dip from sight, painting the western sky with an array of lavenders and purples. Jim had been right. Tlie helicopter trip alone had completely freed them of the hideous and offensive events left behind them in Oahu. Although they could not fully escape the horrors of Kowona's bungalow or the case, they had managed to come damned close, she felt. In fact she had all but forgotten everything during the moments they hovered beelike above an enormous, foamy waterfall on the mountainous side of Maui where there were no roads or access. Here was perhaps one of the few untouched and unspoiled areas on the face of the globe.

  Maui's volcanic valleys and conical peaks were barren on one side, a lunar landscape of treacherous ridges and pitted earth where no life survived. In stark contrast, the rich and lush life of the valleys on the lee side of the island was thick with the foliage of ginger, kamani, ti, hau, coconut and breadfruit trees. Behind each valley they discovered a slender ribbon of silver in fluid motion, waterfalls everywhere, many so isolated they could only be seen from the air.

  They moved on, the helicopter like a voracious bird of prey, anxious to slide away from the face of the cascading waters. Soon they were passing an occasional pastureland with roaming livestock, open-range-fed cattle and horses, and the occasional barn or ranch house. They next passed over a tiny church in the middle of nowhere, tucked among the rain forest, a small graveyard alongside it.

  Jim pointed at the graveyard and said, “That's Kipahulu Congregational Church, where Charles Lindbergh had himself buried facing the Pacific.”

  “Lindbergh? The first solo flight across the Atlantic?”

  “One and the same... Lucky Lindy, yes.”

  “The pride of St. Louis, way out here?”

  “He was a resident of Hana, which is coming in view now. Was buried here in 1974. Downright murder to get to his burial site even with four-wheel drive, and it's an even bet he wanted it that way.”

  They swept by a series of cascading pools bounded by huge, strewn boulders. The pools and rocks had people in brightly colored clothes and bathing suits all around them.

  “Tourists up from Kahului, almost sixty miles off. The place is called the Wailua Falls on the maps but the travel agencies call it the Seven Sacred Pools to lure people here,” explained Jim. “Most of those fools'll be sorry if they don't get back across the Hana Highway before nightfall.”

  “The Hana Highway. I've heard of it.”

  “Hana Tarmac's a better name for it. See how narrowly the road hugs the coastline cliffs, darts and twists around blind corners, disappears and reappears?”

  “So that's the infamous Highway to Hana I heard so much about while I was on the island earlier. In the shops they sport T-shirts that say, 'I survived the Hana Highway.'”

  “Believe me, not everyone does. Every year or so someone goes off the edge, usually a tourist couple trying to find their way in the dark. Hell, it takes the locals two and a half hours at top speeds, which amounts to thirty-five to forty, to traverse the fifty miles between Hana and Kahului, thanks to the sheer number of hairpin and blind curves.”

  Each mountain valley from up here appeared to be feeding the ocean with fresh water. Here on the far windward side of the island, the great Mt. Haleakala meant for an early sunset, and nestled among the valley floor and along the quickly descending cliffs below, a small village of modem construction emerged, some homes fantastic in both size and architecture as well as location. A steeple rose from the center of the small settlement, but church and grocery stores and all other structures were dwarfed by a spectacular resort hotel.

  Jim leaned into her, nudged her and pointed, saying over the no
ise of the chopper, through the headphone set, “Hana Town and that's the Hana-Maui, one of the world's most unique hotels.”

  “By virtue of its location alone,” she imagined aloud.

  “Have their own stable of horses for their guests, two outdoor heated pools, each room with its own sunken bath that looks out on a private garden.”

  “Imagine that. You've stayed there?”

  “On my paycheck? Hell, no.”

  From above they could also see what passed for an airport here, a single strip for take off and landing, not large enough to accept any but the smallest of jets, and the pilots would have to be either crazy or extremely adept.

  “Aloha Airlines has only recently gotten the okay to fly in here, Lear jets only, four and six passengers at a time, but they're restricted to one flight every three days in and out. The tower is that Quonset hut on the field.”

  The pilot cut into their conversation, a little static and a buzz alerting them to the fact. “Been to Hasegawa's lately, Mr. Parry?”

  Parry laughed. “Not lately, no.”

  “Hasegawa's?” asked a curious Jessica. “Something of a famous general store down there,” he said, continuing to point.

  “What's so famous about it? They got VCRs, videos, Playboy Magazine? L.L. Bean wear, what?”

  “No, nothing like that. No TV reception this side of the island, thanks to Mt. Haleakala.”

  “What's with the grocery store then?”

  “It's just that it's sorta become the standard by which all other island general stores must measure up, and when the original bumed up in 1990, there was some suspicion that it was torched by rivals.”

  “I see... I think.”

  “It's just a big, quaint old, wooden small-town grocery store that sells items you wouldn't expect to find here.”

  “Like condoms?”

  “Yeah, along with wooden airplanes, Yoo-Hoo pop, crackseeds, Jack Daniel's, Harlequin romances, and B.C. headache powders... you name it.”

  Jessica spied a simple harbor with boats. From the air she could see that each valley path, once the trek of lava flows, now supported green carpets of life which stretched fingerlike to the ocean. The shoreline had been carved out in many places by the lava flows of an ancient time, creating jagged, fantastic images.