Primal Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  “So the Ohana won in the end.”

  “I don't believe that even the Ohana could've foreseen the actual return of a permanent population to the island.”

  “I see.”

  “It just happened. Pockets of pilgrims who came for the celebrations started slowly to trickle back to stay, most of them booking passage on boats like this one, refugees out of time, you might say, living anachronisms, like this Chief Kowona.”

  She sensed a confusion in Parry, a sense of profound sadness for these people he spoke of in such analytical terms. She asked, “Before the Navy controlled the island, it held a permanent population?”

  “Yes, the diehards who from the first contact with the white man resisted becoming assimilated, and before World War II there were some flourishing ranches on the island, owned by whites who'd come in the 1870s. For a time before the cattle ranchers, King Kamehameha III had turned the island into a penal colony, which failed miserably. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Kahoolawe fell into the control of the military, the ranchers on the island suddenly finding themselves as disenfranchised as the natives.”

  “Can the island support a permanent population now?”

  “Doubtful, really...”

  “Oh? Why?” The breeze lifted her auburn hair, tying it in knots.

  “The island's been used traditionally as a fishing base.”

  “The soil no good for agriculture?” she asked.

  'The soil has been determined to be excellent for modem agriculture, but for hoe and rake subsistence farming, who knows.” Jim stretched, yawning, obviously tired. “Most Hawaiians are, or have been, unable to cope with Kahoolawe's changing weather, you know, cold nights and treacherous summers, so they've naturally opted for the larger, more fertile islands.”

  “The other native islanders still use Kahoolawe as a fishing base, then,” she remarked.

  Frowning now, he added, “It's going to be hell reclaiming the fragile ground cover destroyed by the wild goats and the scraff- ings. Soil erosion's on an enormous scale here. And without the U.S. military's help and proper management of water resources, the island's just going to continue to be parched. Much of it is a no-man's-land, like I said.”

  “Sounds to me like it took some courage to return here,” she told him.

  “No doubt of it,” he nearly shouted, his voice traveling over the waters of the channel. Toning himself down, he continued. “Meanwhile, Maui County would like to control and manage the island.”

  “Maui County covers the island of Maui?”

  “And neighboring Lanai, there in the distance.” He pointed out the dark, sleeping giant in the northern sky. “Maui County also wants to return the island to human habitation; has for years, and many Hawaiians working within the system have fought for county control. They want a major reforestation effort, irrigation canals built, but—”

  “But the Ohana wants control in the hands of the people.”

  “Exactly. They don't trust any governmental intrusion, and they've amassed a lot of native clout to push their beliefs on the rest of the Hawaiian population.”

  “Well, Jim, realistically speaking, if the PKO hadn't forced the issue, do you think anyone could have wrested the island from military control?”

  Parry frowned, considering this, and without a word spoken she knew he had to agree.

  “So, we're dealing with what, a feudal system, a native law and a local chieftain?”

  “They've got their own way of doing things, now that the government has relinquished all claims to the land, setting it up as protectorate in a sense, like Puerto Rico, like the Indian Nation of Oklahoma Territory before the Civil War. The U.S. will only intervene in their affairs at the request of their elected officials.”

  “Is the chief elected?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Power by family name, Kowona?”

  “Exactly, and we might assume that he doles out his own kind of justice as freely as a Hell's Angels biker king.”

  “Hmmmmm, I see.” She considered this. “And given that Lopaka is the son of the chief, it follows that—”

  “I wouldn't look for too much in the way of justice. They don't give a damn about our ways or our laws; in fact, they pretty much despise our way of life, and like I've said, they've harbored fugitives in the past.”

  “Really?”

  “No one quite of Lopaka Kowona's caliber, I grant you. Thieves, crooks, scoundrels of various stripe, the occasional tax dodger, pickpocket and the like. No one's ever quite sure, because no one seeking asylum on Kahoolawe has ever been extradited or returned of his own accord, or so they say.”

  “They just don't play by our rules. So if Kowona has gone home, he knows this.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And if we can't return him to Maui County, we'll never see justice done. He can never be tried for his grisly crimes,” she said, finishing his thoughts.

  “Any wonder Ivers pointed me to Awai when I called him?”

  “Ivers? How'd—”

  “The ol' fool wanted us to wait for him to fly over. He's still in hospital, half blind, but he's going to fly over. I convinced him we could get the job done.”

  “How'd you know Ivers would have such contacts here?”

  “Ivers used to be a Maui cop for many years before going to the HPD, and he frequently visits the island both for pleasure and on manhunt. He does bail bondsman's work on the side.”

  The boat now moved swiftly ahead of the current in the open waters of the Alalakeiki Channel, the depths here shallow and glassy. The ship's master at the wheel wore a grim look now, the smiling eyes flat, straight-lined, revealing nothing. Jessica got the sensation of a trap being laid, a web being spun by the Jolly Roger of Hawaii and his leering crew, but maybe she was just jumpy, she told herself.

  “Jim, just how well does Ivers know these guys?” she asked, her eyes going once again from crew member to crew member.

  “It doesn't matter, Jess.”

  “It matters to me.”

  He deeply breathed in the Hawaiian night. “Okay, if you must know. Ivers actually suggested a boat captain named Kaupau, but his boat's in for repairs and his crew was nowhere to be found. Kaupau put me onto Ben Awai.”

  She sighed in sad resignation, and under her breath she cursed. “So you don't know a damned thing about Awai and his pirates?” For some reason now the filth of the boat deck bothered her far more than before, and the crowded deck also seemed to be closing in, too small for five people.

  Awai's boat took on odors she hadn't noticed before. Fishing nets reeked of ancient kills, coiled as they were in all areas where she stepped, some looking in need of repair. Overhead a winch and derrick used for lifting large caches of fish tapped out an eerie requiem in the trade winds. Jim was right, the island they neared was cold. She felt a chill embrace her, nipping at her neck and tingling her most deeply embedded bones.

  “I'm no longer comfortable about Captain Awai and his boys, Jim.”

  “They don't get paid in full until we return, and they know it. Relax, will you? Will you quit worrying?”

  Another glance in Ben Awai's direction evoked a smile from the man, but she thought it forced, his yellow teeth glinting dully in the moonlight.

  Ahead of them loomed Kahoolawe, out of shadow now, bathed in a blue light.

  “How do we know we won't be seen, coming straight on this way? she asked.

  “Ben Awai's boat trades routinely with the natives.”

  “By night?”

  “No, by day, but if we're spotted, Awai assures me he can find a safe harbor. There're no wharves or ports, so we'll anchor and raft in, just the three of us.”

  “Does he know where Kowona's people are?”

  “He says he does, yes.”

  “How far from shore's the village?”

  “Not very, he says. A few miles inland, but it's a dense jungle. If you want to remain behind—”

  “Not with those two, no way.”


  “Hold it down,” he cautioned. “You never know how much English they understand.”

  “You're not leaving me behind!”

  “Okole nani,” said one of the crewmen as he passed by to get to some rigging.

  “What'd he say?” she asked Jim.

  “He... it's meant as a compliment in these parts, Jess.”

  “What the hell'd he say?”

  “He either said you behind is beautiful or that it's in the way.”

  “My behind is what?”

  “He heard you say the word 'behind,' and must've thought—”

  She gritted her teeth and spoke through them. “I'm not staying behind.”

  “All right, all right. You've come this far.”

  She nodded authoritatively, effectively ending the conversation.

  Midnight, July 21. the Island of Kahoolawe

  They were skirting the island now, coming about into a snug bay the captain called Kanapou, an area made up of several small bays. Noticeably, with this side of the island facing Maui and the channel, away from the ocean, there were no crashing waves here. Rather, the channel waters ruled here with a tranquil peace. They put in as close to shore as Awai dared, fearful of grounding his boat, and there they came to anchor.

  “Well, we're here, and so far I've not seen any spears whizz by,” said Jim, lowering the inflatable over the side.

  Captain Ben Awai, inspecting Jim's work, insisted that Jim try the raft first. Once it held Jim, he crooked his neck, tilted his head and gave an approving look, his smile returning. He then climbed down the rickety ladder of his own boat to the inflatable. Jessica followed, finding a seat opposite Jim, who was already pulling on the oars.

  “Ben Awai gets the raft as partial payment for his help,” Parry informed her.

  “Aha, the plot thickens,” she replied.

  Ben Awai patted the sides of the fat inflatable approvingly and sputtered, “Ko'u... mine. It is soon mine.” He sounded like a child just given the biggest gift from below the Christmas tree, she thought, but then it was a state-of-the-art piece of Army issue. She wondered how the raft had materialized, how Parry had performed this nifty trick... but there was too much on her mind to pursue it. Ben Awai spoke as they neared the shore. “There, there,” he pointed. “Best place to hide raft. Beyond is path. I take you.”

  The raft silendy glided in over the top of the turquoise sea which lazily lapped at the desolate island, much of which was barren wasteland as a target for bombing runs over the years, but this beach head looked as lush as Hana, or nearly so. The island was a relative latecomer in the chain of islands here, nowhere near as large as Maui's 729 square miles, which was over twenty times Kahoolawe's size.

  There was also a conspicuous absence of construction. No condos here, no resorts, no paved roads. It was the antithesis of Honolulu, the primal, waidng jungle alone greeting them like stone vegetation, creating its own gaping maw where a foot-path showed the way. Until Ben Awai pointed out the near- inconsequential footpath, she could see no way to penetrate the dense wall of bougainvillea, kedwe trees and palms.

  The raft, which Parry and Awai had pulled carefully to shore, was now quickly camouflaged.

  “We go dis way,” said Awai, leading them into the forest that hugged the bay. Behind them a small, warm light marked the boat at anchor, looking like a harbor buoy now. Soon, even this light was extinguished by the thick forest through which they trekked. A quick glance at the luminous dial of her watch told Jessica it was nearing 2 A.M. Her ankles already throbbing, she wondered how long she might hold out. It had been a strenuous thirty-six hours: first the search for Lopaka on Oahu, then the helicopter ride to Hana on Maui, followed by the dive and the bone find, and now this. She almost wished she had her cane back, just to lean on.

  She felt herself beginning to limp, the old pain returning. Jim, from moment to moment, looked over his shoulder from where he followed on Awai's heels. Each man had taken turns at the lead, each chopping away at the clinging vegetation on either side of the footpath.

  “Seeing would be nice,” she said to herself.

  “What's that?” he asked.

  “Nothing, never mind,” she said.

  “You okay, Jess?”

  “Yes, damnit!” She sounded more angry than she was.

  Awai just kept working at the vines ahead of him, expertly chopping away, the results visible as the foliage opened for them. Awai paid Jim and her no mind after a while, until he suddenly pulled up short, gasping for air, his hand covering his pounding heart. Parry went forward, asking in hushed tones about what had startled the big Hawaiian.

  Awai pointed to a heiau, a religious temple with a totem carved out of the rock here. The devilish eyes of the god stared back at the party, an angry scowl forming features somewhat between those of an evil beast and a man. The temple, restored somewhat, or at least reclaimed from the dense vegetation growing up around it and clinging to it, showed just how effectively the ancient Hawaiians had used their meager island resources of stone and wood.

  “How far to the village?” asked Parry.

  “That way,” replied Awai as if he did not understand. “I stay here.”

  “Whataya mean, you stay here?”

  “I stay back. I no like make trouble with the chief of these people.”

  “Don't do this to me, Ben.”

  “It's not far.” The big man continued to gasp. “Go north annuder fifteen, twenty minutes maybe, Joe. Stay on path.”

  “You're going to take us there, Awai. We made a deal. We may need an interpreter, and we certainly need a guide, for which you're being paid well.”

  “I got you here. I' no interpreter.”

  “We need you,” Jessica said, adding her plea.

  “No need me. No need interpreter. Many in village speak English.”

  “You damned fool,” Parry said, tugging at the big man. “We don't want a luau with the villagers. We don't want them to even know we're here! We just may need you in the event we're spotted.”

  “We might get more cooperation if you're with us,” Jessica told the man.

  He obstinately shook his head. He turned to find a log to sit on, and after he'd comfortably arranged his bulk there like a sitting bull, he looked up into the muzzle of Jim's .38 revolver. The metal bore he stared down needed no further explanation, end of argument.

  “Get up and get ahead of us, Awai. You're being paid to guide us, so get to it.”

  Awai's feelings looked quite bruised, his dark, meaty face blanched and pinched. “You haoles and your guns. Damn you, you no heah so good? Dey no like me over heah.” He indicated the general direction of the village. “Usually trade at the shore. No like dem old ways and magic. Dem people spook me, and... and some I owe goods to.”

  “Just get us there,” Parry said with bitter authority.

  Awai returned to striking at the canopy of vines ahead of them. “You hard man, Mr. Parry, no menemene.”

  “No sympathy,” Jim told her.

  The big man was perspiring in the cold night. She worried he could turn on Jim with the cane cutter.

  “Be careful of that machete, Jim,” she whispered, but it was a useless warning when all around them the rain forest itself came to sudden life, painted limbs reaching out to them, dark faces and eyes following, brandishing native weapons and machetes. They took hold of Jim and her before Jim could get off a shot, and before she could reach for the gun at her ankle.

  Jim was knocked down, a huge spear pinning him at the spine to the earth. Awai was likewise manhandled. All other eyes, straining from behind war paint, were on Jessica.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she moaned.

  They were prisoners of the island, prisoners of Chief Kowona.

  Awai was cursing in his native tongue, glaring at Parry and Jessica as he was being led away by the village warriors.

  They were neither tied nor abused, but Jim's weapon was taken and the native men, spears in hand, forced them onward towar
d the village they sought.

  “No chance we'll lose our way now,” she joked, displaying more nerve than she felt.

  “Damn me,” Parry moaned. “I should've forced you to remain in Maui. I should've left you at the hotel.”

  “I'd hate you for a long time if you had.”

  “And what, you don't hate me for this? Getting you involved in what's bound to become a very sticky international incident if we're lucky enough to ever get off this island with all our parts intact?”

  “We're not dealing with cannibals, Jim. Are we?”

  “No, but I can imagine what the old chief's going to do with us.”

  “What?”

  “Bind us over—literally—to U.S. authorities. Don't know 'bout you, but there goes my pension.”

  “Shut up, haole ilioV shouted one of the men in paint with frightening force and venom. Jessica was told by Jim that the stocky Hawaiian had just called the Chief of FBI's Hawaii Bureau a white dog with a loose tongue.

  Jessica swallowed her fear and shouted back, stunning the painted warriors. “Hey, you just tell your chief that this man you call a dog is also an important chief.”

  “Jess,” Parry cautioned.

  “No, no... they have a right to know who their dealing with. Chief.”

  “Everybody knows who Parry is,” said the native coldly.

  “What? How'd you know his name?”

  Parry's eyes had already fixed on Captain Ben Awai.

  “You bastard.”

  “I knew this was a setup,” shouted Jessica, pulling her arm free of a native who ushered her along.

  “This whole thing was engineered, wasn't it?” asked Parry of Awai. “When? When did you know who we were?”