The Brad West Files

by Fritz Galt

  The old guy nodded.

  “Beat him up?”

  He shook his head.

  “Kill him?”

  He nodded.

  “Why don’t we just hire an assassin? Some Chuck Norris type. How about Hawaii Five-O? I know. Magnum PI. There’s gotta be somebody like that still around.”

  “In your dreams.” Earl crossed over to clasp an arm around him. “It’s you, buddy. Liang’s been trying to bump you off all week. It’s payback time.”

  His senses grew numb. He walked back out onto the balcony. A warm breeze promised a hot day. “Do you mean I don’t even get to go to Kauai?”

  Jade was already packing her travel bag. “I’ll fly us to Kauai,” she volunteered, and snatched the room key before May could get to it. “You’ve had enough flying for one day.”

  Brad watched his girlfriend toss Jade a hurt look. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Isn’t anybody gonna stick with me?”

  The four were already crowding out the doorway. Earl gave him a matter-of-fact smile. “It’s all up to you, old chap.” Then they rushed out into the hallway, leaving Brad behind.

  Hey, I’m still here. It was Xen in a low whisper.

  Yeah, schizophrenics are never alone.

  He turned and looked down eleven floors. There was a shallow swimming pool surrounded by lounge chairs and palm trees. A man was singing “Little Brown Gal” in Japanese.

  He had a better chance of surviving a swan dive into that pool than a dustup with Liang. And he could take down the singer along the way.

  But Brad did not jump.

  In the gap between luxury hotels, he saw whitecaps whipped up by an increasing wind. The waves would be perfect for surfing, if he knew how to surf and if he didn’t have a phobia about drowning.

  Having grown up in a desert, he wasn’t wise to the ways of the ocean. He only knew enough to keep a healthy distance from it. Could the ocean really rise high enough to deluge the island along with the coastal cities of China, and North America?

  He could almost picture the god in Liang’s head angrily shoving at the Pacific Tectonic Plate. The intent would be to force a major earthquake that would displace huge volumes of water. It could be strong enough to send shockwaves rushing five hundred miles an hour across the ocean’s surface. They would break on land and tear through the great port cities of Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Shanghai and Hong Kong.

  The effort would give Liang one monster migraine.

  Once Dr. Yu implanted the Hawaiian god in Brad’s mind to counter the Pueblo water god in Liang’s, he would have to track Liang down and put him out of his misery.

  Brad looked at his hands that gripped the iron railing. Did he have the ability to kill? Did he have the wherewithal? Did he have the will?

  He decided to put those questions aside for the moment and concentrate on what he had to accomplish first. The first step was to find out where Smith and Liang were staying on the islands. A call back to Sullivan might yield that information.

  He pulled his cell phone out and tried his father’s private number.

  “Hi, Dad. We landed in Hawaii.”

  “I’ll bet you want to know where to find Smith and Liang. I’ve done some research. The Reverend Terry Smith’s church owns an estate on Diamond Head Road. Chances are, you’ll find them there.”

  Brad rushed inside and scribbled the address down on hotel stationery. He felt a lump of disappointment in his throat. Whereas May was heading off to an island paradise, he was stuck in Honolulu, a city that looked like any large city in the United States.

  “You might run into some security problems at the estate,” Sullivan went on. “It’s in a gated community and the house probably has its own guards or security system.”

  Great. He might get attacked by guard dogs. “Can you get me some police or federal types for backup?”

  “I can try. Give me an hour and I’ll get back to you. We do have to put this Liang character behind bars before he slips out of the country. As for Smith, I doubt we can prove the hypnosis charges.”

  “Dad, the problem is far bigger than all that.”

  “How could it be? Thanks to you, the United States is already approaching normal again. Major power grids are coming back online. Other services are being restored. People are returning to their homes.”

  “It’s not about the economy any more,” Brad said. “Liang has gotten Dr. Yu to send out a huge tidal wave to hit the Pacific coasts of the U.S. and China.”

  “I haven’t heard of any tidal waves.”

  “It could start any second. This morning, May partially destroyed the Tsunami Warning Center here in Honolulu. In fact, she almost killed us all in the process.”

  “Heard about that,” Sullivan said. “That was you?”

  “Fortunately, May’s father reprogrammed her in time to avoid a complete disaster. Yu is also trying to find a way to prevent the tidal wave from forming, but we might not be so lucky this time.”

  “I’ll call the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center and tell them that the damage they suffered was no freak accident.”

  “Tell them to fix their instruments,” Brad finished his father’s thought. “Because a major tsunami might come barreling along.”

  The two rang off. Armed with Smith’s address, Brad was already focusing on the next thing to do. Find Diamond Head Road and a way past security at the house.

  He pocketed his cell phone in anticipation of his father’s return call and headed down to the concierge desk.

  Jade eased up on the throttle of her twin-engine, propeller-driven airplane for her approach to the Princeville Airport on Kauai, the oldest and westernmost island in the Hawaiian Island chain. But she couldn’t keep from glancing out her left window at the waterfalls and hidden jungle canyons that one could only see from the air. Out the right window, the view was different but equally magnificent. They passed a lighthouse and secluded beaches. Palm trees lined the north shore beaches of the island.

  She angled the nose of the plane down toward a grassy strip of land. That gave her a final look straight ahead at the sheer cliffs of the Na Pali Coast, a place that was inaccessible except by foot. Moody clouds hung over the volcanic hillsides that fell into the sea.

  The posh community of Princeville sat at the end of the road in Kauai. And there Dr. Yu’s Nigerian colleague would be waiting for them at the hotel.

  She set the landing gear down lightly on the turf and felt the inevitable bumps associated with an unpaved landing strip. Then she turned the plane around and taxied up to the small terminal where a number of other private airplanes were tied down.

  Earl appeared in the cockpit and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Great ride. Let’s take another spin over the island later.”

  She was busy winding down the engines and was the last to step off the plane. May and her father waited for her while Earl hustled on his crutches across the grass to call a cab.

  By sheer luck, a taxi driver was hanging around the airport. In short order, the huge Samoan pulled his van up to the plane. It was a slick rendezvous in the manicured wild of the Garden Island.

  Sheets of rain sprayed the windshield as they pulled through a golf course that fronted the Princeville Hotel. Earl paid the driver, and they said their “Alohas” to the guy.

  The hotel staff greeted them with fragrant, yellow leis made of plumeria petals.

  Dr. Yu lingered overlong as the Hawaiian princess with a yellow hibiscus above her right ear placed the lei around his neck.

  “Come on, father,” May said, and grabbed the old guy by the hand.

  Jade instantly felt dwarfed by the enormous vault of the hotel lobby. The piped-in Hawaiian music seemed out of place amid the square skylights, black tile floor, plate glass windows, gray-white walls, and a ceiling supported by the occasional thin, round column.

  As their shoes squeaked against the floor, she heard silverware clinking in the distance. A wall of windows faced the mountains and a flat, green pol
o field. There was also the tinkle of several unseen fountains and the echoing chirp of a bird that was trapped somewhere in the vast atrium.

  A pale woman and her deeply tanned husband walked by in fine dinner clothes. They were the only guests in sight. In fact, valets, busboys, window cleaners, maintenance workers and gardeners vastly outnumbered the guests.

  Then they saw him. Dr. Mamadou Yapo was a dark man seated on a plush gray sofa, his worn leather shoes planted uneasily in a thick pile carpet.

  “Dr. Yu!” the man cried upon spotting their party.

  The pair of scientists shook hands like old friends at an academic conference.

  Jade could tell that Earl was still agitated. “Come on, men,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Liang stood under the front porte cochere of Smith’s mansion and listened to water splashing in a fountain. Nearby, a five-meter waterfall crashed onto lava rocks, then gushed under the floorboards upon which he stood. It reminded him of mountain streams that coursed beside the walking streets of Lijiang in China’s Yunnan Province.

  …and the tidal wave I am creating.

  Liang looked around behind him. “Who said that?”

  It is I, the Puebloan water god. I am summoning all my strength to create a mighty wave that will move all rivers backward.

  “Heavenly spirits,” Liang said aloud. “You’re in my head.”

  You are the fountain from which all my powers flow.

  “I can’t create a tidal wave,” Liang said. “That’s your job.”

  I rely on the energy of your resolve.

  Liang shook his head in disbelief. Dr. Yu had planted the spirit in his mind. The old fool had literally given him the power to take over the world.

  First, he had to check that General Fang was in synch before he changed the landscape of the world forever. He passed back through the leaded glass doors and entered a bi-level foyer with a chandelier and white balustrade above him. Twin mermaid statues welcomed him into a circular living room that flowed out onto a swimming pool deck.

  He followed the living room’s curved walls that were tastefully decorated with ancient Hawaiian artifacts such as baskets, spears, and bows and arrows. He pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and punched in the number of his friend Chou Peng in Beijing. He imagined a phone ringing in the surveillance center under Zhong Nan Hai.

  “Wei?” the voice answered. It was Peng, his old friend and head of security at party headquarters.

  “This is Red Water Buffalo,” Liang identified himself. He wandered across the plush carpeting. “Has General Fang made his suggestions for military preparedness in case of a tsunami?”

  “He made his request to our beloved leader and had it rejected. It has started rumors flying throughout the party. President Qian suspects Fang of trying to force a confrontation with the army. For their part, party members think Fang is seized by paranoia.”

  “Let them. When the water hits our shores, they will all recognize Fang’s foresight and place their trust in him.” Liang examined himself in a circular mirror with a koa frame over a leather couch. In his linen leisure suit, he cut a powerful figure and would be equally impressive when General Fang installed him as party chairman.

  “We cannot let this go on much longer,” Chou said. “Fang is losing face. Even he is beginning to question your orders.”

  “Do not fear,” Liang said. “He will be vindicated today.”

  He heard a gasp on the other end of the line. “So soon?”

  With a serene smile, Liang folded his phone and placed it back in his pocket.

  Smith was just entering the living room with a bowl of sliced mangos. “Care for some fresh fruit?”

  Liang waved him off, but took a seat anyway. Through the open doorway several meters away, water lapped against granite columns. The pool stretched from the shaded lanai out into the bright sunshine and appeared to fall off the edge of a cliff that overlooked the cobalt sea.

  Even Hawaii will be flooded.

  “Not up this high.”

  Smith shot him a look with a mango still dangling from his lips. “What did you say?”

  Liang rolled his eyes. “Just talking to myself.”

  The rest of the mango slithered into Smith’s mouth. “Look. I need to resurrect my campaign. I’ve got to find a way to turn the latest developments in Las Vegas to my advantage. I don’t think I’ve lost my religious base, but I’m worried about the moderates who came to me in droves during the economic crisis.”

  Liang squinted at him. “Campaigns, religious base, moderates. I don’t even pretend to understand your terminology. You seem to carve up the proletariat like one big mango.”

  “Well, I’ve got a TV truck pulling up in the next half hour, and they want to interview me.”

  “Tell them no.”

  “You don’t understand.” Smith sucked happily on another sliver. “In America, if the media comes to you, you don’t turn them down. Every interview is a free opportunity to make your case and advance your cause. I just need to know what to say at this particular juncture.”

  Tell them to prepare Noah’s Ark.

  That was it. Pure genius. He looked Smith straight in the eye. “Don’t you have a biblical story about a flood that covered the earth?”

  Smith nodded. “Noah’s Ark.”

  Liang raised an eyebrow, and Smith understood at once. He snapped his fingers, jumped up and tossed the bowl onto the glass table. “Barney,” he called, and looked about for his campaign manager. “We’ve got a whole new prophecy to make.”

  The mirror-smooth pool still reflected blue sky. Only the occasional fleecy cloud drifted overhead. If the world turned upside down, Liang wouldn’t be able to tell what was water and what was sky.

  To his mind, Smith was a reflection of General Fang. And America was a reflection of China.

  But where were the waves and the stormy sky?

  To Earl’s relief, the group turned to leave the lobby of the hotel, only to be stopped by Dr. Yapo. The anthropologist placed a second strand around Dr. Yu’s neck. This one was smaller than the lei. It was a brown and white collection of nuts and seeds.

  “For the spirits,” Yapo explained. “The large nut is a kukui, the smaller black seeds are from koa, and the white shells are coconut.”

  “Thank you.” Yu appeared touched.

  “The word is ‘mahalo.’”

  “Mahalo.”

  Then Yapo led the group to an elevator bank and pushed the down button. “Are you familiar with the huna philosophy?”

  “Not in the least,” Yu said. “But I’m interested.”

  An elevator arrived and the group rode it down while Yapo explained the secrets of the Hawaiian kahuna. “Your body is comprised of a higher self, a middle self and a lower self.” He pointed to the floor numbers indicating their downward movement. “Your consciousness dwells in your middle self, but you can communicate with your other selves, much like the elevator reaches all floors of this hotel.”

  “But I am not a hotel,” Yu said.

  “That is true. Your other selves exist as shadows that occupy the same space as your middle self.”

  It felt to Earl as if they were attending a yoga conference. The elevator dropped them off at the pool level. Several well-endowed women wrapped in towels were hurrying in from outside. Then Earl saw why. The occasional mist had exploded into a downpour.

  Nevertheless, Yapo stepped outside. He didn’t stop talking as he circled the pool. “You can communicate with your higher and lower selves through meditation. Your vital force stems from your lower self. And a silver thread connects you to your higher self.”

  “But I don’t need to talk to myself. I need to reach out to a Hawaiian god and stop the tsunami.”

  Yapo swung a gate open and led them into a small garden where rain pelted the flowers and cacti. Ahead lay a drop-off that fell thirty meters straight down to the churning sea.

  “The high self can reach out to contro
l other selves as well as things like the weather, animals and plants.”

  “Okay. So how do I reach out?” Yu asked.

  “You must use the silver threads to reach out to other selves. Your vital force and thought forms will then travel through these threads.”

  “Ah ha.”

  Earl had to wonder if that wasn’t exactly what the scientist had already done to Liang when he planted the Pueblo spirit in his mind.

  They stopped at the top of a narrow trail. It led down the side of the cliff to a distant beach.

  Earl balked. His crutches made him too wide to fit on the trail. Meanwhile, the others were disappearing from sight. He studied the footpath carefully. The gravel was loose and slippery from the rain. And he couldn’t help but notice how wildly the waves hit the reefs and rocks below. He didn’t want to become Hawaii’s newest human sacrifice.

  In the end, he slung both crutches over a shoulder, sucked in his gut, and limped after the others.

  “In the absence of an actual medicine man,” Yapo was saying, “I’ll have to be your kahuna today.”

  Halfway down the path, they reached a small ledge. Yapo pushed several tree ferns aside and revealed the entrance to a cave. “Here is where the goddess Pele planted her staff and created the first volcano. It turned into this island, the first in the Hawaiian Island chain.”

  “Pele, the fire goddess?” Yu said.

  Yapo nodded and then ducked to enter the cave.

  Yu followed. “I’d like to reach Pele.”

  Earl paused at the ledge. He took one last look at the watery horizon. There was plenty of rising and falling, but no tidal wave racing their way.

  May stood still, an anxious look on her rain-plastered face. “Do you have belief in my father?”

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “He could do this for a living.”

  “And how about Brad?”

  “Hey, Pele heap big Hawaiian goddess. She made all these islands. With her in Brad’s head, he could clean Liang’s clock.”

  She twisted her puffy lips and stared dubiously at the sky. Raindrops beat her long hair back. “I do not believe in gods.”