“You just can’t keep your ass out of trouble, can you?” Kowalski said. The big man had stripped out of his protective wetsuit and wore boots, a pair of knee-length cargo shorts, and a Tommy Bahama shirt. He waved sourly at his attire. “There I was, about to head to a nice dinner at the Four Seasons with Maria, when I get this call to pull your butt out of the fire.”
It seemed Kowalski had used this babysitting assignment as a paid Hawaiian vacation, bringing along his girlfriend, Dr. Maria Crandall, a geneticist from Georgia who had helped Sigma in the past. The pair made an odd couple, but then again, her work dealt with Neanderthals. So clearly she had a type.
“Of course, maybe it’s just as well. Maria wanted to go to some restaurant that served raw food.” Kowalski shook his head. “What’s the point of paying to go to a place that’s not going to cook your stuff? It’s stupid, I tell you.”
“Then it sounds like you’d fit right in.”
Kowalski scrunched his heavy brow. “What do you mean by—?”
They were interrupted as two figures approached from an office. It was Hani Palu and his battalion chief, Benjamin Renard.
Palu had gotten rid of his heavy fire jacket, but still wore baggy yellow trousers held up by bright red suspenders. The Hawaiian clapped Kowalski on the back. The two could almost be brothers from another mother. Palu stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Kowalski, both standing well over six feet. The pair had dark hair, razored nearly to the scalp. But the Hawaiian’s face was rounder than Kowalski’s and certainly less scarred.
The two were also worlds apart in attitude.
Palu smiled broadly and often, even in these grim circumstances. Whereas Kowalski wore a perpetual scowl, as if expecting the worst at any moment.
Chief Renard pushed forward and held out a cell phone toward Gray. “You have a call. From a Director Crowe.”
“Thanks.” He took the phone and stepped a yard away. He was not surprised Painter had managed to hunt him down here.
He cradled the phone to his ear. “So what’s the situation?”
“I was hoping you could tell me . . . at least in regard to events out there. It seems Maui was not the only target of this attack. Honolulu was also hit, as was Hilo on the big island of Hawaii.”
Gray turned to the glass doors, trying to imagine such a poisonous swarm boiling into major population centers on those two islands.
“Kat also suspects the city of Lihue on Kauai might have been targeted, but a sudden downpour with high winds may have spared the place, driving the swarm out to sea.”
“If that’s so, how do you know Lihue was even a target?”
“A Cessna washed up on a beach not far from the city. With no pilot.”
“A Cessna TTx?”
“Exactly.”
Painter let the implication hang in the air. Gray was surprised after nine months how easily he fell right back into sync with the director. He also knew the director was holding something back and began to get an inkling of what it might be.
“Were any other sites on Maui attacked?” Gray asked.
“No, just Hana.”
Gray considered this detail. Maui had larger population centers, both the city of Kahului—where the international airport was located—and the more touristy stretch on the far side of the island.
“Then why only hit such a small place like Hana?” Gray pondered aloud.
“That’s a good question.”
Gray pictured the trio of aircraft aiming for shore, with the centermost one bearing directly toward the red sand beach.
“Unless they weren’t just targeting Hana,” he suddenly realized. “They could’ve been trying to take us out, too.”
Two birds with one stone.
He stared past the doors to the bodies in the fields.
Were they all dead because of me?
“We suspected the same,” Painter admitted. “If we’re right, that means someone knows you were out there. Someone close enough to know you were at that beach.”
Gray cringed inwardly.
If they should learn we survived . . .
He swung his gaze to the south, remembering who was out there all by herself.
Seichan . . .
8
May 6, 9:33 P.M. HST
Hana, Island of Maui
From the porch of the old cottage, Seichan watched the trespasser creep through the fence row and along the garden path. The movements were furtive, keeping to the darkest shadows, approaching in short, lightning-fast advances. This predator clearly knew how to stalk its prey.
She waited near the doorway.
She had been expecting this visit all night.
Seichan slipped down to a knee. She did not want to put the other on guard.
The intruder glided low to the porch steps, vanishing momentarily from Seichan’s line of sight.
C’mon, already . . .
As if hearing her summons, the figure leaped into view and landed lightly atop the porch planks. Glassy eyes reflected the meager glow slipping through the shaded kitchen window. They fixed Seichan with a steady stare.
“About time,” she whispered to her guest.
A plaintive meow answered her.
Seichan lowered the plate of minced ahi tuna.
The black cat looked to the offering, then away. She stretched her long legs, splaying her paws, feigning disinterest.
“That’s all you’re getting.”
After another moment of hesitation, the cat swished her tail and stalked forward. She sniffed the plate, nosed the food, then began to eat, tentatively at first, then with more gusto.
Seichan risked stretching out a hand and scratching a single finger atop its head. A low growl flowed, though the cat never stopped eating. The creature was clearly feral, but over the past three months, Seichan had coaxed it closer and closer. She had noted the swollen mammary glands, suggesting the cat had a litter of kittens hidden somewhere out there.
Gray had scolded her for feeding the stray, counseling her on the devastation wrought by the wild cat population on the island, how they were endangering many bird species.
She ignored him. She remembered all too well what it was like to live on the streets after escaping the orphanage in Laos. She had been as feral as this cat, doing what she could to survive. Eventually the Guild had found her and trained her to hone those same street skills into deadlier pursuits.
She stared at the hungry cat. Though she was free of the Guild, a part of her could never fully escape her past. So she fed the stray, while trying to ignore the deeper motivations behind her actions.
Gray has enough on his mind.
After his father’s death, he had needed this escape from the real world. While he had accepted his role in ending his father’s life, sparing the proud man of needless suffering and loss of dignity, she knew a part of Gray remained haunted. She caught him often staring blindly into the distance. He never talked about his father, but his ghost hovered at his shoulder. Many nights he tossed and turned or simply slipped from their bed to sit on the porch.
She let him have those moments to himself.
With a sigh, she straightened and let the cat finish her meal. She rubbed her upper arm, trying to massage away the residual numbness from where she’d been stung. The fire had subsided in her arm, but a dull headache had settled between her eyes. This pain, though, was from tension and not an aftereffect of the venom.
She stared to the north, toward the source of her nervousness.
What’s taking you so long?
Earlier, Gray had called after reaching the community center in Hana, letting her know he was okay. But since then, nothing. He had warned her to stay at the cottage, as the situation in the small town remained chaotic. She imagined he was coordinating with Sigma back in the States, especially considering the unexpected arrival of Joe Kowalski.
Still, she remained on edge, anxious for an update.
The distant echo of sirens from Hana had faded awhile ag
o, but the silence afterward only heightened her sense of misgiving.
She paced barefooted to the cottage’s porch rail. It creaked when she leaned on it. According to the caretaker, the cottage had been built in the mid-forties, around the time the last sugar plantation had closed here. The thatch-roofed homestead sat a hundred yards off the highway, perched atop volcanic cliffs. The wooden structure was raised on stilts and ribbed by thick bamboo supports, harvested locally from a nearby forest. The furniture inside was all crafted of native koa wood. The old patina almost glowed.
For the past sleepy weeks, Gray and Seichan had the surrounding hundred acres all to themselves. Most of the grounds were untouched, a piece of unspoiled Hawaii, but closer at hand, the landscape was a paradise of papaya and banana trees, set amid towering palms. Wild gardens abounded, flowering with red ginger, yellow plumeria, and pink hibiscus.
Her gaze lingered on a plank swing hanging from a nearby mango tree. She and Gray had spent many hours there, lost in their own thoughts, watching the late-afternoon shadows stretch into evening.
She inhaled the night’s perfume, drawing it deep.
The place reminded her of her home back in a small village in Vietnam. The jungles here were different, but there remained a similar sense of timelessness and connection to the natural world that harked to her childhood. Her fingers found the small dragon pendant at her throat, a gift from her mother before the woman was ripped from her life. Seichan had been loved back then, a love that infused their small hovel, transforming it into a magical place.
And maybe that was what truly made this cottage feel like home now.
She stared at the swing, remembering Gray’s fingers entwined in hers as they sat together.
He had made this place a home.
She paced again, unable to escape a sense of trepidation, a feeling that everything was coming to an end. It was not his love she mistrusted, only her continuing capacity to accept it. These months on the road had been wonderful, beyond anything she could have imagined with another person. But at the same time, this was a dreamlike sojourn, one from which she’d have to eventually awaken.
And then what?
Under the harshness of reality, could this last? Or even should it?
The cat growled, drawing Seichan’s attention around.
“Quit complaining. There’s no more—”
The cat had her back to the plate, staring out toward the forest of palm trees. The deep-throated growl faded to a low hiss as the cat slunk warily to its belly.
Seichan followed the example and crouched. She shifted away from the glow of the kitchen window.
Someone’s out there.
9:38 P.M.
Gray dialed the number for a third time. He was holed up in the community center’s office, using their landline to try to reach Seichan. Unfortunately, the remote location of the cottage offered no cell service, which limited his communication options.
He listened as the connection rang once—then nothing but dead air.
He slammed the receiver down.
Earlier, he had reached Seichan by phone, but the emergency here must have finally overloaded the local systems. He cursed himself for abandoning his satellite phone when he left the States, but the device was Sigma property. Back then, he had wanted privacy and feared the phone would be used to track him.
Fat lot of good that did.
He stared out the office door at Kowalski. Clearly Painter had still managed to keep tabs on Gray.
Knowing he would have no better luck with the phone, he headed to the lobby. Kowalski straightened from where he was leaning against a wall. He had the stub of an unlit cigar clenched between his molars. A large nurse behind a desk stared daggers at him, as if daring him to try to light it.
Gray interrupted their standoff. “No luck reaching her. I’m going to make a run for my bike and head out there myself.”
“Could be worrying over nothing,” Kowalski groused. “And if there’s trouble, knowing her, she’ll handle it just fine.”
Gray knew both statements were roughly true, but he wasn’t taking any chances. If he and Seichan had been specifically targeted as part of this attack, he planned on facing any repercussions at her side.
“You hang here, while I check on her.” He spotted a familiar broad-chested figure by the main doors and crossed over. “Palu, do any of your men have gear that might fit me? A jacket, maybe trousers?”
Palu must have understood his intent. “You planning on going back out there?”
“A friend of mine might be in trouble.”
“Okay, then I’ll go wit’ you.”
“Thanks, but there’s not enough room on my bike.”
“Who says we take your little bike?” Palu lifted an arm. A set of keys dangled from a finger. “I have a better ride.”
The big Hawaiian nodded outside to a bright yellow SUV parked a few yards away. The words BATTALION CHIEF were emblazoned on the side door. Clearly it belonged to his boss, who was currently preoccupied with a radio interview.
“Plus I know a shortcut,” Palu added. “Get you there wikiwiki.”
Gray nodded, happy to accept the offer. “Let’s go.”
A gruff voice at Gray’s shoulder startled him. Kowalski had followed him over, moving with surprising stealth for someone so large. “If he’s going, I’m going.”
Palu shrugged. “Mo’ better.”
“Fine.” Gray waved to the door. “We all go.”
Kowalski paused long enough to light his cigar, glaring back at the nurse behind the desk. They then rushed out the glass doors and through a cloud of smoke rising from a smoldering barbecue set up at the entrance. The acrid pall was meant to guard against the wasps still buzzing out there.
At least the worst of the attack seemed to have passed. Stars twinkled above. The majority of the swarm had rolled off into the dense rain forest that climbed the northeasterly flank of Mount Haleakala, a dormant volcano that formed half of Maui. While the immediate danger had dissipated, Gray suspected this was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
But dealing with such a threat would have to wait for now.
They reached Chief Renard’s truck—a Ford SUV equipped with sirens and a light bar—and clambered inside. Palu hopped behind the wheel, while Gray joined him in front. Kowalski simply sprawled across the backseat.
Palu started the engine and got them moving.
A familiar buzz rose near Gray’s ear. He ducked and glanced back. A large wasp landed and climbed across the inside of the window behind him.
Kowalski took his cigar and casually stubbed its lit end onto the wasp. Its body exploded with a sizzling pop. He then returned the stogie to his mouth.
Gray settled back to his seat.
Okay, maybe the guy has his uses.
9:44 P.M.
Crouched low, Seichan watched the black cat dash down the cottage’s porch steps and vanish into the flowering shrubbery. That wasn’t an option for her. At least, not yet. She had to assume that whoever was out there had the place surrounded.
She considered her options.
Shadow or fire.
The Guild had grilled those two approaches into her whenever she found herself cornered. Shadow involved staying calm, using stealth and subterfuge to slip out of a snare. Or she could fire up her adrenaline for a direct assault, breaking the snare by force.
Unfortunately, she had no firepower to blast her way out of here. As arbitrarily as she and Gray had moved from country to country, they hadn’t been able to transport any sidearms. Traveling as civilians, they had no way of circumventing customs laws, and they had spent too brief a time in places to bother securing weapons through the black market.
Still, she wasn’t totally unarmed. She had a sheaf of daggers, throwing knives, and a well-balanced Chinese cleaver secured in a leather roll. Only one customs official ever questioned her collection. To justify her possession of such an assemblage of cutlery, she had claimed to be a freelance
chef and carried around a forged Diplôme de Cuisine from Le Cordon Bleu as proof.
Sadly, the knives were currently secured in the back bedroom on the cottage’s far end, and she dared not expose herself long enough to get inside.
Which left her no option but to follow the path of the shadow.
This decision was made in a single breath—with the next, she was already in motion.
9
May 6, 9:45 P.M. HST
Hana, Island of Maui
“Anyone have eyes on her?”
Atop the cliff above the pounding waves, Masahiro Ito listened as each of his genin reported in from their positions around the thatch-roofed cottage. Fifteen minutes ago, the strike team had arrived by pontoon boat. They had paddled to shore, running dark, and scaled the cliffs fifty yards north of their goal to keep their arrival quiet and unseen.
Masahiro cursed whoever had alerted their target. He had ordered the others to stay hidden, to await the return of the American. His grandfather wanted both the woman and the soldier dispatched this night.
But now the situation had changed. Their target—the Eurasian woman, a traitor to the Kage—had disappeared just as the team had moved into position. One moment she appeared to be feeding a cat, and then she simply vanished off the porch. With the element of surprise gone, they could no longer hold back. The woman must be dispatched before she notified her partner of the ambush.
“Negative, Chūnin Ito,” Masahiro’s second-in-command radioed in. “No one has her in sight.”
He clenched his jaw.
All five of his men were former Kage assassins, recruited by his grandfather after the destruction of the organization. As the hierarchy was brought low, few in the Echelon—the upper levels of the Kage—survived the global purge. As far as Masahiro knew, only his grandfather managed to avoid notice.
Who would give an elder of ninety years more than a second glance?