Pele's Fire. Don Pendleton
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sure if Aolani was upset by all the bloodshed she had witnessed, frightened by the fact that she had nearly been among the victims, or enraged by the destruction of her Datsun. Maybe it was a bit of everything that kept her staring stiffly through the windshield, speaking only when she told him where to turn and then in husky monosyllables.
Polunu, huddled in the backseat, whimpered now and then, but otherwise stayed quiet, as if fearing what might happen if he drew attention to himself. That was fine with Bolan. Until they ditched the chase car and were back on safer wheels, he didn’t need distractions that would take his mind away from here-and-now survival.
He took his time on the second approach to their starting point at the monument. He saw no evidence of any stakeout, either by police or more would-be assassins, but he hadn’t seen the first ones, either.
Bolan boxed the block, then turned and did it all again, the other way around. When he was satisfied that no one lay in wait for them, he pulled into the spacious parking lot and drove directly to his rental car, parked one space over from it and got out to have a final look around.
No ambush didn’t mean there was no danger.
For all Bolan knew, there could’ve been a third carload of hostiles watching when they fled the monument with two chase vehicles in tow. He doubted it, but stranger things had happened.
Looking over his rental car, he could see his tires weren’t flat, and the locking gas cap had no signs of tampering.
What else?
He popped the hood and had a cautious look around, seeking any grim surprise package that might explode when he turned the ignition key or hit a designated speed.
Nothing.
As he prepared to look beneath the car, Aolani asked him, “What’s going on? You smell a gas leak? What?”
“Just checking,” Bolan said. “It won’t take long.”
“Checking for what?”
“For bombs,” Polunu answered softly. “It’s a good idea.”
“Not only bombs,” Bolan replied, while peering underneath the rental’s fenders, moving on to check the bumpers. “We don’t want to take a homer with us, either.”
“Homer?” Aolani said. “What’s that?”
“Tracking device,” Polunu said, surprising Bolan.
He would have to judge the turncoat terrorist more carefully, see what lay underneath the mousy, terrified exterior.
“All clear, as far as I can tell,” Bolan said, rising from the ground and dusting off his hands.
“As far as you can tell? That’s not very encouraging,” Aolani said.
“No bombs, definitely. As for homers, the technology is so advanced, I’d have to take the car apart and might not recognize it, even then. There’s nothing obvious. We either take our chances as it is, or take a hike.”
“They’re not through hunting us, I take it?” Aolani asked.
“I doubt it,” Bolan said.
“Not even close,” Polunu said.
“In that case, hiking’s out,” Aolani replied, moving around to take the shotgun seat as Bolan sprang the latches with a button on the rental’s key fob.
“Where to?” Aolani asked him, as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“Not your place,” Bolan answered. “If they trailed you here, they’ve got you covered all the way.”
“You mean I can’t go home again?”
Choosing to ignore her question, Bolan said, “I want someplace where we can talk in private, without further interruption. Someplace no one would look for either one of you.”
“It isn’t far to Diamond Head or Kuilei Cliffs,” Aolani observed. “We shouldn’t have much company out there, this time of night.”
“None of the wrong kind, anyway,” Polunu said.
“That’s southeast,” Bolan said, not really asking.
“Right,” Aolani agreed. “We’ll pick up Kalakaua Avenue, not far ahead. Just follow it along the coast until it turns into Diamond Head Road. From there, you’ve got your choice of Diamond Head State Monument or Kuilei Cliffs Beach Park.”
Bolan followed the course she had described, keeping a sharp eye on the rearview mirror for pursuers as he put the miles behind him. He believed it was unlikely that they’d snag another tail, but likelihood and certainty were very different things.
And there was ample room to die between the two.
The coastal route to Diamond Head was beautiful in daylight, but it had a very different quality by night. The sea beyond the nearby shore, instead of sparkling silver, blue and green, showed only shades of gray and black, highlighted by a quarter moon. It was the kind of view that made some ancient mariners believe they could set sail from home and topple off the far edge of the Earth, falling forever through a silent, airless void.
So, was it Paradise—or Limbo?
Either way, the hulk of Diamond Head was coming up in front of him, and Bolan started looking for a place to park his car.
“ALL RIGHT,” Bolan said, when he’d found a dark place to park well back from the highway. “We’re breathing, but there are six men dead so far, and I still don’t know what in hell is going on. Somebody bring me up to speed. Right now.”
Aolani turned in her seat and spoke to Polunu.
“Okay, it’s my story,” Polunu said.
“Let’s hear it,” Bolan ordered.
“How far back should I go?”
“As far back as it takes,” Bolan replied.
“I’ll skip the childhood shit, if that’s okay with you. Or even if it’s not.” The tight look of defiance on his face was Bolan’s first hint that the turncoat had a backbone.
“Fair enough.”
“Okay. I grew up hating haoles. No offense, you having saved my life and all, but this is me. I hate the way you—they—take everything for granted when they spend only a few days on the islands. Leave their trash all over, put the make on native girls like they were Captain Cook, going where no man’s been before. Laugh at the stupid Polynesians with their funny hair and clothes. You know?”
“I hear you.”
“Yeah, you hear me, but you haven’t lived it. Anyway, a friend of mine—name’s not important—told me all about this group that’s gonna turn the clock back. Maybe turn it forward to a better day, depending how you look at things. The guys who organized it called it Pele’s Fire.”
“A home-rule group,” Bolan said.
“Home rule’s part of it,” Polunu said, “but we have groups like that all over. Talk and talk is all they do, until I’m sick of hearing it. Get off your flabby ass and do something, okay? Now, Pele’s Fire, they’re doers. Absolutely.”
“I’m aware of certain bombings, things along that line,” Bolan said.
“Sure. Why not? You haoles killed the red men and enslaved the blacks, then set them ‘free’ and segregated them until they couldn’t take a piss without permission from the government. Stole half of Mexico, and now you bitch about the ‘wetbacks’ sneaking back into their own homeland. Locked up the Nisei in the Big War, when they had no more connection to Japan than you do. All to steal their homes and land. Haoles need to take their lumps for a while. I still think that.”
“Which begs the question—”
“Right. Why did I split? Why am I here, right now,