Henri didn't rely on the costume, the cowboy boots or the cameras or the wraparound shades. The trappings were important, but the art of disguise was in the gestures and the voice, and then there was the X Factor. The element that truly distinguished Henri Benoit as a first-class chameleon was his talent for becoming the man he was pretending to be.
At half past six that evening, Henri strolled into the rustic dining room of the Kamehameha Hostel. He was wearing jeans, a summer-weight blue cashmere sweater, sleeves pushed up, Italian loafers, no socks, gold watch, wedding band. His hair, streaked gray, was combed straight back, and his rimless glasses framed the look of a man of sophistication and means.
He gazed around the rough-hewn room, at the rows of tables and folding chairs and at the steam table. He joined the line and took the slop that was offered before heading toward the corner where Barbara and Levon sat behind their untouched food.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“We're about to leave,” Levon said, “but if you're brave enough to eat that, you're welcome to sit down.”
“What the heck do you think this is?” Henri asked, pulling out a chair next to Levon. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
Levon laughed, “I was told it's beef stew, but don't take my word for it.”
Henri put out his hand, said, “Andrew Hogan. From San Francisco.”
Levon shook his hand, introduced Barb and himself, said, “We're the only ones here in the over-forty crowd. Did you know what this pit was like when you booked your room?”
“Actually, I'm not staying here. I'm looking for my daughter. Laurie just graduated from Berkeley,” he said modestly. “I told my wife that Laur's having the time of her life camping out with a bunch of other kids, but she hasn't called home in a few days. A week, actually. So Mom is having fits because of that poor model who went missing, you know, on Maui.”
Henri turned his stew over with his fork, looked up when Barbara said, “That's our daughter. Kim. The model who is missing.”
“Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. How're you holding up?”
“It's been awful,” said Barb, shaking her head, eyes down. “You pray. You try to sleep. Try to keep your wits together.”
Levon said, “You're willing to chase any scrap of hope. What we're doing here, we got a call from some guy named Peter Fisher. He said he had Kim's watch and if we met him here he'd give it to us and tell us about Kim. He knew that Kim wore a Rolex. You said your name is Andrew?”
Henri nodded his head.
“Cops told us the call was probably bull, that there are nut jobs who love to screw with people's heads. Anyway, we've talked to everyone here. No one's heard of Peter Fisher. He's not registered at the fabulous Kamehameha Hilton.”
“You shouldn't stay here, either,” said the man in blue. “Listen, I rented a place about ten minutes from here, three bedrooms, two baths, and it's clean. Why don't you two stay with me tonight? Keep me company.”
Barbara said, “Nice of you to offer, Mr. Hogan, but we don't want to impose.”
“It's Andrew. And you'd be doing me a favor. You like Thai food? I found a place not far from here. What do you say? Get out of this hole, and we'll go looking for our girls in the morning.”
“Thanks, Andrew,” said Barbara. “That's a nice offer. If you let us take you out to dinner, we'll talk about it.”
Chapter 49
Barbara woke up in the dark, feeling sheer, naked terror.
Her arms were tied behind her back and they ached. Her legs were roped together at her knees and ankles. She was crammed into a fetal position against the corner of a shallow compartment that was moving!
Was she blind? Or was it just too dark to see? Dear God, what was happening? She screamed, “Levon!”
Behind her back, something stirred.
“Barb? Baby? Are you okay?”
“Oh, honey, thank God, thank God you're here. Are you all right?”
“I'm tied up. Shit. What is this?”
“I think we're in the trunk of a car.”
“Christ! A trunk! It's Hogan. Hogan did this.”
Muffled music came through the backseat to where the couple lay trussed like hens in a crate.
Barbara said, “I'm going crazy. I don't understand any of this. What does he want?”
Levon kicked at the trunk's lid. “Hey! Let us out. Hey!” His kick didn't budge the lid, didn't make a dent. But now Barbara's eyes were growing accustomed to the dark.
“Levon, look! See that? The trunk release.”
The two turned painfully by inches, scraping cheeks and elbows against the carpeting, Barb working off her shoes, pulling at the release lever with her toes. The lever moved, but there was no resistance, no release of the lock.
“Oh, God, please,” Barbara wailed, her asthma kicking in, her voice trailing into a wheeze, then a burst of coughs.
“The cables are cut,” said Levon. “The backseat. We can kick through the backseat.”
“And then what? We're tied up!” Barb gasped.
Still they tried, the two of them kicking without full use of their legs, getting nowhere.
“It's latched, goddammit,” said Levon.
Barb was fighting to take one breath and then another, trying to stop herself from going into a full-blown gag attack. Why had Hogan taken them? Why? What was he going to do with them? What was to be gained from kidnapping them?
Levon said, “I read somewhere, you kick out the taillights and you can stick a hand out, wave until someone notices. Even if we just bust the lights, maybe a cop will pull the car over. Do it, Barb. Try.”
Barb kicked, and plastic shattered. “Now you!” she shouted.
As Levon broke through the taillight on his side of the trunk, Barbara turned so that her face was near the shards and wires.
She actually could see blacktop streaming below the tires. If the car stopped, she'd scream. They weren't helpless, not anymore. They were still alive and dammit, they would fight!
“What's that sound? A cell phone?” Levon asked. “In the trunk with us?”
Barb saw the glowing faceplate of a phone by her feet. “We're getting out of here, honey. Hogan made a big mistake.”
She struggled to position her hands as the first ring became the second, thumbing the buttons blindly behind her back, hitting the Send key, turning on the phone.
Levon yelled, “Hello! Hello! Who's there?”
“Mr. McDaniels, it's me. Marco. From the Wailea Princess.”
“Marco! Thank God. You've got to find us. We've been kidnapped.”
“I'm sorry. I know you're uncomfortable back there. I'll explain everything momentarily.”
The phone went dead.
The car slowed to a stop.
Chapter 50
Henri felt blood charging through his veins. He was tense in the best possible way, adrenalized, mentally rehearsed, ready for the next scene to play itself out.
He checked the area again, glancing up to the road, then taking in the 180 degrees of shoreline. Satisfied that the area was deserted, he hauled his duffel bag out of the backseat, tossed it under a tangle of brush before returning to the car.
Walking around the all-wheel-drive sedan, he stooped beside each tire, reducing the air pressure from eighty to twenty pounds, slapping the trunk when he passed it, then opening the front door on the passenger side. He reached into the glove box, tossed the rental agreement to the floor, and removed his ten-inch buck knife. It felt like it was part of his hand.
He grabbed the keys and opened the trunk. Pale moonlight shone on Barbara and Levon. Henri, as Andrew, said, “Is everyone all right back here in coach?”
Barbara launched a full-throated, wordless scream until Henri leaned in and held the knife up to her throat. “Barb, Barb. Stop yelling. No one can hear you but me and Levon, so call off the histrionics, okay? I don't like it.”