By the time the next message began playing, Katharine’s tiny cry of anguish when she’d heard Peters’s words had brought Rob to her side. She tipped the phone enough so he could listen, too. They heard the voice of a frightened-sounding boy.
“Mrs. Sundquist? My name is Rick Pieper.” As the boy began to repeat what she’d just heard the track coach say, she pressed the code to advance to the next message.
“This is Yolanda Umiki, Dr. Sundquist. From Mr. Yoshihara’s office? He asked me to call you and tell you that your son is ill, and that he would like to talk to you as soon as possible. If you could call me as soon as you get this message, I can put you directly through to Mr. Yoshihara.”
The panic that had seized her when she was told that Michael was ill turned to terror when she heard that Takeo Yoshihara was somehow involved. And why had Dr. Jameson shown up in the helicopter?
There were two more calls from Yolanda Umiki, and then another one from Rick Pieper:
“It’s Rick Pieper again, Mrs. Sundquist, and I’m at Maui Memorial Hospital. I came to find out how Michael is, but he’s not here! I mean, they say he hasn’t even been here! But where else could they have taken him? Oh gosh, I’m sorry — I’m just — well, I guess I’m scared. I mean, I thought they’d bring him here, and — look, I’m really sorry, Mrs. Sundquist! But Michael said something just before he passed out, and I thought you should know! He said something about ammonia before he fainted. I don’t know what he meant, or anything, but that’s what it sounded like he said. Just ‘ammonia.’ ”
The last message was from Jack Peters again, and it was almost a duplicate of Rick Pieper’s: “I don’t get it, Dr. Sundquist. If they didn’t take him to Maui Memorial, where—” He broke off abruptly. “Christ, I must be scaring you half to death! He probably woke up and it turned out it wasn’t anything serious and there wasn’t any point in taking him to the hospital at all. Anyway, if you can let me know what’s going on, I’d sure appreciate it.”
The electronic voice came on once more:
“End … of … final … message.”
“He’s at the estate,” Katharine said. “They didn’t take him to the hospital! Oh, God, Rob, what if he’s—” Even if Rob hadn’t put his finger to her lips, she couldn’t have brought herself to finish the sentence. Michael couldn’t be dead! He just couldn’t be!
“Call the woman in Yoshihara’s office,” Rob told her. When Katharine seemed unable to cut off the connection to the answering machine, Rob took the phone from her, punched in the number he’d memorized after Yolanda Umiki had left it the second time, and pressed the Send button. Then he handed the phone to Katharine.
When the assistant answered on the second ring, Katharine identified herself, then: “Is my son there? Is he at the estate?”
“Dr. Jameson thought he could treat him better here than—”
“No!” Katharine snapped. “I want him taken to Maui Memorial immediately. Or flown to Honolulu. But I don’t want Dr. Jameson to—”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to do any of that, Dr. Sundquist,” Yolanda Umiki replied in a voice that made it clear that she took orders only from Takeo Yoshihara. “If you will come out to the estate, Mr. Yoshihara will explain the situation to you.”
Katharine hesitated, not wanting to ask the next question, not knowing whether or not she would believe the answer she was given, but knowing she could not end the call without asking it. Finally she forced the words out. “Just tell me one thing. Is Michael still alive?”
Takeo Yoshihara’s assistant hesitated, then said, “I’ve heard nothing to the contrary.”
As Katharine terminated the connection, she tried to tell herself she’d heard a note of sympathy in Yolanda Umiki’s tone. But the woman’s words were so … peculiar.
Was she trying to tell her that Michael was still alive without violating some edict Takeo Yoshihara had laid out against giving out any information? Or had she simply not wanted to be the one to tell her the bad news? Katharine’s eyes, glistening with tears, fixed on Phil Howell. “Please,” she whispered. “Keep trying. I don’t know what they’re doing, but if we can’t find out, I think my son is going to die.”
Numb, Katharine allowed Rob to lead her out of the building. Less than a minute later, with Rob driving her car while she sat trembling in the passenger seat, they were speeding back across the island.
Josh Malani leaned against the Plexiglas wall, glowering through the brownish haze that swirled around him at the empty room beyond the confines of the huge box in which he and Jeff Kina were imprisoned. He’d lost track of how long he’d been here, for the light in the room never changed.
No clock hung on the wall.
No window betrayed the changing light between night and day.
The last thing he truly remembered was going to the beach at Spreckelsville, thinking that just being outside and maybe going for a swim might make him feel better.
The memory was faint, but he thought he’d fallen, collapsing next to his truck. He’d felt terrible — worse than he’d ever felt in his life.
He’d felt like he was dying.
Then someone had been there, picking him up and putting him in the back of a car.
The next thing he remembered was waking up, and feeling good.
The tightness in his chest was gone, and his whole body had been tingling with energy. But when he’d opened his eyes, he knew instantly that something was wrong.
First, there’d been the haze; and then he realized he was naked.
And he wasn’t in a hospital room.
He wasn’t even in a bed.
He was lying on a cot, and the brown haze had made it hard to see; except for that, he felt all right. He’d sat up, looked around, and realized he wasn’t alone.
There was someone else, stretched out on another cot about six feet away. As the last foggy wisps of sleep lifted from his mind, he’d recognized Jeff Kina. Jeff, also naked, had been sound asleep, but when Josh touched him, he’d come awake, springing off the cot to crouch on the floor, his eyes fixing on Josh as if he were about to attack.
“Jeez, Jeff, it’s me!” Josh said, instinctively pulling back from Jeff’s tense body. At first it seemed to him that Jeff didn’t recognize him at all, but then he’d slowly relaxed, dropping from the crouch into a sprawl on the concrete floor. For a long time he’d simply stared at Josh, and when he finally spoke, his voice had a rough, almost guttural note. Though Jeff no longer seemed on the verge of attacking, his unblinking eyes were fixed on Josh with the concentration of an omnivore targeting its prey.
“They got you, too.”
For a moment Josh had no idea what Jeff was talking about, but then it came to him — the cane field!
The car parked at the mouth of the dirt road, which shot into the field as he’d come out.
And the other car — the one with flashing blue lights that he’d been sure was a police car, but which hadn’t turned around to chase him as he’d sped down into the valley, ignoring the speed limit in his race to escape the fire in the cane field.
The fire to which he’d abandoned Jeff Kina.
“I–I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have—” He hesitated, then: “I shouldn’t have left you there.”
“You mean you shouldn’t have run away,” Jeff growled. Once again his body tensed, his thick muscles knotting under his skin, and Josh braced himself for the attack.