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“That’s the problem,” he whispers urgently. “I haven’t figured everything out yet. Why the sabotage, how does it figure in, who’s doing it. I have just as many questions as the rest of you. It’s just…”
“The burial mound,” I deduce. “That’s where you were headed in the storm. Do you at least have some theories on that subject? She’s a human trafficking victim? You were sent here to investigate?” An organized criminal enterprise would certainly merit the involvement of the FBI, while confirming my suspicion about Charlie’s real occupation and why he’s been lying to us.
We huddle closer, awaiting his reply. Charlie licks his lips, appearing torn between his professional marching orders and his obligation to the rest of us.
“You need to tell us,” Vaughn hisses at him. “That plane can’t take everyone. Those of us left behind deserve to know.”
“I wasn’t able to get close enough to the site. Not before I got hit by the tree. But… the first agent sent in undercover… she went missing nine months ago.”
“Jesus!” Vaughn explodes, spinning away from the table.
“You’re with the FBI,” Ann exhales. “You’re a special agent!”
“Do not tell them!” Charlie orders urgently, and none of us need a translator to fill in who “them” is. MacManus and his people. The FBI is investigating them.
And one agent has already lost her life over it.
I’m with Vaughn. Fuck.
Ronin and Aolani appear, looking at Vaughn questioningly. Before they can join the fray:
“Hey. Everyone. I want your attention.” Vaughn snaps his fingers. The few stragglers stop whispering among themselves and look up. “Grab your passports, cash, bare essentials. Then head to the runway. You’re flying to Honolulu in ten minutes. Go!”
A screech of plastic chairs as the first group pushes back, still uncertain. Vaughn’s glare hurries them along. Our gathering, however, is slower to respond.
“All of you as well,” Vaughn instructs. “I’ll stay. Charlie stays. The rest of you are on that plane.”
“You’re assuming MacManus will let it depart.”
“He no longer has a choice. There are more of us than him.”
Ronin, coming up to speed: “You’re ordering an immediate evacuation.”
“Yes.”
“There aren’t enough seats—”
“Everyone. Grab passports, head to the runway. I mean it.”
I peer at him intently. I can’t decide if he’s stubborn, suicidal, or has some grand master plan.
“As many as we can,” he states softly, which I guess says enough.
One by one, we head toward the door. Ronin already has his hand on Aolani’s arm, whispering to her intently. The rest of us are silent.
I’m the last one to file out. When I glance back, I see Vaughn taking a seat next to Charlie, heads ducked close. I can hear Vaughn murmuring.
“I’m not leaving. You’re not leaving. And like hell I’m letting Mac and his bodyguards fly off into the sunset. Now, tell me everything.”
Which is how I know we’re going to war.
HOW DO YOU picture yourself in your mind? Do you see your child self, all wide eyes, beaming smile, and chubby cheeks? Or are you forever your high school photo, rocking the best skin, hair, figure of your life. Maybe you see yourself on your wedding day, or focus on your identity as a young parent, holding your toddler’s hand?
At a certain point, we continue to physically change in real life, while slowly but surely freezing into a single static image in our heads. The identity we liked the best? The person we wished we were still? Or some amalgamation, a fleeting moment when all of the pieces of ourselves, the different roles from different ages all lock into place and we feel our most true. Yes, some voice whispers in the back of your mind. This is me.
And having achieved such nirvana, we hold it tight, while averting our gaze from any reflective surface that might tell us differently.
This is one of those questions that haunts me as I make my way to my cabin to grab… nothing at all. I don’t have a passport. And while I could pocket my license and small stash of folded bills, what would be the point?
