Page 37 of Hidden Falls

The large craft thrummed, its engines working at top speed to power them back across the rough seas of the ‘Au‘au Channel and around the curve of Maui’s west side to Kahului Harbor, a deep natural bay at the narrowest part of Maui’s figure 8 shape.

Agent Thomas rejoined her at the rail. “What do you know about the harbors here on Maui?”

“Next to nothing.”

“Well, Paulson’s choice of harbor to flee to tells us something about his possible plan. Can you handle a little background info dump?”

The Coast Guard agent’s grin charmed Marcella. “Of course. Lay it on me.”

“Maui was originally built by two volcanoes, Kahalawai, an eroded shield volcano which created West Maui, and much larger and newer Haleakala, which is only considered dormant, not dead. These two erupting volcanoes built an island with a low, narrow waist that developed late in the volcanoes’ cycles. That naturally occurring shape created two harbors: Kahului on one side, and Ma‘alaea Harbor on the other.”

“I’m following you so far,” Marcella said.

He nodded. “Functionally, Kahului Harbor is the bigger and deeper of the two, and thus has focused on freight shipping. It also has facilities for cruise ships to dock and resupply, etcetera. Most of the goods that come to Maui come through Kahului in containers, stacked on flat barges. Ma‘alaea, on the other hand, is a sports marina. It specializes in recreational, private, and lighter fishing craft.”

“Okay. I didn’t know any of this.” Marcella took off her sunglasses and rubbed the salt spray off of them with a tissue. “Go on.”

“Paulson’s choice to flee to Kahului is a smart one. That harbor is busier, closer to the airport, and has a number of places where he might flee his craft in a tender boat and blend with a crowd on land.” Agent Thomas removed his sunglasses as well; his sharp brown eyes were bracketed by a fan of wrinkles at the corners that attested to hours spent staring out to sea. “My guess is that he’s on the yacht alone, or possibly with a staffer. I checked his records; he hasn’t reported having a regular crew on board. The yacht is small enough to man himself. My guess is that he will try to anchor and take a tender craft to the main dock near the cruise ship, and then get himself to the airport, or he will find some hideout he’s already prepared in Kahului town to shelter in until our search dies down and then wait to escape off the island later.”

“Seems reasonable,” Marcella said. “But we’ve already got Be On Lookouts for him at the airport indefinitely. He won’t be able to get off the island that way.”

“What if he has a ‘go bag’ and a fake ID? He seems like a smart man. He’s likely made plans to avoid getting busted someday.”

Marcella smoothed the buttons of her plain white shirt, the feel of the round mother-of-pearl discs soothing under her fingertips. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

Their eyes met.

“I know we will get this guy eventually,” Marcella said. “I’m okay with him beating us to the harbor and disappearing for a bit. What I’m not okay with is the thought that Malia Clark is a prisoner on that yacht—that she might become too much of a liability for him to deal with.”

She didn’t put into words all the ways a young girl could be disposed of on a boat; she didn’t have to.

“I get it,” Agent Thomas said. “Searching the craft as soon as we find it is our top priority.”

“Good. Nothing is as important as finding that young girl.” Marcella put her sunglasses on, her hands back onto the railing, and turned her gaze toward the variegated flank of West Maui as the cutter approached it.

Former pineapple and sugarcane fields, now covered in grass, rippled like velvet in the gusty wind. This side of the island wasn’t developed, and all she could see was a winding, precipitous road cutting along the edges of sharply defined, rain-eroded valleys. The ocean beat upon a fringe of rocks at the coast’s edges. The sight was breathtaking.

That didn’t change the fact that ugly things still happened in paradise.

Marcella shut her eyes. “Please, God. Let us find her.”

18

Agent Thomas and Marcella were still in the bow as the cutter veered into the neck of Kahului Harbor, a narrow opening bounded by a rock jetty on one side and large man-made docks on the other. Urban sprawl peppered with coconut palms surrounded the area.

Agent Thomas pointed. “There’s Paulson’s boat.”

Marcella swiveled the binoculars he’d loaned her to zero in on a white yacht snugged up against the huge main dock of the harbor, bobbing against it by its bow. Tucked between a midsize cruise ship and an enormous transport barge, the good-sized craft was rendered tiny by the scale of its neighbors. “He’s not supposed to be tied up to that dock; it’s for large commercial craft and cruise ships only. I’m sure the harbormaster is getting ready to cut him loose if he’s even still aboard.”

“Then hail the harbormaster. We need to search that yacht, now!” With the chase coming to a close, sweat had sprung out along Marcella’s back, chilling her, though the gusty wind was warm. “I don’t care where Paulson is right now. I want to verify whether Malia’s on board.”

“Here’s what will happen. This is a USCG operation at this point; we will board the yacht and make a sweep of the craft, see what we find.” Agent Thomas spoke with authority. “MPD backup are on their way to catch Paulson on the ground if he hasn’t already escaped. Your role is to stay on deck and observe.”

“Copy that,” Marcella said. She would much rather have been boarding the craft with Agent Thomas than waiting on the deck, but the FBI was not a main player in the drama.

Agent Thomas strode away, speaking into his radio.

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