Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

Ike helped Kurt to his feet and onto the beach, where he stood with his hands on his hips, drawing in as much oxygen as his lungs would allow. “Is he okay?”

A few feet away, the other surfer was on his side, coughing and spitting out water. One of the men with him nodded.

Ike grinned and held up the broken end of Kurt’s leash. “Look at this. You broke your leash. You’re a real big-wave surfer, now.”

Ike laughed at his own joke and gave Kurt a playful shove.

“Not exactly how I wanted the ride to end,” Kurt said. “What happened with that wave? Everything seemed fine and then . . .”

Ike shrugged. “Every wave is different, bro. It’s part of the deal. Moana will let you play, but from time to time she reminds you I’m dangerous. I’m unpredictable. One day, I’ll turn on you. And in that moment of truth, you’ll find you can’t control me. You’ll find you’re at my mercy and only I will decide whether to hold you down or set you free.”

Kurt enjoyed the poetry of the statement, enough that he didn’t labor the point with anything but a respectful nod and a glance back out to the sea. The waves were still growing, the storm was coming on. Moana would not let them play anymore today.

A shout from higher up the beach broke his reverie. “Kurt Austin,” a voice called.

There was an official tone to the address, sharp and clear. A tone very out of place on a beach with so much local flavor.

Kurt looked up and saw a man coming down from the road. He wore black slacks, dress shoes and a white, button-down shirt. He had narrow shoulders and hips but stood ramrod straight and moved with a purpose. He’d come from a white SUV parked on the road up above.

“Kurt?” the man shouted, getting closer.

Ike leaned in. “I wouldn’t answer, if I was you,” he whispered. “Looks like Five-O to me.”

“I should be so lucky,” Kurt said. He recognized a government official when he saw one, and he recognized this one in particular. “Rudi Gunn,” he said, extending a hand to NUMA’s number two official. “I didn’t know you were on the island. I’d have brought you surfing with me.”

“I only arrived a few hours ago,” Rudi said, shaking Kurt’s hand, “but, considering the wipeout I just saw, I’d have to consider any future invitations as part of a plan to get rid of me and take my job.”

“And handle paperwork all day long? No thanks. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Rudi said. “Must have left a dozen messages on your phone.”

“Phones and surfing don’t exactly mix,” Kurt said. “What’s the emergency?”

“Who says there’s an emergency?”

Kurt offered an incredulous look.

“Okay,” Rudi said. “There probably is an emergency—otherwise, they wouldn’t have sent me to pick you up—but I don’t know what it is. I’m just lucky the valet at your hotel remembered you loading up a surfboard and heading this way.”

“That kid just lost his tip,” Kurt said.

“He’ll survive on what I paid him,” Rudi said. “Trust me.”

Kurt knew it was time to go. He looked over at the surfer he’d pulled out of the sea. The young man was smiling now; he offered the hang-loose sign: a twist of the wrist with his thumb and pinky extended.

Kurt returned the gesture and then turned to Ike. “The sea isn’t the only thing that’s unpredictable. Looks like I have work to do.”

He pulled a black T-shirt over his shoulders and grabbed the backpack he’d brought with him. Hiking up toward the waiting SUV, he asked the obvious question. “So what can you tell me? Now that we’re out of earshot.”

Gunn shook his head. “Only the obvious,” he said. “That time is of the essence.”

Kurt figured Rudi knew more than that, but he was as tight-lipped as anyone at NUMA. Being number one in your class at West Point tended to come with that kind of self-discipline. “Don’t suppose I have time to shower and change?”

Gunn shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

3

Rudi drove to Upolu Airport, a small strip on the northern tip of the island. A gleaming turquoise Gulfstream waited on the tarmac with engines running. It was a NUMA aircraft, one Kurt recognized as a model with extended range.