Molokai Reef (17 page)

After
lunch, they explored the small town – laid out grid fashion and
no more than five blocks from edge to edge – noting only one
fast food place, a small movie theater that claimed to be the only
one on the island, and a general store. For Gybe, the most
interesting shop was the Big Wind Kite Factory. A kite in the shape
of an old two masted square-rigger, a brigantine, drew Gybe’s
immediate attention.

“
Wow.
That doesn’t fly does it?” Gybe turned to the clerk.

“
Absolutely,”
replied the sales clerk. “All of our kites fly.” She
explained that she constructed each kite from bamboo and nylon.
“They fly best in winds of five to fifteen miles per hour.
This one is our flagship model, but we have several others.”

Gybe
wanted the kite. “I’ll take it.”

Kara’s
eyes, if eyes could speak, said “boys and their toys.”

As
Gybe handed over his credit card, he asked. “Must be a lot of
kite fliers in this town – can’t be more than a couple
hundred people.”

“
We
sell to locals and tourists, but the Internet has been a great
business tool.” She processed his card and handed Gybe the
chit to sign.

Gybe
wanted to try out the new kite but Kara convinced him that they
should head back to the harbor.

29

When
they rolled down the grade into Kaunakakai after several sightseeing
stops, the sun had set and the streetlights glowed along the
causeway. Accustomed to the missing reverse gear, Kara piloted the
’vair into a space for easy exit, her habit by now. By the
time they walked to the dinghy landing, the car engine had rattled to
a stop.

“
Shit.
Where’s my dinghy?”

Both
stared at the dock where they had left
Aweigh
securely tied.
Only a yellow polypropylene rope dangled from the cleat. The dinghy
was nowhere in site. Gybe knelt on the dock and lifted the painter
from the water. A clean cut marked the new end of the rope, about
two feet from the cleat.

“
I
don’t know if they really hung horse thieves in the old days,
but if I catch the bastard that stole my boat, he’ll be begging
for a noose…”

“
Hey,
it’s only a boat.” Kara interrupted. “Aren’t
you the one living the simple life?” The words fell out of her
mouth before she realized that maybe this wasn’t the time for a
discussion of simplicity.

Gybe
scanned the harbor. Ukulele music emanated from
Makani
, three
fishermen stood near the mauka end of the pier, and the vehicle
parade rolled up and down the causeway. Although it was after
sunset, a couple of old coots were preparing their boat to go out
fishing. Gybe asked around, but no one had seen the dinghy since
this morning.

The
fishermen gave them a lift out to
Makani
. Gybe wanted to ask
Mongoose if he had seen anything.

“
Welcome
wahine, et tu mi amigo.”

Amazingly
the self-medicated Mongoose had worked four languages into the simple
greeting. They stepped aboard and into a party in progress. Tied to
the starboard side, an outrigger canoe bumped against the fenders –
inflated white sausages - that insulated it from the hull. A small
skiff dangled from its painter at the stern.

A uke
player removed one of the flower leis from his neck and slipped it
over Kara’s head, then stuck a white hibiscus behind her ear.
Her eyes widened at the bare canoe-paddler-developed chest of the
young man as she appeared to absorb in his scent.

A
beer materialized in Gybe’s hand as he surveyed the deck. On
the foredeck, three young women, arms above their heads, undulated
their trim bodies while two men on the cabintop, strummed their
ukuleles. Gybe joined four women, two men he didn’t recognize,
and Mongoose in the cockpit. Japanese lanterns hung from the rigging
and cast an eerie glow over the boat’s deck. Kara drifted aft
with her new friend. Not surprisingly, the heavy scent of pakalolo,
the Hawaiian word for ganja, cloaked the air.

“
That
parrot is bogarting your doobie.” Gybe pointed at the
yard-long bird perched on the ship’s binnacle.

Everyone
turned towards the bird whose bright red feathers adorned its back
and long tail. A yellow band separated the red from the iridescent
blue wing feathers. Sensing the attention, the bird hopped to the
ship’s wheel and screeched, “Not inhale, not inhale.”

“
It’s
not a parrot – it’s a scarlet macaw.” Mongoose
explained. “Name’s Bill.” He took the fat doobie
from Bill and took a deep hit. Remembering his manners, he passed
the joint to the girl on his right.

Another
skiff nuzzled alongside, disgorged its passengers, and joined the
other one dangling from its painter astern.

An
hour later, when Gybe and his new friend, Nani, dove off the port bow
and swam to
Ferrity
, few on board
Makani
were still in
the current space-time dimension. No one noticed. No one cared.

30

The
next morning, Gybe was alone aboard
Ferrity
when Mongoose
motored his dinghy alongside. Kara sat in the bow of the tender, a
shallow anger on her face.

“
Nice
party, ’goose. Coffee?”

They
settled around the cockpit. Mongoose waited for his coffee to stop
steaming, Gybe did the same with Kara.

“
Where’s
Bill? And where did you get him?”

“
Won
him on a bet at Roach Hill Downs two nights ago.”

If
civilized society, as touted by politicians, newspapers, and high
school home ec teachers, was a well-manicured lawn with two stately
oaks and surrounded by well-tended flowerbeds, Mongoose was the oil
spot on the driveway. He paid no taxes, at least none that weren’t
collected at point of sale. Mostly he bartered. The only official
papers that he carried were a passport and a ship’s document.
He had backups to these in several names. The ’goose’s
name embossed no credit cards nor titled any checks.

An
article on the Internet about the annual cockroach races at Purdue
University, dubbed Roach Hill Downs had inspired him to bring the
event to Moloka‘i. For the starting gate, Mongoose used a
one-gallon glass jar that he had painted black. He placed the
entrants in the jar and then sat it upside down in the center of a
seven-foot circle. Because the jar shielded the light, the roaches
were quiet in the container. A rope, duct-taped to the jar and led
over a rafter completed the gate assembly.

The
blowing of a conch shell signaled the start of a race. The raising
of the jar exposed the roaches to the bright lights in the arena.
The race began. Rules were simple. The first roach over the outside
circle won. ’Goose’s roach won three consecutive races
and hence the grand prize – the scarlet macaw. “Won him
off a fellow calling himself Jack Sparrow.” Mongoose
amplified.

“
It
was exciting, man. Much better than them chicken fights you see all
around the islands. After the races, I set up a gecko-wrestling pit.
In the pit, a 32-gallon Rubbermaid garbage can, we placed one gecko
and one cockroach. If the roach survived two minutes the roach won,
else, the gecko won.”

“
Bill,”
he motioned to the red macaw, “chose from the losers. As a
vegetarian, he shuns red meat and insects. But like a cat with a
bird, he needs his toys.”

He
explained his dream to take roach racing to a national level. “The
working man needs a sport that doesn’t require expensive
thoroughbreds, pit crews, or whiny, spoiled athletes. A sport where
a ticket doesn’t cost thirty dollars or a beer eight bucks!”

Gybe
interrupted the dream, “How will you get the roaches to wear
Nike caps or Budweiser jackets?”

“
The
illiterati always scoff at genius.” Mongoose continued.
“Besides racing roaches and gecko-roach wrestling, I foresee
maze running, chariot races, and roach-pulls in the future.” A
regular Mark Twain and his Calaveras frog.

Kara
remained quiet.

“
I
got some stuff on the seed companies.” Mongoose changed the
subject.

31

“
Good
– tell me.”

Mongoose
explained what he had discovered. GeNesRus, the company where Jean
worked, was researching methods to perfect the transfer of genes from
one species to another. They worked exclusively on plant-to-plant
transfers, focusing on methodologies without specific goals for any
particular transfer.

“
So
they are working on techniques, but not specific products?”
Gybe asked to clarify.

“
Exactly.
They want to learn how to move genes quickly, predictably, and
successfully. They want to master the gene transfer process between
ANY two plants. If they succeed, they will be able to custom design
to specification new plants – plants with new characteristics –
faster than the traditional single-goal development cycle. According
to the reports that I read, they are very close to succeeding. In
tests, they’ve been able to pull any genetic trait from over
five hundred species and place that trait into any other species and
create a viable new plant within forty-five days.”

“
They
have a computer database that lists up to fifty traits for each of
five hundred plants. A simple program randomly pulls a trait from
the set and assigns it to another in the set. This random match-up
becomes the problem for the researcher to solve.”

“
The
murdered Dr. Splicer was one of five trained scientists working in
this area at GeNesRus.” Mongoose continued. “Of course,
they have several lab assistants and technicians, but the five
scientists were responsible for the research. Jean’s boss –
Dr. Miller – whom I believe you met was head of the company.”

“
Who
funds it?” Gybe interrupted.

“
That’s
a little hard to say. All of the employees own stock which they
purchase with their own money. In addition, they have generous stock
options. Like many startups, they have accepted founder’s
stock and stock options in lieu of high pay. Their salaries are
modest at best.”

“
Dr.
Miller put up her own money for the lease and receives no salary. As
you know, she got a very sweet deal on the lease. The previous
renter abandoned the building lock, stock, and barrel. Or maybe it’s
equipment, desks, and computers. She has accepted seed capital from
two Boston based venture capital firms.”

“
I’m
curious about the company that left everything behind. That’s
very strange. What happened to them?”

“
Didn’t
check into that, but I will.”

“
What
else did you find?”

Mongoose
rattled along for another ten minutes describing the other scientists
and some of the assistants. “Guess you know about Jean and her
boss?”

“
Jean
and Elizabeth? No.” Gybe responded.

32

Gybe
noticed that Kara remained silent throughout the conversation. Her
facial expression alternated between a far away almost dreamy quality
and a stern angry set. Was she dreaming of the paddler-boy from last
night or the swimmer-girl that followed Gybe home?

“
They
were very friendly.” Mongoose answered his own question.

Kara
snapped back to the present. “You mean lesbians? How do you
know? Elizabeth told us that Jean had a boyfriend.”

“
Maybe
she did, but the e-mails that I read were pretty explicit. How many
people send e-mails to their bosses signed ‘kisses J?’
Besides, your friend Susan should know.”

“
Should
I ask how you got this information? How you read her e-mails?”
Gybe wondered. “I suppose you hacked through their firewalls
and into the server?”

“
You
underestimate me Gybe.” The masterful Mongoose explained how
excellent firewalls and security systems protected the computer
network at GeNesRus. The trade secrets under development were very
valuable. Biometric devices, attached to each workstation, read
fingerprints and scanned retinas before allowing access.

“
They
even had a prototype pheromone sniffer. When it detects the scent of
an unauthorized person or a particularly obnoxious perfume, it blanks
the computer screen. The IT Director has accused one male hacker of
using the sensor for immoral purposes. Something to do with
predicting estrus cycles.”

“
The
scanners are very difficult to bypass, at least for most people.”
Mongoose added without elaboration.

He
explained that he could have hacked into the system, but he found it
easier to befriend the IT manager.

The
Information Technology manager was a gamer, ’goose amplified.
A gamer, Latin name
Geekonus gamerectus,
was one of the two
known subspecies of the more commonly encountered geek. The gamer
worked at GeNesRus as an antidote to starvation. She didn’t
care whether the company worked with genetics or gondolas. When she
wasn’t working, she was gaming.

In
exchange for a bootleg copy of a soon to be released and much hyped
game, the IT manager gave Mongoose read-only access to the server.
From there, he was able to explore the entire GeNesRus computer
network including all workstations and the mail server.