The Gates of Hell

CHAPTER THIRTY

The state of Hawaii shuddered in the grip of a madman.

If a helicopter could sweep by, one capable of offering a wide, panoramic view of the dark, immoral events that were unfolding across the islands, it would swoop first across Oahu to take in the besieged hotel, the Ala Moana Queen, where expert members of several SWAT teams had just started to move against a well-armed, well-motivated force of mercenaries who held all the high ground and countless hostages. It would zoom past at pace, avoiding the hellish clouds of black smoke that poured from at least a dozen shattered windows, warily pinpointing the openings where masked men with rifles and grenade launchers could be seen herding helpless men, women and children into groups that would be easier to slaughter.

And then it would roll away, up and to the right in a great arc, at first toward the sun, that fat yellow ball inching its way toward an uncertain and possibly disastrous future, and then dipping beneath and to the left on its terrible journey of discovery toward Kauai. It would pass near Diamond Head, oblivious of the heroes and villains searching for secrets and chasing terrible dreams through the extinct volcano’s darkest and most dangerous subterranean caverns.

On Kauai, it would plunge toward the sweat-drenched man who had chained himself to the railings of a coffee shop, sealing its patrons inside and clearly showing off a vest packed with dynamite and the shaking hand that clutched a dead-man’s detonating device. If the picture panned in close, it would see the desperation in the man’s eyes. It would clearly reveal the fact that he couldn’t possibly hold out much longer. And then it would soar high, rising again over the rooftops to follow the graceful curve of the exotic coast. On to the burning ranch where Hayden Jaye had just faced off with Ed Boudreau whilst Mai Kitano and the rest of the marines fought in close hand-to-hand combat with dozens of Boudreau’s mercenaries. Amidst the appalling din of death and battle, the injured hostages wept.

And onward. The past and the future were already colliding. The ancient and avant-garde locked in conflict.

Today was a day gods might die, and new heroes might flourish and rise.

The helicopter would make one last fly-by, tearing across the contrasting landscapes and dynamic ecosystems that made up the Big Island. Racing over one more ranch, it would focus for a few moments as Alicia Myles, Mano Kinimaka and their team of marines stormed a well-defended compound where hostages and mercenaries and men wearing necklaces made of dynamite came together in one almighty clash. Around the edges of the battle, powerful vehicles revved and made ready to evacuate the Blood King’s men by land and air and water. The camera would start to zoom away as Alicia and Kinimaka lifted their heads, aware of the absconders and already making tracks to intercept and eradicate them.

And at last the helicopter would veer away, just a machine but still a machine teeming with images of man’s folly, of the courage they can display and discover, and of the worst evil that they can do.