Micro

He was nursing a cup of coffee at a back booth, the only customer in the place, when Don Makele walked in. The man seemed…resigned. Makele eased himself into the booth.

Watanabe didn’t waste time with chitchat. “Let’s hear about the students.”

“They’re dead. Vin Drake has killed at least eight people. They were small people.”

“How small?”

Makele put his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “Really small.”

“Tell you what,” Watanabe said. “Let’s pretend I believe you.”

“Nanigen has a machine that’ll shrink anything. Even people.”

A waitress came over and asked if Makele wanted breakfast. He shook his head, and waited in silence while the waitress walked away.

“Will this machine shrink another machine?” Watanabe asked.

“Well-sure,” Makele answered.

“Will it shrink a pair of scissors?”

Makele squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“Willy Fong. Marcos Rodriguez.”

Makele didn’t answer.

Dan Watanabe went on: “I understand you want to tell me what happened to the missing students. But I also want to hear about the micro-bots that cut Fong’s and Rodriguez’s throats from ear to ear.”

“How do you know about the bots?” Makele said.

“Did you think the Honolulu Police Department doesn’t have microscopes?”

Makele sucked on his lips. “The bots weren’t supposed to kill anybody.”

“So what went wrong?”

“The bots were reprogrammed. To kill.”

“By who?”

“I think by Drake.”

Watanabe took that in. “So what happened to the students?”

Makele explained about the supply stations in Manoa Valley, and about Tantalus Base. “The kids must’ve found out something bad about Drake, because he’s been pushing me to…get rid of them.”

“Kill them?”

“Yes. They ended up in Manoa Valley. Drake wanted to make sure they didn’t get out of the valley alive. They tried to escape. A few of them made it to Tantalus.” He explained to Watanabe about Ben Rourke. “Drake torched the place. Also, I’m pretty sure he murdered our chief financial officer and a vice president…”

Watanabe’s head was swimming. Vin Drake seemed to have killed thirteen people. If this was true, Drake was extremely dangerous. “Tell me why I shouldn’t decide you’re a nutcase?” he said to the security man.

Makele hunched over. “You decide what you want. I have to tell you the truth.”

“Are you involved in these deaths?”

“For seven million dollars.”

In his years as a detective, Dan Watanabe had witnessed many confessions. Even so, a confession never failed to give Watanabe a sense of surprise. Why did people decide to tell the truth? It was never in their best interest. The truth doesn’t set you free, it sends you to prison.

“Last time we talked, lieutenant,” Don Makele went on, “you said something about Moloka‘i.”

Watanabe frowned. He didn’t remember…Oh, yes-Makele used the traditional Hawaiian pronunciation…

“You said Moloka‘i is the best of the islands,” the security chief went on. “I think you meant the people of Moloka‘i, not the island.”

“I don’t know what I meant,” Watanabe answered, and sipped his coffee, and sat back, keeping his gaze fixed on Makele.

“I was born in Puko‘o,” Makele went on. “That’s a little spot on East Moloka‘i. Just a few houses and the sea. My grandma raised me. She taught me to speak Hawai‘ian-well, she tried to. She also taught me about doing the right thing. I joined the Marines, served my country, but then…I don’t know what happened to me. I started doing things for money. Those students didn’t deserve what we did to them. We left them to die. When they didn’t die, Drake sent people to take them out. I will do a lot of things for seven million dollars, but there’s some things I won’t do. I won’t take orders from Vin Drake anymore. I’m like pau hana.” Work is done.

“Where is Mr. Drake right now?” Watanabe asked. The man was beyond dangerous.

“Nanigen, I think.”

Watanabe flipped up his phone. “We’ll get him.”

“Not a good idea to just walk in there, lieutenant.”

“Oh?” Watanabe said coolly, holding his phone away from his ear; you could hear his phone ringing. “Tactical deployments are pretty damn effective, I’ve noticed.”

“Not with micro-bots. They can smell you, and they can fly. It’s a hornet’s nest in there.”

“All right. Tell me how to get in.”

“There’s no way in unless Vin Drake permits it. He controls the bots. Hand-controller. Like a TV remote.”

Watanabe got an answer to his phone call. “Marty?” he said, putting the phone back to his ear. “We’ve got a problem at Nanigen.”

Eric Jansen swung the fat-tire truck into the entrance of the Kalikimaki Industrial Park, and cruised past the Nanigen building. Apart from a sodium light splashing the entrance door, the place seemed lightless and dead, in the early hours of a Sunday morning. Karen King and Rick Hutter stood on the dashboard of the truck next to their aircraft. Near them a plastic hula girl bobbled, stuck to the dashboard and swinging in a grass skirt. The hula girl loomed over Karen and Rick.