A whirlpool. A maelstrom. A swirling, pinwheeling, ten-mile-wide mass of water, spread out below him like the planet's navel. Its perimeter moved slowly where it edged into Kahului Bay, but quickly picked up speed as the water progressed inexorably toward the whirling center where it funneled down into a black hole somewhere far below in the ocean floor.

Both Jack and Frank stared dumbly through their windows on the first two passes, then Jack began noticing details.

"Frank!" Jack said, staring down on the third pass. "It looks like—"

He grabbed the binocs from the clamp in the ceiling panel and focused in on the colorful specs he'd spotted below, riding the rim of the maelstrom, then darting in toward its swirling heart and out again.

"What's doing?" Frank said.

"Windsurfers! There's a bunch of nuts down there windsurfing along the edge of the whirlpool!"

"That's Ho'okipa Bay, Jack. Windsurfing capital of the world. Those dudes live for that shit. I know where they're comin' from. So do you, I reckon."

"Yeah, I can dig it," Jack said, nodding slowly. Jeez, I'm starting to sound like Frank. "But one little slip and you're gone."

"Yeah, but what a way to go!" Frank said dreamily. "If I've gotta go, I want it to be in right here, strapped into my jet. Stoked to the eyeballs and Mach one straight down into the earth so's after we hit me and the plane are so tangled and twisted up they can't tell Frank Ashe from Frank Ashe's plane and so they bury us together. Or better yet, straight down into one of those holes until I run into something or run out of fuel. Whatta trip that'd be! Might even try that one straight. Whatcha think?"

"Drop me off first," Jack said. "It's getting late. I think it's time to land."

Frank grinned. "Aw. And just when we was starting to have some fun."

He radioed down to Kahului airport for clearance; they told him the winds were out of the west and that they'd cleaned off the runway. All was clear and he'd better land fast because once it was dark, the hangers would be locked and wouldn't be opened for anyone.

" 'Cleaned off the runway?'" Frank said to Jack as he started his approach. "What's that mean?"

They found out after they landed and opened the hatches. From off to the east came a dull roar, the low, gurgling rumble of uncountable tons of water being sucked down through the ocean depths. Looming behind them, Haleakala smoked and thundered. The steady breeze was warm and wet, and it stunk.

"Sheesh!" Jack said as he stepped down onto the tarmac. The ripe, putrid odor clogged his nose and throat. He shifted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder and glanced around at the deserted runways and empty buildings, searching for the source. "What is that?"

"Dead fish," said Ba, debarking behind him. "I know that smell from village where I grew."

"You get used to the pilau after a while," said the tractor driver who'd come out to tow their jet into a nearby hangar.

"Don't tell me Hawaii always smells like this."

"Hell no. Didn't they tell you? It's been raining fish for the past two nights."

"Fish?"

"Yeah. You name it: tuna, squid, crabs, blues, mahi mahi, everything. Even a few dolphin. Raining out of the sky. And first thing every morning I've got to go out with the plow and clear them off the runways. Don't know why. Nobody's flying much these days anyway since all the tourists upped and went home."

"But raining fish?"

"It's the puka moana. It backs up at night."

With that he jumped on his tractor and started towing the jet toward the hanger, leaving Jack wondering how a whirlpool could back up. It wasn't as if it was a toilet. Or was it?

Frank led them toward the terminal building.

"Let's see what we can do about getting you guys a car."

The main terminal building looked like an Atlantean relic raised from the sea. Its windows and skylights were smashed, rotting fish and seaweed draped its roof and walls. Inside it was worse.

"Shee-it!" Frank said, waving his hand before his face. "Smells like a fish market that's run out of ice."

They trooped through the gloomy, deserted building, looking for someone, anyone. Finally they ran across a dark, middle-aged fat guy squeezing into a wrinkled sports jacket as he hurried toward them down a ramp. His badge read "Fred" and he looked part Hawaiian.

Jack waved him down. "Where are the car rentals?"

"There ain't. All closed up. Nobody to rent to."

"We need a car."

"You're outta luck, I'm afraid."

Jack looked at Ba. "Looks like we'll have to wait till morning, Ba. What do you say?"

Ba shook his head. "Too long away from the Missus."

Jack nodded. He knew Ba was feeling the time pressure as much as he; maybe more. He grabbed the guy's arm as he tried to squeeze by.

"You don't understand, Fred. We really need a car."

Fred tried to pull away but Jack tightened his grip on his flabby upper arm. Ba stepped closer and looked down at him.

"I can't help you, Mister," Fred said, wincing. "Now let me go. It's after five. It'll be getting dark in half an hour. I've got to get home."

"Fine," Jack said. "But we're new around here and you're not. And since you seem to be the only one around here, we've elected you to find us a car. And if you can't help us out, we'll be forced to take yours. We'll pay you a generous rental price before we take it, but we will take it. So where do they keep the cars around here?"

Fred stared at Jack, then up at Ba, then at Frank who stood behind them. Jack felt a little sorry for the guy, but there was no time to play nice.

"Okay," Fred said. "I can do that. I can show you to the rental lot. But I don't know about keys or—"

"You let me worry about keys. You just get us there."

"All right," Fred said, glancing up through one of the broken skylights. "But we've got to hurry!"

They could have walked. The rent-a-car lots were only a couple of hundred yards from the terminal. Jack used his Semmerling .45 to shoot a link out of the chain locking the gate to the Avis lot. The lot was littered with rotting fish—on the cars, between the cars, in the lanes—and so the stench was especially vile here. Fred's tires squished through the fish, sending sprays of rotting entrails left or right whenever he ran over a particularly ripe one. He drove them around the return area until they found a Jeep Laredo. Jack was ready to hot-wire it but didn't have to. The keys were in the ignition. It started easily. The fuel gauge read between half and three-quarters. That would be enough. Jack went back to where Ba and Frank waited with Fred in his car. He pulled out the Maui road map Glaeken had given him and pointed to the red X drawn above a town called Kula.

"What's the best way to get here—to Pali Drive?"

"You want to go upcountry? On Haleakala?" Fred said. "Now? With night coming? You've got to be kidding!"

"Fred," Jack said, staring at him. "We've only known each other for a few minutes, but look at this face, Fred. Is this face kidding?"

"All right, all right. I've never heard of Pali Drive but this spot you've got marked here is somewhere between the Crater Road and Waipoli Road. You take Thirty-seven, it runs right out of the airport here. That'll take you up-country. You turn left past Kula, keep to the left onto Waipoli Road, and it looks like it'll be somewhere off to your right. But there's nobody up there…except for the pupule kahuna and his witch woman."

Jack grabbed Fred's wrist. "Witch woman? Dark, Indian looking?"

"That's the one. You know her?"

"Yeah. That's who we're going to see."

Fred shook his head. "Lot's of strange stories coming down hill. Now I'm real glad you're not taking my car up there. Because you ain't coming back."

"We'll see about that," Jack said.