What next? For almost an hour I wracked my brain. Frag, if this had been Seattle, I was pretty sure I'd be able to arrange a meeting with good old Governor Schultz. But that would have required a whole bunch of shadowy contacts and resources I just didn't have here in the islands. Back to the directory again, and this time I dredged up a number for the Executive Offices at the Iolani Palace. Again, I placed a call.

With much me same result. A polite functionary informing me that of course I could arrange for a message to be passed to the Ali'i. All I had to do was give my name, SIN, arrange for the requisite background check… I hung up, of course.

I was starting to come up dry at the old mental well. On a wild-assed hunch, I even checked the directory for listings under the name "Ho." When the first of seven screens filled with names and LTG numbers, I fragging near despaired. I hung up, of course.

I needed a break, I needed something to jump-start my synapses. If I were really hard-hooped about security, I'd never leave the damn room, but that just wasn't going to work. I needed food, and-more important-I needed coffee. (That was one major tiling I'd decided I liked about the islands, incidentally. Nobody seemed to have heard of soykaf; even coffee shops served the real thing. Bliss beyond measure.) So I strolled downstairs and into the ratty coffee shop next door to the Ilima Joy.

And almost had a coronary arrest on the spot as I saw a face I recognized. Over in the back comer, sitting at a table, idly watching the comings and goings of the patrons, lingering over a mug of coffee. It was the same little bird-boned woman I'd spotted at the Cheeseburger in Paradise. Her eyes lit on mine as I walked in, and I almost had a childish accident. It took me a moment to calm myself down. Coincidence, for frag's sake, I told myself firmly. It had to be coincidence. This was a free fragging country, wasn't it? Little bird-boned women could take coffee wherever the frag they liked. Sure, she seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to my face, but that was just my paranoia playing up. "The guilty flee where none pursueth," and all that drek. Frag it, she'd never so much as seen my face before, had she? She hadn't been there when I'd walked into the Cheeseburger in Paradise yesterday, and the only time I'd laid eyes on her was via the security camera system. Even so, it took me a lot more effort than it probably should have to turn my back on her and jander over to the counter.

I didn't stay there long-not just because of the bird-boned woman, though her presence certainly didn't help any. I drank several cups of fine coffee, scarfed down a sandwich billed as ono-some kind of fish, apparently, even though it could well have been Styrofoam packing material, judging by the dry texture-then I left. On the way out through the lobby and up the stairs, I used what tradecraft I could to pick out anyone tailing me. Nobody, specifically not Mrs. Bird-Bone. Thank the spirits for small favors. I returned to my room and locked the door.

If I'd been hoping my sojourn in the coffee shop would jar something loose from my brain, I was sorely disappointed. I sat back down at the telecom-trying to convince my body and brain that it was time to get back to work-but then I just stared at it for a good five minutes. To meet a king… how do you go about it? And, more to the point, how do you do it fast?

The telecom beeped, and I jumped so hard I almost sent the chair over backward. I glared at the screen. Yes, the icon told me it was an incoming call… despite the placard on the wall over the unit saying NO INCOMING CALLS. I blinked at it.

And then I brought the telecom online to receive the call. What else could I do?

It wasn't Barnard, as I'd half expected. It wasn't Kat or Moko or an urbane-looking Japanese assassin, as I'd half feared. No, it was a handsome Polynesian man about my own age. Strong-featured, he was, with the kind of nose you could classify as "noble," and eyes as dark and hard as flint. His black hair was worn long, shoulder-length in the back, a little shorter on the sides, and was perfectly groomed. The framing of the image was such that I couldn't see his clothing, but beneath his chin there was something that could maybe be a corp-style split collar. He smiled at me, showing perfect teeth. "Mr. Montgomery," he said with a slight accent that sounded faintly British, "please don't hang up. I understand you need to talk to me."

"And who the hell are you?" I demanded, though I had a nasty, nagging feeling I already knew.

"My name is Gordon Ho," the man said calmly. "You may also know me as King Kamehameha V."

13

King Kamehameha. Frag me blind.

"Your Majesty," I said slowly-was that the correct form of address?-while I tried to get my racing, panicky thoughts in order. Then I blurted out the question that was in the forefront of my mind-probably not the most politic thing to say to a fragging king, but there you go. "How the frag did you get this number?"

King Kamehameha V smiled. "Think about it for a moment, Mr. Montgomery," he suggested quietly. 'The Kingdom of Hawai'i is a sovereign nation, and I'm head of its government. While our capabilities don't match those of UCAS, for example, they're still fairly formidable." His smile grew a touch broader. "Certainly formidable enough to track down the number of someone who's called the switchboard at the palace several times in the past few hours." The smile twisted, became an ironic grimace. "I still have the loyalty of some members of the nation's military intelligence service, at least."

I thought about that for a moment. You got it, chummer, I was playing way out of my league. I thought I'd covered myself pretty well-well enough to keep prying corps and yaks and terrorists off my back. Not well enough to block the military intelligence service of a fragging nation-state. Oh, my aching head…

I nodded acceptance, or maybe it was surrender "Okay. So…?"

"So why am I contacting you?" The king shrugged slightly. "I'd rather thought you'd be the one telling me, Mr. Montgomery. I've heard through… various sources… that you wished to speak to me on a matter of some grave concern."

That set me back for a moment. Sure, Barnard had said he'd be spreading the word "through various other assets"-his phrase-that one Dirk Montgomery would be trying to arrange a meeting. But I hadn't expected an instant response-well, I hadn't expected any response, to tell the truth. And I sure hadn't expected that the fragging Ali'i would take the time and trouble to track me down to talk. "That's true. Your Majesty," I said slowly. "Er… is that the correct form of address?"

That brought another smile to Gordon Ho's face. "Not precisely," he told me. "The correct phrase is e ku'u lani-'O my royal one'-but I'm only a stickler for the old forms when the kahunas are around." His smile faded, and his expression became that of a professional poker player or, I suddenly thought, a corporate exec. "I've invested considerable time and effort in arranging to speak to you, Mr. Montgomery," he went on, his voice even and calm. (Yeah, right, I thought, the time and effort of lackeys, maybe.) "I'd like you to tell me a reason why I should invest any more in you."

I paused. "This isn't a secure line," I pointed out at last, "not at this end at least."

"I'm well aware of that," Ho said drily. "But I'm certain you can find ways around the problem, am I correct?"

Again I paused, thinking through exactly what I could get away with saying on a potentially compromised line and still pique his interest. "According to the news, some heavy happenings have been going down recently," I began.

'True."

Jumping into what sounded like a real non sequitur, I made my voice as casual as I could. "Oh, by the way, the father of a college pal says hoi."