The Shadowfast Thrillogy: Shadowfast Action Thriller, #1

By Cole Chase

Rock out with your Glock out in the heavy metal caper readers describe as "a wild ride" with "hilarious characters" and "a great ending."

 

Quinn Richards feels trapped in a world he didn't create. Sure, he inherited a fabulous mansion. But it demands endless upkeep. Even when he masterminds successful cons with his metal band and heist crew, Shadowfast, he remains broke and dissatisfied. He's not sure what his problem is.

 

When a mysterious client hires Shadowfast to steal data, Quinn conceives a flashy heist to play in the big leagues. Instead, he gets played by the big leagues. A shadowy cabal of bend-the-rules politicians blackmail Quinn into serving them. Their intel shows that notorious tech billionaire Brody Bach plans an attack on the US. If Quinn doesn't uncover what the attack is, and when, he and his team face prison for life.

 

Smoldering at being enslaved, Quinn plots how to get free—with a tidy profit. But there's little time for vengeance, when an international whirlpool of counterplots, deception, and assassination drags him and his rag-tag team in over their heads.

 

A technological threat draws the United States ever closer to Stone Age 2.0. The fate of a nation depends upon a creative con man and his heavy metal band. In choosing his path, Quinn will learn whether he can succeed as a scoundrel—or maybe his problem is that he's a good man.

 

The Shadowfast Thrillogy compiles in one volume the three-book Skyhaus saga (Metal Spies, Metal Lies, and Metal Rise) that launched Shadowfast to reader acclaim. Tailored to delight fans of Mission: Impossible, Mark Greaney, Lee Goldberg, and Jason Kasper, Shadowfast sweeps you into a global adventure that rocks your world.
 

EDITORIAL REVIEWS

 

"When I came across the Shadowfast series, I found myself deliriously enjoying the fast-paced and witty trilogy packed with badass action and cool characters. …You simply are compelled to read all these books one after the other. …Delivers for fans seeking a cerebral narrative as much as it caters to readers looking for their next memorable action-packed read. –Kashif Hussain, Best Thriller Books .com

 

"Cole Chase takes us on such a fun ride! Like a well written song, it has action, dynamics, and moral dilemmas. It takes us to situations and feelings we can all identify with, which makes it feel so much more personal than other spy novels I have read. I am waiting for the next episode…but not so patiently."  – Mark X, RivetSkull guitarist

 

"[Metal Spies] combines the techno-thriller aspect of a Mission: Impossible story with the comraderie and humor of Guardians of the Galaxy. I've honestly never read an action book where I looked forward to the banter among the characters as much." ---ladame

 

"The non-stop action, snappy dialogue, and relatable characters all add up to a great ride with plenty of laughs and unexpected predicaments along the way. . . . but beware! The first two books end in absolute cliffhangers, so I'd suggest that you order the entire 'thrillogy' as soon as you can."   –Actual Customer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cole Chase
• Release date: Jan 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223674764

Book preview

The Shadowfast Thrillogy

THE SHADOWFAST THRILLOGY

THE SKYHAUS AFFAIR

COMBINING SHADOWFAST ACTION THRILLERS 1—3

COLE CHASE

FEVERED PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

METAL SPIES

HOW IT STARTED

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

HOW IT’S GOING

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

BEND SINISTER

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

SEOUL MUSIC

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

METAL LIES

SEOUL MUSIC (Vol. 2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

KEEP YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

THE BATTLE IN SEATTLE

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

METAL RISE

THE BATTLE IN SEATTLE (Vol. 2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

WAITING ON THE WORLD TO CHANGE

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

FIREPOWER

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

About the Author

Metal Spies

To Sarah Pinzon,

My real-life inspiration for

Rory, Shadowfast…

and so much more.

We are all ready to be savage in some cause. The difference between a good man and a bad one is the choice of the cause.

—WILLIAM JAMES

HOW IT STARTED

CHAPTER

ONE

JANUARY 2018 | HONOLULU, HAWAII

I’m in, Quinn whispers.

Though he hasn’t touched the coconut margarita in front of him, he still passes as a Hawaiian-shirted tourist relaxing in the hotel’s outdoor bar. A tropical moon and distant tiki torches provide the only light, and he wears the shadows comfortably.

On balmy nights like this, the five-star resort folds back the movable wall between the bar and the marble corridor that runs from reception to the elevators, blurring the distinction between indoors and outdoors. Quinn shifts his gaze into the hotel and watches Danny, disguised as a gardener, servicing the resort’s indoor plants. The Korean looks unusually muscular, but he must be a gardener, right? Because he wears a green apron with gaping hip pockets, a spade in one and a cultivator in the other. His cart carries a bag of plant food and a cistern of water with a plastic hose running from it. As Danny trickles water onto three kinds of palms in a waist-high planter, his lips move.

Quinn hears Danny’s voice in his ear buds: Secure the perimeter.

Quinn nods. Create a diversion.

Good one. Yeah, I’d watch almost any movie with that line. It’s his turn to think while he sprinkles the palms, shooting glances down the open corridor. Got one. ‘Act natural.’

Manny’s rough voice breaks in on their comms. How about ‘radio silence,’ you bozos. Backslap is moving.

From his overwatch post, Quinn can see it all. While he lurks in dim mood lighting, the hotel corridor blazes with light.

From his right, the hypnotically handsome Cooper—code-named Backslap, for his skill at ingratiating himself with strangers—escorts a slightly older, athletic brunette woman. They present the very picture of an upscale date. Cooper’s dark teal linen sport coat pulls a color out of his Hawaiian shirt and sets off his blonde hair to startling advantage. His potential paramour’s clothes, hair, and jewelry mark her as affluent. Her sleeveless gown and high-cut sarong show more cleavage and leg than she probably does at home, judging from her milk-white skin. As they promenade down the corridor, her occasional minor lurch and the lustful way she gazes at Cooper tell Quinn that Cooper lubricated the mark with alcohol—probably fruity tiki cocktails, unavoidable on the island.

The earbuds Danny uses for comms look like phone earpieces a bored gardener might use to stream music. He looks convincingly oblivious as he packs up his hose, turns to move on, and bumps into Backslap and his date.

Danny’s Asian eyes pop wide as the couple stumble to keep their balance. I’m so sorry! He bobs in different versions of bows. I didn’t see you! You… okay?

The woman reacts slowly, confused. Cooper runs a solicitous hand up and down her arm, as if checking for injuries. No problem, amigo, Cooper says graciously. Just an accident. Right, Bethany?

Bethany paws at her hair, dazed, while Danny keeps bowing. When the woman doesn’t respond, the supposed gardener looks at Cooper and says, I get management? Let me go get management. He leaves the cart and hurries away, seemingly deaf to Cooper calling after him, No need.

With Danny gone, Cooper nudges Bethany along the corridor. As they resume their slow pace toward the elevators, Quinn stands and drops a couple of bills on the table. As an afterthought, he grabs the coconut margarita he ordered as a prop and takes a gulp. It’s not as terrible as expected.

He plucks a blazer off the back of his chair, hooks it over his shoulder with one finger, then saunters away. He descends the stairs from the terrace bar down to the sandy beach where breakers sigh rhythmically in the night. Overwatch is yours, he says.

Manny sits in a commercial van somewhere in the hotel parking lot, close enough to hijack the hotel’s Wi-Fi signal. He has hacked into the hotel’s closed circuit surveillance system. I have overwatch, Manny responds. Backslap is at the elevator but having trouble separating.

Quinn slows. He was heading for the van, but Cooper isn’t away clean yet. Ripple? he asks, using the codename Danny earned by being so muscular that even changing his mind would make his muscles ripple. They used to call him Eight Pack, but anyone who got a look at him would see through that code name.

Almost there, Danny responds.

Someone has just discovered their jewelry is missing, Manny informs in Quinn’s ear.

Quinn pivots as he shrugs into the navy-blue blazer. Plan B, he orders.

Plan B, acknowledged. Ripple is with me now.

Stand by to stand by, Quinn jokes. He quickens his pace around the outside of the hotel, ignoring the heady sweet fragrance of lotus blossoms. As he walks, he smooths his hair and runs his hands over his collars, making everything straight.

It’s after two in the morning, but the hotel hasn’t locked the side door. He enters a short corridor, perpendicular to the one Cooper walked down, leading straight to the elevators. Within a few paces he reaches Cooper and Bethany.

I swear I just had them, Bethany is saying. She seems distraught, peering at the carpet around her.

Hotel security, Quinn announces. Is there a problem?

Oh thank god, Bethany breathes. My jewelry is missing! Can you help?

Quinn frowns. From your room safe?

No, no, I was wearing it! Somehow, it’s gone!

Quinn studies her. Those are beautiful earrings. What exactly is missing?

It was a set, Bethany explains. Earrings, necklace, bracelet. She touches her ear, but in her state, it takes two tries. These are real diamonds! I wore it all when we were in the restaurant.

Maybe the clasp broke, Cooper offers. We could retrace our steps.

Clasps don’t break on a bracelet and a necklace at the same time, Quinn declares bluntly. He glares at Cooper suspiciously. Ma’am, how well do you know this man?

I, I… Her voice falters as she sees Cooper as if for the first time. I met him here. Yesterday.

Sir, Quinn says with authority, protocol requires me to search you. It’s easiest for you if you cooperate fully.

Cooper spreads his arms wide. Of course. Whatever you need.

Quinn pulls a detector wand from the blazer’s inside pocket. When he turns it on, it whines and hums as if alive. He makes a show of tracing the lines of Cooper’s body. Naturally, it doesn’t trigger, because Backslap dumped the jewels into Ripple’s yawning pockets when they collided.

He’s clean, Quinn tells Bethany as he pockets the wand.

She blinks, weaving slightly as she stands. She squints at Quinn as if seeing him through gauze. You look like Hugh Jackman. She looks around, as if for a movie camera. Is this real? This is real life, right?

Quinn shoots a glance at Cooper. Unspoken, it asks, What did you give her?

We were on our way to her room, Cooper cues.

Of course, Quinn counters. Ma’am, let’s get you safely to your room. I’ll send a staff member to get a full description of the jewelry. We will search the restaurant and the grounds on your behalf.

Bethany nods mutely.

You have your key card?

She pulls it from a clutch and shows it.

Very good. Quinn summons the elevator, which at this time of night opens immediately. Room number? he asks.

Four something. Bethany has to think. Four sixteen.

Quinn reaches into the elevator and discreetly palms the buttons for every floor up to four, buying a little more time for their escape. Someone will be with you shortly, he promises Bethany, waving her into the elevator.

I’ll help look, Cooper says. I know where we were sitting.

Grateful for the assistance. Let’s go. He nods officiously at Bethany, who fumbles to find words as the doors slide shut.

Once the doors close and the elevator’s floor indicator increments, Quinn and Cooper drop the act.

Head outside to the van? Quinn suggests.

Right up the corridor is direct, Cooper says. And we said we were going back to the restaurant.

Quinn shrugs and they stride back up the corridor Cooper just came down. Their shoes slap on marble as they pass lush planters of palms. They seem isolated in the spacious resort—the fun-and-sun crowd dropped their reddened bodies into bed long ago. Incoming, he adds, for the benefit of Manny and Danny.

Fired up, ready to go, Manny’s voice answers.

The axes? Quinn asks. He means musical instruments. The crew’s cover story for being in Honolulu is that they’re a band. Which they actually are.

Loaded, Danny says. Cleared to go.

After a few paces, passing the bar where Quinn kept watch, he asks Cooper, Who is she?

Insurance executive. Cooper smiles. She has her nose so high in the air, she could drown in a rainstorm. First, she was bragging about how many maids she’s fired. Then she went on about why I should believe QAnon.

Quinn smiles back. Fair game, then.

Cooper’s smile falters when he gazes ahead. Uh, might could get ugly.

Quinn looks down the corridor. A group of men and women cross the lobby, chattering as people do when going out after a good show. A Hawaiian couple leads the group, but it’s one of the white couples that snags Cooper’s attention.

A man casually glances down the corridor. He’s a quintessential normie, wearing an Izod polo shirt and khaki slacks. He has a balding head but wears his hair thick on the sides, and Quinn mentally dubs him Fenders. He looks oddly buttoned-up on the laid-back planet of Hawaii. His expression shifts instantly from amused, to stern. Hey! he barks.

Quinn and Cooper slow. There’s nowhere to hide in the wide flat corridor. They’ll look suspicious as hell if they turn around. But they can’t just stand there, either.

You! Fenders commands, pointing at them. Stay right there! He hustles toward them.

Cooper maintains his pleasant smile but hisses, Shhhit!

CHAPTER

TWO

Like a smiling ventriloquist, Quinn asks without moving his lips, Who is he?

Security from Tuesday night’s hotel, Cooper says. Does that bar we just passed have a back exit?

Leads to the beach.

Fenders needs only ten more strides to reach them.

Go.

They dodge back into the bar where Quinn sat minutes ago. The bartender doesn’t turn his head from a surfing competition replaying on the TV.

Fenders yells, Stop! and runs for them.

As they thread through the tables, they knock over each chair they pass to block the way behind them. They take the stairs down to the beach three at a time, and when their feet touch sand, they break into a sprint.

Coming in hot, Quinn tells his remote partners. Hostile in pursuit.

Ack, Manny’s voice says, short-handing acknowledged.

Their momentum carries them through pools of moonlight and patches of darkness. In the tropical air, Quinn sweats enough that his shirt immediately glues to his back. When they round the side of the hotel and pass the beach volleyball nets, he looks back. No one’s behind us.

Fuck. That means he’s calling reinforcements.

Both men pause their flight to shrug off their suit coats. While Quinn scurries over to a hotel trash can and shoves the coats out of sight, Cooper approaches a small sundries shack and using his elbow, shatters a pane in its cute door. He reaches through the broken pane and opens the door. In seconds, he’s wearing a hotel-branded boonie hat to cover his blonde hair, and hands Quinn a sun visor. It’s as feeble as quick changes get, but from a distance, they don’t wear the navy blazer and linen coat the security guy saw, and their hair color looks a little different. It might buy a second or two.

Then again, any moron will quickly realize, they’re the only two sweaty haoles running on the beach in the wee hours.

Cooper fishes his earbuds from his pocket and inserts them as they hurry along.

We can’t reach you, Quinn says. Drive toward the marina and pick us up there.

Moving, Danny answers.

In the quiet night, just over the rush of lapping waves, they can hear the van’s engine, distantly revving but unseen among row upon row of vehicles.

Quinn, lightly winded from their sprint, speed-walks toward the marina. Pushing against the soft sand, it takes twice the effort to go half the speed.

Goddammit, Dread, why didn’t you warn us? Cooper fumes aloud, now that he’s on comms.

Warn what? Manny’s voice scoffs. "All I saw was civilians walking into the hotel. Plus I was watching you guys and the woman. We don’t have enough eyes for a 360-degree lookout."

Ripple should have seen it, Cooper says, grumpily.

I was getting distance after the handoff, Danny reminds him. He adds, with passive-aggressive emphasis, As we planned.

What’d we score? Quinn asks, hoping to move Cooper’s thoughts onto a different channel.

Hard to say in the dark, Danny’s voice replies. Five figures for sure.

Maybe high fives, Cooper says. If that necklace is real diamonds, it’s long. In the light, good color, good clarity, looked good and felt good. Lotta stones.

Danny agrees. At least twelve carats. Maybe fifteen.

They pass a stand of coconut palms and reach the docks. Expensive sailboats bob gently, their lanyards clinking mournfully against their masts.

The planks underfoot provide better traction than the sand. Quinn and Cooper run the last fifty yards to meet the commercial van, which brakes to a stop before them. Danny has the headlights off, making the van less obvious in the night.

The side door slides open. Manny’s beckoning wave urges them in.

Danny drives, and Manny, big Samoan that he is, fills the second row that is advertised as three man. He has to scooch over for Cooper, because cases filled with drums, guitars, and a keyboard pack the back. Quinn slams the side door, grabs shotgun for himself, and Danny rolls before Quinn gets his door fully closed.

Where to? Danny asks, as parked cars pass on both sides of the aisle.

Away from the plane, Quinn says. Into the mountains. We’ve got to lose them before we can double back; otherwise, we’ll just lead them to our escape vehicle. We need time to load it.

Lose who? No pursuit yet.

Oh, it’s coming, Manny says, typing on his laptop.

Get us out of here, Quinn says. But play it chill.

The resort parking serves the hotel on one side, the marina on another side, and a golf course on yet another side. It’s so vast that the hotel runs trams to and from the extremes, so that once a visitor parks, they don’t have to hike a mile in the tropical sun.

Danny threads the van through it. Quinn can’t immediately spot the exits.

We should have more than one vehicle, Cooper announces from the back. They catch us with these instruments, the whole game’s over.

We would need a bigger crew for that, Quinn intones. Then your cut is smaller.

That silences Cooper for a few seconds. Then he adds, You know I have a point.

Got anyone we can trust? Quinn counters reflexively. Then he sighs. The crew probably is too small. He rolls the passenger window down, to feel more in touch with the balmy night air. The nights are never this warm in Seattle.

They roll in silence while he reviews the week in his mind. The whole game Cooper refers to is Shadowfast, their heavy metal band. They all love playing, and Quinn, Manny, and Danny were a band before they were a heist crew.

Now they steal almost everywhere they go. The band is their cover. It’s not foolproof, but if some go-getter investigator finds the same four names appearing repeatedly in cities, they can legitimately claim they travel together as a musical act. Better than tying their names to crime-ridden cities with no innocent reason why.

Normies don’t really get the name, Shadowfast. It disgusts Quinn how many people ask him, You mean ‘Shadowfax’? Gandalf’s horse? He had no clue there were that many fucking nerds in the world. A fast is the same as a keep, the reinforced part of a castle where royalty hides during a siege. A grim, haunted medieval fortress is metal as fuck, so he’s not changing the name for a bunch of cosplaying, fantasy-reading mouth breathers shoving their glasses higher on their noses.

Hawaii is not exactly a heavy metal mecca, but some percentage of the population has tired of wading shin-deep through ukuleles every time they go out. Quinn managed to get the band booked on consecutive weekends at two venues on opposite ends of Oahu. The band spent the time between gigs supporting Cooper’s short-con romantic grift at the highest-end hotels in Honolulu. Now it’s Sunday night, the gigs are done, and they tried to let Cooper put the touch on one more mark before they left the islands.

Cooper has the face, the dazzling teeth, and the lady-killer moves for it. When he lays on the charm, it usually works seamlessly. But the whole approach of womanizing a tourist was conceived during the more innocent 1950s Polynesian craze, from when Hawaii became the fiftieth state in 1959. After COVID, after terrorist shootings all over the United States, after a rash of hate crimes against the indigenous Hawaiians, the best resorts have stepped up internal security far beyond previous levels. Tuesday night when Quinn and Cooper worked this identical scam (at a resort with a Hawaiian name Quinn can neither recall nor pronounce), a patrol they hadn’t spotted during their scouting caught them impersonating hotel security. They had run that night, too, in a handy speedboat—but not before security saw Cooper and Quinn together.

Just their dumb luck that a member of that security team, off duty, happened upon them again at the last resort in their cycle.

Create a diversion, Quinn says.

Cranking the wheel at the end of an aisle, Danny responds, You already said that one. How about⁠—

I mean, we actually need a diversion, Quinn says, pointing.

Danny follows his gesture and sees the headlights of three police cars turning into the resort’s distant driveway. The Honolulu Police Department runs with the blue ends of their roof light bars always on, highly visible in the night. They zoom toward the carport at the front of the hotel.

Manny cranes his neck to watch as the blue-and-whites pass. We’ve got a few seconds while he briefs them, he says. Then we’re the rabbit and they’re the hounds.

Theft of personal property is small potatoes compared to other crimes. Or a fire. Or a plane crash. Can you fake a more important emergency? Quinn asks.

Sure! Manny says brightly. He spreads his massive hands over the keyboard. He closes his eyes and mutters, Oogah boogah, making Scarlet Witch gestures in the air. He opens his eyes and says with fake optimism, Did it work?

Ha ha, I get that you’re not magic. You’re still gifted. You know, for a fucking bridge troll. Think of something to make them forget us.

"You think of it. We’re out of range of hotel Wi-Fi now, so I need to find a satellite." He types industriously, the laptop’s blue glow illuminating his blunt face and his wild kinky hair.

Danny brakes. Thoughts?

Quinn looks. Danny found the exit, but a sturdy metal bar bearing a STOP sign blocks their way. On the driver’s side, a squat machine awaits the paper ticket time-stamped when the customer entered the lot. A second slot, glowing red, looks hungry for a credit card.

Shit, Quinn mutters.

Hang on, hang on, I got this, Cooper says. I scored some credit cards this week; they don’t lead back to us. He fishes for the wallet in his back pocket, fails, curses, can’t quite get his ass off the seat, unsnaps his seat belt, and finally gets the wallet.

Quinn looks across an acre or so. Under the brightly lit carport, he can see uniformed officers in a gaggle listening to Fenders, who gestures excitedly. As he watches, the gaggle breaks up, and the officers dash to their cars. Can you hurry?

Cooper shoves a credit card at Danny in the driver’s seat.

Lot ticket? Danny calls.

Don’t have one, don’t need one, Cooper says.

No ticket means they charge the maximum, Quinn translates. Not our problem.

Danny shoves the credit card into the slot. He pushes some buttons to approve being charged for a week’s parking. It wants a zip code, he calls back.

I don’t know, Cooper says. Try this one.

What one?

The zip code we’re in now!

Oh. What is it?

Fuck if I know! I thought you knew!

Manny, can you look up our zip code?

I can’t look up shit, Manny says. I haven’t got the satellite yet.

"Guys," Quinn urges. All the cops are in their cars and all the light bars relight. The three cars roll in single file. But then the lead car pulls into a handicap parking slot. The doors fling open. One cop runs into the hotel, and the other cop starts walking the beach path Quinn and Cooper ran on minutes ago.

Quinn pops open the glove box and finds paperwork from a Jet Ski rental. He turns it this way and that to make it out under yellow phosphor lights. Try 96860, he says. Quick.

Speaking aloud as he enters each number, Danny spells out, Nine, six, eight, oh, six. Nope, won’t take it.

Now the remaining two police cars, an acre away, roll toward them.

Not 806! 860!

You said oh, six!

Did not!

Try another one! Cooper urges, shoving a different credit card at Danny.

This is a tourist hotel! Manny observes. Won’t the zip code be random? It might be Bumfuck, Montana.

I lifted a wallet off a bartender, Cooper explains.

Manny stares gape-jawed at the man next to him. You shit where you eat?

Cooper shrugs. I got skills, I use ’em. Besides, I tipped him!

Danny tears the previous card out of the slot and inserts the new one. He punches and announces, Nine. Then what?

Six, eight, Quinn overenunciates, keeping a tenuous grip on his patience.

Six, eight. Oh, six?

"No! Six, oh!"

Six, oh, Danny echoes. You don’t have to yell.

Nothing happens.

I thought chinks were supposed to be good at math, Cooper grumbles.

Quinn pins him with a glare. "So not cool."

Only chink here is between your brain and your mouth, Danny states matter-of-factly.

Then the bar silently drifts up.

Danny guns the van past it and turns onto the road fronting the resort. But at this time of night, there is no traffic to blend in with.

Quinn shoots a worried glance back. The cop cars have covered more than half the distance to them. He can’t tell whether the police have seen them. Maybe the two cars head this way simply because it’s the best way out.

You left the credit card! Cooper complains.

We’ll drop you here and you go get it, Manny says acidly. Okay, I’ve got a connection! Who do I hack? What’s our emergency?

I don’t know, Quinn huffs, exasperated. Something Hawaiian. Whatta they got?

I’ll check, Manny says, and starts typing.

The police cars have reached the end of the aisle that leads to the barred exit they just rolled through.

Step on it, Quinn begs.

Danny steps on it.

CHAPTER

THREE

The commercial van boasts built-in nav on a screen the size of an iPad. Danny relies on it heavily getting away from Waikiki Beach. A canal separates most of Waikiki from the rest of Oahu, and if they drive west or northwest, the police can call ahead and block the bridge over the canal, neatly trapping them. Instead, Danny maneuvers southeast from the resort, skirting the huge golf course and driving around the end of the canal.

Confusion benefits them for the first few minutes of the chase, as Fenders couldn’t tell the cops which way their quarry had gone. Danny accelerates smoothly, getting distance from the chase cars without calling attention with a panicky sudden engine roar.

Quinn stares into the external rear view mirror on his side of the van. The blue lights flash, but so far, they aren’t closing the gap between them and the van. Hang loose, Hawaii!

Danny threads through the sleeping town, and eventually turns on his headlights since most of the closed buildings offer no illumination.

Everything looks familiar to Quinn: a Safeway grocery store, a Texaco gas station, an AT&T store, a high school. They could be in any US city, except for the abundance of tropical plants in planters, and the occasional massive banyan tree.

Whenever Danny corners and the police cars have no line of sight, he speeds up. At nearly three in the morning, no one else drives the streets, so he safely runs a couple of reds. Nonetheless, the blue lights keep reappearing behind them. He can’t lose them, but he has a comfortable lead when he drives onto Highway 1 and speeds northwest toward the airport.

They’re still on us, Quinn says. It’s too soon for the airport.

Yep. Working an idea, says Danny. He exits Highway 1 onto Highway 61, Pali Highway, heading northeast.

Which is? Quinn prompts.

Danny stabs a finger at the nav, pointing out a large green blob. This road leads to the Forest Reserve and the Honolulu Watershed. My guess, no way is that Honolulu police jurisdiction.

"Yes!" Manny enthuses from the back seat.

Quinn turns. You a big fan of the Forest Reserve?

Manny looks up as if someone just woke him. What? I’m not listening to you jokers. I just hacked my way into something called Hawaii Emergency Management Agency. I can figure out an emergency for you. Soon enough.

Good job, Quinn says. To Danny, he adds, I like your idea. Even if they hand their pursuit to another agency, handoffs cause delay and goof-ups.

Behind them, the twin blue light bars step up to a more intense level of flashing and strobing. For the first time, police sirens begin their rise and fall in two octaves. The cruisers start to close on them.

Danny smiles tightly. They know we’re about to escape their territory. He plunges his foot harder on the accelerator. The road noise in the van grows loud enough that conversation requires raised voices.

Oh by the way, Manny calls, I disabled the license plate lights when we picked up the van. Maybe they haven’t gotten the plate yet.

Cooper looks pleased. Good trick, partner.

But Manny, involved in his laptop, doesn’t hear. He paws at his face, blinking heavy lids. They all went body surfing earlier that day and the stronger UV rays of the tropics have leached energy from them.

With no way to aid their escape, Cooper lies back next to Manny, and closes his eyes.

Quinn stays up late routinely, but the hour and the ebbing adrenaline weigh on him. I’d kill for a cup of coffee, he mutters. He fiddles with the vents and AC in the van to get cooler air on his face. The controls, part analog and part digital, confuse him, and he gives up.

Pali Highway seems to head straight up a mountain. The van, built for hauling, handles the grade better than the police cruisers Quinn watches obsessively in the rearview mirror. The van leaves the city proper behind, and inky darkness surrounds the road, broken occasionally by lit landmarks such as the Queen Emma Summer Palace—a white plantation house with a big lawn—and a sign for the Oahu Country Club.

Quinn’s eyelids feel heavy. He powers his window down and lets the breeze buffet his face.

In the darkness, the headlights illuminate little more than the dotted white line in the center lane, and an endless metal guardrail on the left. With nothing to see on either side, it feels like they vibrate in place while the dotted highway lines fly at them.

Something changes. At first Quinn can’t place it. What just happened? he asks, looking around. Cooper dozes behind him while Manny works his trackpad in silence.

No sirens, Danny answers.

Rather than trust the rearview mirror, Quinn twists in his seat and looks back. The HPD cruisers have turned off their sirens and switched their light bars back to steady blue. As he watches, they fall back farther and farther. Just before they fade from view, they find an exit and turn off. They’re giving up? he dares to hope.

Danny predicts, Them out, someone else in.

Maybe not. One tourist, no violence.

If the diamonds are worth what we think, it’s grand larceny.

I declare you No Fun.

No Fun, because always right.

Quinn grins. The line begs for a put-down, but in truth, Danny is almost always right. But the next sound wipes the smile off his face. Is that a helicopter?

CHAPTER

FOUR

While Danny drives and Cooper dozes, Manny and Quinn crane their necks, scanning the sky.

Yep, Manny says, pointing. A chopper’s running lights twinkle in the night sky, while its spotlight fans the road far behind them.

In addition, a mile back, a new light bar pierces the dark. This one has blue and red, not the all-blue of Honolulu PD.

Danny catches it in his rearview mirror. Hawaii County Sheriff.

As they blow past a sign that reads Nu’uanu Pali Lookout, Quinn thinks aloud. So HPD did pass the pursuit off. But maybe, if they don’t know our license number⁠—

The chopper’s brilliant spotlight stabs down, exposing the van in the night. A metallic squawk comes from the helicopter, then a stentorian voice commands something Quinn cannot make out over the road noise and the buffeting wind.

He powers his window up. He doesn’t want to know.

The spotlight traces along with them. It illuminates the car interior so brightly, he can see the fake cowhide grain in the plastic dashboard, and individual grains of sand clinging to his dark-wash jeans.

They roar through a short mountain tunnel. The light from above cuts off, and the racket of their own engine bounces back at them from the tunnel walls. Then they shoot out into plain sight and within seconds, the helo’s spotlight pins them again.

The county cruiser following them seems more powerful than the HPD cars. Danny pushes the van at eighty miles per hour, but the flashing lights behind draw ever nearer.

Do you think they’d let us go if we tossed the jewelry out the window? Manny deadpans.

We need a better plan than that. Can you listen to police band?

I have six police scanner apps. Give me a minute, Manny answers. He fishes headphones out of a jacket pocket and dons them.

Moments pass as the van vibrates, the spotlight fingers them steadily, and the county cruiser crawls inexorably closer. Organic black shapes of vegetation fly past, none of them offering any hope of escape.

Working an idea, Danny says calmly, then wrenches the wheel hard.

Quinn scrambles to grab the door handle as the van careens from the highway. Dozing Cooper skids across the bench seat and fetches up landing sharply against the passenger door, spluttering awake, his words buried by the thumping and thudding of the instrument cases in the back.

The van judders across dirt and rocks until it aligns with a smaller turnoff road, Nu’uanu Pali Drive. Where the highway had four lanes and regular streetlights, this is a dark two-lane country road through a tropical forest. Their speed seems reckless now.

A heavy layer of trees arches overhead, completely screening the van from the helicopter’s sight. Danny kills the headlights again.

Quinn’s heart hammers inside his chest as overgrowth he can’t quite see slashes and slaps the sides of the hurtling van. Are we even on the road?

Decelerating, Danny makes another deft turn. The van’s stiff suspension jounces them on a dirt trail that plunges downward, alongside the two-lane road. Within seconds Danny skids into a hard right-angle turn, driving the van into a creek. He guns the engine one more time, and the van slips under Nu’uanu Pali Drive, which bridges the tiny waterway.

The moment the van tucks under the bridge, Danny stomps the parking brake and shuts off the engine. He does something to the giant dashboard display, and the entire vehicle plunges into darkness.

They sit in the black silence.

Quinn notices the abrupt transition from rumbling road noise to quiet breathing. Outside, the cooling engine ticks metallically. The only other sound is the helicopter chopping the air, high above, unseen.

Less than a minute later, the sound of the follow car’s engine swells. Then in a flurry of noise and flashing lights, the cruiser sweeps over them in hot pursuit of thieves it just passed.

The four men listen. As if a recording engineer staffs a giant fader board, the chirp and throb of crickets and bullfrogs rises until it fills the night.

Shee-it, Cooper says. If I gotta miss my beauty rest, at least that was worth it. Slick move.

Feeling something between marvel and relief, Quinn asks, You must have awesome night vision. Or did you know this was here?

Didn’t. Just wanted to get under the trees.

Manny reaches with one giant hand from the back seat and squeezes Danny’s shoulder. Danny softly slugs Manny’s knuckles.

Quinn tries to power his window down, but with the engine off, it doesn’t work. He cracks his door open, triggering the dome light. He quickly snaps it off. He wants to hear.

They wait until the sound of the helicopter slowly, slowly fades away to the northeast.

The only light glows from Manny’s laptop screen. It shines enough that the men can just make out one another’s faces. They trade glances.

Manny puts his headphones back on and fiddles with the laptop. He listens. Then he removes the headphones. They fell for it. They think we’re ahead of them. They’re setting up a barricade where this same road rejoins Highway 61.

Cooper smooths his hair with his hands. Well now what?

Quinn holds his head in his hands. Thinking.

After a pause Cooper announces, I’m gonna shake the dew off my lily. He slides open the side door and, gingerly in the dark, hikes up the creek.

Once he’s gone, Manny says, Now the adults can talk.

Danny releases his seat belt and turns so he can see them both. Stay or go?

Quinn hazards, Some of each? Stay for now because the sheriff probably has backup on the way. If we double back, we might meet them. But we gotta go before they realize their mistake, don’t we?

They’ll catch on pretty soon that we’re not ahead of them, Manny says. They’ll come back and search.

But you can hear them coordinate, right? On your laptop?

As long as the battery lasts.

Can we move around? Stay a step ahead of them?

This rainforest is not that big, Danny says. He whaps the steering wheel with an open palm. And this is not an off-road vehicle.

Yeah, yeah. Quinn waves him off, already trying to hatch a better idea.

Let’s give it an hour, Manny suggests. That should be enough time for the backup to join in. Then we sneak home.

Helicopter can’t stay up forever, Danny adds.

The three exchange looks.

Quinn shrugs. I got nothin’ better.

We should leave the engine off, Danny says. Night carries sound.

Agreed. Manny closes his laptop. Let’s post a lookout, so I don’t have to monitor the police band. Then I can stretch my battery life. I can always turn it back on if we hear something around us.

Lock the doors, Quinn says. That way there’s no debating who’s on lookout.

At the sound of Cooper tromping gracelessly back to them, Manny and Danny grin.

He was humming something. Quinn finds the melody familiar, but without the words, he can’t name the song. Cooper, the band’s main vocalist, has good pitch and, humming in his lower register, a resonant tone. He mumble-sings something about good ol’ boys, and how they never mean any harm.

Finally Quinn realizes what Cooper hums: the theme song from Dukes of Hazzard.

CHAPTER

FIVE

An ear-piercing whistle tears Quinn from sleep. His senses come online in sequence, like a football starting lineup jogging out of the tunnel one by one onto the field.

First, he notices his severe cotton mouth. Then cold merciless steel resisting his skull. Then the crick in his stiff neck. He smells the weird funky sweetness of a confined space that male bodies have exhaled into for hours.

He strains to lift eyelids that apparently a spider has webbed shut, and a dim blurry bed of green fills his sight.

He hears Manny snoring, and the gleeful chortle of a small running creek.

Then it hits him.

He sits bolt upright, his psyche tumbling in a tsunami of panic.

He still sits in the van’s passenger seat. The van still shelters under Nu’uanu Pali Drive. But dawn filters through the banyans and razor palms.

The loud, rising whistle rips through him again, drawing his eyes to its source. Outside the windshield, a small, brilliantly red bird, with a skinny curving beak, grips a bobbing branch. It whistles again, and as if he cues the entire animal kingdom, the dawn chorus rises to meet the sun. The bird darts away, as if thinking, My work here is done.

The cacophony interrupts Manny’s heavy snore. With a snort and a grunt, the big Samoan sits up, filling the second row behind Danny. Danny snoozes in the driver’s seat.

Wild-eyed, Quinn absorbs the scene, willing the hamster in his brain