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  There were a few people ahead of him at the reception desk. Marcus picked up a hotel brochure while he waited in line. The Hiwakulani, he read, built in 1947, sits on more than four acres in the heart of Waikiki. With 315 rooms in three buildings, the Hiwakulani is nonetheless an oasis of calm amidst the noise and bustle of Honolulu.

  Outside, the resort's freshwater pool has a tulip design created from more than one million glass mosaic tiles. The beach that fronts the hotel just beyond the pool is small and has been known to disappear at high tide. An essential part of your Hiwakulani experience is the service and attention to detail . . . . . .

  A young, attractive blonde, holding a mobile device, interrupted his reading. "Checking in, sir?" she inquired.

  "Yes," Marcus replied, looking up from his brochure. "Welcome to the Hiwakulani," she smiled, something she did easily and offered a hand. "Marjorie Remick. May I have your name, please?" "Yes," Marcus stammered, “Its Marcus, Marcus Reno."

  "Yes, Mister Reno," she replied, studying her hand held. "We have you down for five nights in our Orchid Suite. Leave your luggage here, and I'll escort you to your room where we can get you registered in private. Have you stayed with us before, Mister Reno?" she asked, leading the way to a bank of elevators.

  "No, I haven't. This is my first trip to the Islands."

  "We're pleased that you picked the Hiwakulani for your first visit," she said, pressing the button for the 12th floor. "You're on the top floor, poolside, with a lovely view of Waikiki. This way, Mister Reno," she said leaving the elevator. "You're in room 1202." The view from his room, overlooking the beach and pool, was indeed breathtaking. And so was Marjorie, Marcus thought as he deposited his satchel on a bedside table. She was in her twenties, tall, blonde hair, green eyes with all the bells and whistles.

  "Here are your keys," she said, "your luggage will be up shortly. We have three excellent restaurants in the hotel, and any charges will be billed to your room. We have a credit card on file billing all hotel fees to a Mister Robert Albrecht. Just sign here, please," she said presenting Marcus with a registration form, "and you're all set. Enjoy your stay, Mister Reno, and please feel free to call me, at the front desk, should you need anything," she said as she sauntered out of the room.

  Instead of waiting for his luggage, Marcus decided to take a look around the hotel grounds to see what the Hiwakulani had to offer. Maybe I'll bump into Marjorie again, he thought, smiling broadly.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  Namaste: Does this Marjorie play a significant role in Marcus' life?

  Sumantra: Oh, yes. You and she are old friends.

  Namaste: I am so confused. How can I be dead Sumantra?

  Sumantra: As we discussed earlier, an individual can be so certain that death is the end of it all, as you were, that oblivion, though temporary results.

  N. Temporary?

  S. Yes, my friend. There is a group of souls, honorary guides, so to speak, who are ever ready to lend assistance to help you understand your situation. I am one of these souls.

  N. Have you served as a guide for others as well?

  S. Yes, many times. I have, for example, helped many a desperate soul cross the River Styx. That particular belief is no longer generally in use; however, if needed, there will be guides at the river to help travelers cross.

  N. The River Styx is real then?

  S. Real enough to those souls who expected certain things to occur in an orderly fashion upon death.

  N. Is there a hell Sumantra?

  S. A belief in hell fires and eternal suffering can cause a soul to hallucinate a hellish condition, yes. There is no pain or discomfort involved, however. The experience is similar to observing a hellish environment from a distance. Hell, like the place you have imagined, where you burn in everlasting fire, does not exist.

  Similarly, a belief in a stereotyped heaven will result in a hallucination of heavenly conditions. Such a belief can be disadvantageous, however. For some time, a person with a heavenly belief may indeed inhabit such an environment until they learn through experience that such a heaven would be sterile and dull.

  N. How long do these hallucinations last? Is my temporary state a hallucination as well?

  S. Yes, Namaste, it is temporary and will last only as long as you find it to be of value and until you don't want to experience it anymore. Then you will become conscious—you will Wake Up and begin creating whatever reality you desire.

  Remember—you don't die. You never die! When the moment of your death happens, you find immediately that you are still alive. Very much alive Namaste but in a different form.

  N. And my body, what has happened to it?

  S. Your spirit has left your physical form, my friend, and you now reside in another form, an image that will appear physical to you to some degree as long as you do not try to manipulate within the physical system with it. It will not be seen by those still in the physical body.

  N. Tell me again. Exactly where am I now with this new form?

  S. You are in an area or plane between the physical world and the Afterlife.

  N. Limbo?

  S. You may call it that if you like. It is a rest stop. A holding zone. I prefer to call it a Waymeet.

  N. So souls who did not believe in life after death all end up here in the Waymeet?

  S. Not all but many do. Also, souls who do not yet realize they are dead may come to the Waymeet as well. It is quite common that souls who die an abrupt death may not initially realize that they have passed over. Like those who have died in an accident or a war or as a result of a natural catastrophe, for example.

  N. Are people who die a sudden death as disoriented as I was when I came here?

  S. Some are quite bewildered I'm afraid. Imagine: one moment you are driving home after a typical day of work and a bridge collapses on your car, and you die. The next moment you are in another reality where you are unable to communicate with the people you know and are unable to touch the surroundings you are accustomed to. You feel fine, your body looks pretty much the same, but you are somehow separated from everything you believe is real.

  N. How awful to die like that.

  S. Not at all my friend. Remember Namaste you never "die". At the moment of what humans call death, you go on living. Some people who have "died" do not believe it because they do not have the experience of being dead. They still feel very much alive. So there's some temporary disorientation.

  N. Do you assist these souls as well?

  S. I do yes, and there are also other honorary guides and teachers who have been trained to do so. These spirits who passed over are told of their true condition, and all efforts are made to assist them.

  N. Are there others who pass through the Waymeet also?

  S. Yes, many. Those who over-identify their consciousness with their body may linger about the vacant form for some time. Perhaps attempting to enter the physical shape and rejuvenate it. Quite the despondent soul thinking it has no other place to go.

  N. They linger about their body?

  S. Yes, they can't or won't realize they are no longer in a physical body. Thus, they keep trying to be physical. Some attempt to communicate with friends and loved ones still alive. Others hang around physical sites that held some importance for them.

  N. That's a bitch.

  S. Don't despair for them. The guides will attract their attention by any means necessary and escort them to the Waymeet. They will be told of their true conditions, and their energies and spirits will be restored and refreshed.

  Think of the Waymeet as an area between systems where one may wake up so to speak and get their bearings before proceeding onward.

  N. This Waymeet is a place of rest for newly departed souls?

  S. It is a rest stop, yes. But death does not bring one an eternal resting place. Recently departed souls may rest here for some time if that is their wish but they must move onward at some point.

  N. Onward to where? Where am I to move on to?
>
  S. That will be up to you, my friend, as you will soon see.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  Marcus spent the better part of the late afternoon and early evening exploring the hotel grounds and keeping an eye out for Marjorie. Instead of dining in one of the hotel's trendy restaurants, he decided to get a Mahi, Mahi burger at Cheeseburger in Paradise then take a walk down the beach towards Diamond Head. Waikiki was relatively quiet by the time the sun went down. Vacationers, surfers, and snorkelers were gone for the day replaced by a few honeymooners and a smattering of tourists.

  As he approached the Outrigger hotel, he decided to stop for a drink at a lively beach bar called The Shore Bird. It was standing room only at the bar. He was elbowing his way in when a woman's voice exclaimed, "Who is this? Mr. Reno?" the woman said with a smile.

  "Marjorie," Marcus said happily as he turned around. "What a pleasant surprise." "Aloha," she responded. "I'm here with a few friends from work. Would you care to join us?" "Sure, why not, but please call me Marcus." "All right, Marcus, and call me Maggie, everyone does. This place is packed tonight," she said as they made their way through the crowd to a table on the edge of the bar. "We stop here once a week or so to unwind after a long day."

  "Hey guys," she declared, "this is Marcus. Marcus, this is Pamela, Mona, Jean, and David." "Aloha, Marcus, have a Mai Tai," one of the girls exclaimed pouring drinks from a pitcher on the table. The conversation around the table was lively centering mostly on the array of hotel guests they had served that day.

  "Never mind, Marcus," Marjorie said, "they're just blowing off steam." "Hey, Marcus," David shouted, "you a guest at the Hiwakulani?" "Yeah, sure am" Marcus replied. "Hope I'm not one of the people you're talking about." "Nah," David slurred, "hey have a Mai Tai."

  "Grab your drink and let's take a walk, Marcus," Marjorie said placing her hand on his elbow. "It's too crowded for me here tonight." "Catch you later guys," she said, taking Marcus' hand and leading him through the throng.

  "So, Marcus, what made you decide on Oahu for a vacation?" "It was decided for me, I guess. I'm either here on vacation or for an adventure. I haven't decided which yet." "Tell me more," she replied, taking a seat on a bench by the sidewalk.

  "You first," he countered, "How long have you been living on the Islands?" Placing her drink on the bench Maggie replied, "For about three years now. Came here on vacation after graduation. Loved it and decided to stay much to the disappointment of my parents. They thought I should do more with my degree than work in a hotel. I'm not ready to settle down and join corporate America yet. I guess you could say I'm looking for an adventure too."

  "What college did you attend?" Marcus asked. "USC. I'm from Redondo Beach, so it was either there or my father's alma mater UCLA," she replied. "Small world," Marcus exclaimed, "I almost enrolled at USC but chose UC Davis instead. I'm from Gardena originally although I'm currently living in San Diego." "Business must be good since you're staying at the Hiwakulani," she said with a smile.

  "Not really," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The hotel was chosen for me and the whole trip is being paid for by a guy I hardly know." "Really," she said, digging her toes into the sand. "So that's why a Robert something or other is paying your hotel bill?"

  "Right, Robert Albrecht. A one-week vacation on his dime, although I'm supposed to contact a woman he knows while I'm here. She works as a bartender at the Hiwakulani. Her name's Virginia McCracken. Do you know her?"

  "Cracker? Afraid so," Marjorie declared. "Never liked her. A real slut. She was fired a few weeks ago for banging one of the chefs. Rumor has it she's working at a club over on Pearl." "You mean Pearl Harbor, the Navy base?" Marcus asked anxiously. "Yep, apparently a boyfriend got her a job serving drinks to sailors at the Enlisted Men's Club on Ford Island." "Great, I'll head over there tomorrow," he replied enthusiastically.

  "You may have a problem getting on the base Marcus. Access to Ford Island is restricted to active military personnel. The closest you're likely to get is to visit the Arizona Memorial."

  "There must be some way of signing up for a tour or something." "I don't think so Marcus. I took a tour of Pearl Harbor myself shortly after arriving on the Islands. But beyond viewing the battleship memorials, access to Ford Island was off limits."

  "Then how did Virginia . . . or Cracker get a job working there?" "I'm not sure Marcus but I did meet one of her boyfriends at the hotel awhile back. Guy named Roy I think. Can't remember his last name. A big guy, military type. He said he was stationed at Pearl. I guess he opened the door for her. What do you want with her anyway?" Maggie asked.

  "I have a proposition for her from my benefactor Robert Albrecht that I've been asked to pass on. I don't know where she lives so I'll have to go to this club on Ford Island. I'll take a drive out there tomorrow just to take a look around."

  "I'm going with you." "I'd like that," Marcus replied, "but really, I'm OK on my own." "Tomorrow's my day off, and I'm up for some excitement so let's go," she replied, taking his hand and walking towards Ala Moana Boulevard.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Ford Island

  A GUIDED TOUR of Pearl Harbor convinced Marcus that, as Maggie said, access to Ford Island would be difficult if not impossible. The tour guide explained that only active military personnel with the proper credentials were allowed access. His attempts to discover Cracker's home address were fruitless as well. She didn't leave a forwarding address or phone number when departing her job at the Hiwakulani.

  He and Maggie spent the better part of the next few days at the hotel. Maggie working and Marcus plotting how to enter and exit Ford Island safely. Their evenings were spent at the Shore Bird and in Marcus's suite.

  "We have to be careful," Maggie said, easing out of bed early one morning. "If I'm seen leaving your room, that's it for my job. Maybe we should move to my apartment while we figure out our next step." "Good idea," Marcus replied, "but you mentioned that you have a roommate?" "Holly?" she said, sounding amused. "Nothing to worry about. She's out most weekend’s training and generally minds her own business. Besides, Friday's your last night here on Albrecht's credit card."

  "Training for what?" Marcus asked. "Marathons," Maggie replied. "Her whole life revolves around long distance running. If you're concerned, I'll ask her to join us tonight at the Shore Bird, and we'll talk about it."

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  Willy departed the San Diego area as he told Robert he would. For a week or two following his departure, a few people wondered what had become of him. But most of his former friends and colleagues learned long ago to give him a wide berth. His practice of conning a few dollars from people made him ill company. Those who had known him wrote him off as a former educator turned hustler.

  He had no intention of going to Vera Cruz. Willy hated Mexico, having once been thrown out of a casino for past posting at a roulette table and lolling on the beach wasn't his idea of a good time. Instead, he hopped on a Jet Blue flight for Oahu arriving two days after Marcus.

  He checked into The Pagoda, a no-frills motel where local residents from neighboring islands stay when they come to Honolulu. Close to downtown, but not close to the beach, The Pagoda suited Willy's purposes just fine.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  The day was cooling when Maggie and Marcus arrived at the Shore Bird. The Outrigger hotel had a Luau set up for their guests next to the bar. The beach and surrounding area was crowded with tourists and sightseers. Women in cover-ups and men in golf shirts and shorts mingled, chatting and sipping cups of punch a waiter was handing out. They found Holly, sitting by herself, drink in hand, at the far end of the bar.

  A tall attractive brunette, Holly was twenty years older than Maggie but didn't look it. Her complexion was perfect. There were no wrinkles. Her long, graceful neck and blue eyes as bright as jewels gave her a look to be admired. She'd moved from the mainland fifteen years ago and had been at the Hiwakulani ever since. Rising through the ranks, Holly w
as the assistant manager. She'd hired Maggie three years ago and was her immediate supervisor. Outgoing and gregarious, Maggie liked her from the start.

  "Sure, no problem," Holly said. "Stay as long as you like Marcus. I'm just glad to see Maggie has a guy in her life. I'll be out for most of the weekend. Training for the annual Ford Island Bridge Run."

  "The what?" Maggie asked, looking surprised.

  "The Bridge Run," Holly replied. "It's one of the largest 10k runs on Oahu. Starts next Monday. You race across the Clarey Bridge onto Ford Island. The route circles the island clockwise then back across the bridge to finish on Richardson Field."

  "Is the race open to anyone?" Maggie asked. "Sure, for twenty bucks you're in. Why Maggie, you thinking about running?" "Maybe," she replied, "Marcus wants to tour Pearl Harbor, and the race would be a unique way to start. How far is a 10k run?"

  "A little over six miles," Holly replied. "Serious runners make the course in under an hour. Leisure walkers will take much longer. "Anyway," Holly continued, downing the last of her drink, "Gotta dash. I've tomorrow off, and I need to get ready for the run. Oh, and welcome aboard Marcus."

  Marcus laughed in spite of himself, a short quiet laugh. "Wow, I can't believe that just fell in our lap. Shall we go for it?"

  "Why not, it's perfect" Maggie replied. "I'll go online and register both of us for the race. We'll buy running gear at the store tomorrow. I'm thinking that we start the race at the rear of the pack. When we reach a point near the Enlisted Men’s Club where Cracker works, I'll stumble and feign a sprained ankle. After the rest of the runners pass by, we go in to see if she's tending bar. We'll have to be quick but if we're lucky we'll have time to present your proposal to her. Then we'll limp back to the finish line."