“No. He’s in Hana, a coastal town about sixty miles from here.”
“Shouldn’t we start right down there?”
“You can, of course, Mr. Brewster. However, Tokawto’s been placed under heavy sedation. There’s little chance that he’ll do any talking tonight. I’d suggest you spend the night here, then drive down early tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, yes, Tom,” Hank Mahenili said. “You don’t want to miss the drive to Hana. It’s a truly beautiful and thrilling experience.”
The sixty-mile drive was one of continuous curves. The road snaked around cliffs, dived down to sea level, then climbed back up another cliff.
The party checked into the Han-Maui Hotel, then left for the police station.
Tokawto had come out of his sedation, but was still in such serious condition that his words seemed a meaningless jumble during his conscious spells.
“I don’t know if he’s going to make it or not,” Mr. Brewster said in a low voice.
Biff stepped to the wounded man’s bedside for a closer look.
“That is the man who was snapping pictures of us at the airport, Dad,” he declared.