The Aloha Diary

By D.B. Cunningham

Leda Swann's technical career has settled into a predictable routine. When she is offered a chance to work in Honolulu, she accepts the challenge. Hoping for adventure, she is seduced by the island but her stay in paradise is threatened when she confronts the sinister side of Government contracting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.B. Cunningham
• Release date: Apr 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458100429

D.B. Cunningham

D.B. Cunningham holds a Master of Arts degree in English from California State University, Northridge. She retired from a long career as a systems engineer for defense-related companies to return to her first loves, reading and writing. She has published poetry and short stories. The Aloha Diary is her first novel. She lives in San Diego with her husband Sam and her family.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Aloha Means Hello

Leda Swann stowed her tray table and brought her seat to its full and upright position. The plane banked steeply on the final approach to the Honolulu airport. From her window, Leda could see the turquoise water below, streaked with shades of dark blue and dazzling green. This was her first trip to Hawaii. The flight had been pleasant. Ukulele music wafted through the cabin, and the flight attendants wore Hawaiian shirts. No business trip was fun, but Leda hoped that this one would, at least, be interesting. She resolved to embark on this assignment as if it were an adventure.

Getting off the plane in Honolulu was like walking the red carpet. A small crowd waited, cameras flashed, and there were occasional squeals followed by hugging and kissing. Limo drivers held up signs, and tour operators, leis looped over their arms, assembled groups of tourists.

No entourage awaited Leda. Juggling her carry-on and laptop, she exited the terminal in total anonymity. Outside the air was warm and heavy with humidity, laden with the scent of pineapple. Clouds billowed and a light mist fell. A double rainbow arched over steep jagged mountains carpeted in lush green. The car rental shuttle dropped her off at her vehicle, a tiny Toyota that smelled faintly of coconut.

Leda would describe herself as forty-something, too short to be a supermodel, too solidly built to be a ballerina, and too old for disco. At least she was blessed with good skin that made her look a bit younger than she actually was, so she didn’t wear makeup. Her brown hair was straight and cut shoulder length since she had never mastered the mysteries of hairstyling. Recently, she realized she needed reading glasses. She chose bright red frames, hoping they made her look intelligent rather than grandmotherly.

The flight from San Diego to San Francisco and then on to Honolulu had been long. Years of experience had taught Leda to make her own reservations. The agents at her company’s travel office had a tenuous grip on geography. They were well-known for arranging flights with long layovers and multiple connections. On past trips, they flew her from San Diego to Denver via Chicago. She gave up trying to teach them geography and booked her own travel.

The trip from Leda’s past to her present job with a government contractor could have been booked by an even dumber travel agent. When she was in high school, it was common practice to give students aptitude tests to see what job suited their abilities. Everyone Leda knew got the same result—they would all be great podiatrists. Leda’s second aptitude was vaguely described as something technical. Technical seemed to imply math, not Leda’s best subject. She and her poetry-writing friends suspected that the aptitude test was a conspiracy devised by an unholy alliance between podiatry schools and the Southern California aerospace industry.

In spite of her test results, when Leda went to college, she majored in English. In graduate school, she worked in the campus computer center. Her background in computers proved to be a much better foundation for employment than her Master’s in English with a Specialty in British Poetry of the Romantic Age. The die was cast, and she reflected from time to time about how the career test may have foretold her future. Although she didn’t become a podiatrist, she couldn’t have predicted that in the late ’90s, she would be working at a job that was vaguely technical and vaguely medical.

Leda drove her tiny coconut-scented Toyota to the office of Advanced Technology and Science near the Honolulu airport on Ualena Street. Advanced Technology and Science, or ATS, as everyone called it, was headquartered in San Diego with satellite offices all over the world. Several offices were on the Hawaiian Islands. The Honolulu ATS office was in the only multistory building near the airport. From the outside, it was unremarkable, a white concrete cube with rows of windows and a blinking red light on the roof to warn pilots not to hit the building.

ATS was on the thirteenth floor. The door to the office was unlocked, so Leda went in. A middle-aged woman behind the battered wooden reception desk avoided eye contact by bowing her head as if in prayer. Her brown hair was cropped short, and she wore a simple blue blouse. Leda wondered if the woman had been a nun in a former life. Leda spotted a plastic nameplate. The mousey woman’s name was Patty Brown.

Leda introduced herself. Hi, Patty. My name is Leda Swann. The phone rang, and the mousey woman’s eyes widened in panic. She was torn between answering the phone and speaking to Leda, and the decision seemed to overwhelm her. After much angst, Patty chose the phone.

Oh great, Leda muttered under her breath. Most of the secretaries and receptionists in the San Diego office were competent although some were clearly hired for their youth, blond hair, and clear complexions. They weren’t called secretaries in San Diego—they were called administrative assistants. They held the keys to the kingdom. If you ever wanted a new office or a wooden desk, you tried not to incur the wrath of your administrative assistant.

Leda used the opportunity to look around the office. There was no furniture, no computers, no phones—just walls, worn carpet, and a battered filing cabinet. Sam Spade would have been right at home. Large floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at the runways. At one end of the large empty room, glass walls separated three small offices from the larger space. One had a desk and chair.

Is your name Leda? Patty asked timidly.

Yes, Leda said, counseling herself to be patient. She was a long way from home, and if she had to rely on Patty for anything, it would be better not to piss her off in the first five minutes.

This call is for you, Patty declared. Leda put out her hand to take the phone. Oh no, Patty said. I can’t let you talk here. What if another call comes in . . . She pointed to the small glassed-in office with the desk. Leda went in and picked up the phone.

Hey, this is Rick. You made it! How was the flight, OK?

Rick had handpicked Leda for the contract in Hawaii. Even though he was a systems engineer, his degree was in architecture. Leda and Rick had an easy friendship, agreeing that they had to keep a rein on their inner artistic personalities.

Where are you? Leda asked.

Home, Rick answered.

San Diego home or Honolulu home? Leda asked.

Honolulu. I’ve rented an apartment in Coco Head. You should see it. I have a swimming pool right outside my door.

Leda resisted the impulse to ask him if he was alone. Rick was rarely alone. Leda didn’t need a lot of details about Rick’s activities. He was famous for his romantic encounters. His Southern charm, combined with his resemblance to Steven King, made him popular in bars from Washington DC to San Diego, and now probably Honolulu. Women seemed entranced by his rugged good looks. Rick appreciated women although his four divorces didn’t speak well for his staying power. Still, Leda prided herself on being nonjudgmental even when she came across the occasional ATS female sobbing in the ladies’ room after being dumped by Rick.

Then I take it you won’t be in today? Leda asked.

I’m working from home, he replied. Why don’t you check into your hotel. We have an early meeting tomorrow. We can ride together, and I’ll brief you on the way.

Leda said good-bye to Patty, who looked relieved to see her go.

Chapter 2

The Hawaiiana

Leda’s hotel was in Waikiki. She booked it on the Internet because it looked quaint. The Hawaiiana Hotel was one of three small old hotels on Beach Walk, in a low-key area off the main drag. A large white Hawaiiana sign stood out against a black lava rock wall. The U-shaped concrete hotel had two stories and was built around a tropical garden and swimming pool. Plumeria trees dropped fragrant white flowers into the pool. Palm trees rustled in the breeze. The reception area was not a room, just a counter facing the pool. Leda checked in.

Leda’s budget room was at the back, a bit worn, but clean. The carpet featured a burn scar in the shape of an iron. Apparently, someone had tried to use the floor as an ironing board. A threadbare, flowered bedspread covered a queen-sized bed. Two thin bath towels hung in the bathroom. Other amenities included a large old microwave, a small dorm-sized refrigerator, and an ancient air conditioner that rumbled loudly but kept the room cool. Leda could have booked a more upscale hotel, but she knew it was best to stay below the per diem line. Working trips weren’t fun, and there were often unanticipated expenses. Company policy was to charge expenses to personal credit cards and then wait for reimbursement. Sometimes, the wait was long. Leda found that the safest course was to keep expenses low. The Hawaiiana fit the bill.

Leda unpacked her carry-on, putting her clothes in the rattan dresser drawers since there were no hangers in the closet. She opened her laptop and set it up. She realized that she had brought pens but no notebook and added it to her shopping list. She opened the refrigerator, which was clean and held a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts and an empty ice tray. She filled the ice tray with water.

Leda limited herself to one piece of candy before she phoned home. The machine picked up, and her own voice asked her to leave a message. Her husband, Ben, must still be at work. Like other contractors, both Leda and Ben had worked with the military for a long time and had adapted to the patterns of a long-distance marriage. She made a lot of trips to the Washington DC area and other locations that had military medical hospitals. Leda’s business trips were like tours of the nation’s strip malls. She was amazed that anywhere in the country you could get your muffler fixed, get your paycheck cashed, eat a Big Mac, buy a Big Gulp, and forget what city you were in. For a time, Leda became captivated by the Waffle House on her trips to the South. The affair didn’t last long after she calculated the calories in their standard breakfast and lost her taste for grits.

At first, Leda rejected Rick’s proposition that she join him in Hawaii. He approached her after a particularly tedious afternoon of meetings and told her that he was going to work on a new project. I’ll be spending a lot of time on Oahu. Why don’t you come too.

Leda was tempted to say yes. She was afraid that she would fossilize in the grueling meetings that had become her working life. She had done the same thing over and over for the past ten years. But she said no. She couldn’t imagine such a radical change. Talk to Ben about it, Rick said. Let me know if you change your mind.

Leda went home and described Rick’s proposition to her husband Ben, and he said, Why did you say no?

Because we live in San Diego, she answered.

Would we have to move? he asked.

No, she answered. It’s only a one-year project. I would be flying back and forth a lot.

And sometimes, I can fly with you, he said. The consulting job I have isn’t full time. I’ll have weeks when I’m free.

While Leda hadn’t planned for extensive separations, she was confident that their long marriage could withstand them. The more she thought about it, the better Rick’s offer seemed, so she accepted it by saying I’ll do it although she wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Leda ate another chocolate-covered macadamia, and then put the box back in the refrigerator out of sight. She called the ATS office in San Diego and asked for Tessa Duncan. Tessa Duncan and Paul Joseph were Leda’s two oldest ATS friends. The three of them had bonded in the early days. Lunches with Tessa and Paul were the high point of Leda’s week. The three of them shunned the yuppie dining spots around ATS and sought family-run restaurants that served ethnic food. Both Tessa and Paul told her she was right to take Rick’s offer. They all agreed that they didn’t want to die of old age while still writing the same systems architecture manual they started fifteen years before.

So how is Hawaii? Tessa asked.

It’s beautiful, Leda answered. The office is strange. It’s empty—no furniture, no people except this nunlike woman who is terrified of me.

What about Rick? Tessa asked.

Working from home where he has a swimming pool and a view, Leda answered.

And plenty of company, I’ll bet. Tessa laughed. I think you can trust Rick, and if you get stranded, at least you’ll be stranded in Hawaii. It’s April now, so the really hot weather won’t start for a few months, and you’ll have time to adjust. Remember, if you need people to help you, you can bring me on, Tessa added.

I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here. Leda laughed. But if I need help doing it, I’ll call.

Leda was settled and it seemed late. She reminded herself that it was three hours earlier in Hawaii than it was in San Diego. She had the opposite of jet lag. She took a walk to explore the neighborhood. She went two blocks to Kalakaua Avenue, the main drag. She ate dinner in a small noodle shop. Next door was an ABC Store. She looked up and down the street and saw that there were ABC Stores on every corner. Must be Hawaii’s answer to 7-11, she mused. She went in and strolled past aisles of macadamia nuts, tee shirts, and hula girl dolls, but she couldn’t find a notebook. She settled for a diary like the one she had when she was twelve. She had her choice between iridescent green and bright pink. She chose the pink one that had the word ALOHA and a hula girl on the cover.

At sundown, she sat by the Hawaiiana’s pool. Two juice dispensers were marked Pineapple and Guava. Leda sampled them both as she watched a young Hawaiian warrior in a sarong light the tiki torches that surrounded the pool. The sputter of their orange flame was reflected in the darkening pool. A light mist, not quite a drizzle, cooled the air. Leda smelled the plumeria blossoms and observed the slow inertia of her fellow guests.

That night, she decided to divide the diary into two parts. In the front, she put her name and address. She would use the first section for meeting notes and to-do lists. She designated the pages at the end Personal Observations. She made an entry: This might not be such a bad business trip after all.

Chapter 3

The Pink Palace

We’re going to the kickoff meeting at Tripler, Rick announced when he picked Leda up the next morning.

Oh joy, another kickoff meeting, Leda moaned. Kickoff meetings were the first torturous ritual of any new project. Most of the attendees were meeting groupies who had nothing to do with the project itself but came for the billable hours and free sandwiches. Projects that ultimately would involve six people often drew a kickoff crowd of thirty or more.

You’ll like this kickoff meeting, Rick said. It’s in the general’s own conference room and General Higgins himself is leading it.

What do you want me to do? Leda asked.

Just take notes and look around at the other people, Rick answered. Later, you can tell me what you think.

Tripler Army Hospital stands halfway up a mountain looking down on the airport like a medieval fortress. Tripler is one of the largest military medical facilities in the world, and its computers hold the most electronic medical records. The sprawling hospital was visible from miles away. Since it was painted the same color as Pepto Bismol, its nickname was the Pink Palace. Leda had heard the Tripler legend long before she set foot in Hawaii. An architect drew up the plans for the hospital shortly after World War