To Hawaii, with Love Read online

  To Hawaii, with Love

  A Spy Goddess Novel

  Michael P. Spradlin

  To

  Kelly Ann Spradlin,

  for always doing the heavy lifting.

  —MS

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Future Goddesses of America

  Chapter Two: The Great Escape

  Chapter Three: I Rule. Oh Yes I Do.

  Chapter Four: I Prove Invaluable to the Cause

  Chapter Five: No One Is Going to Cheat Me Out of My Hula Lessons

  Chapter Six: Holy Cow!

  Chapter Seven: Why Can’t It Be Easy?

  Chapter Eight: And the Oscar Goes to Rachel Buchanan

  Chapter Nine: We Meet Again

  Chapter Ten: Out of the Darkness

  Chapter Eleven: Into the Light

  Chapter Twelve: Run, Rachel, Run

  Chapter Thirteen: The Boys Are Back in Town

  Chapter Fourteen: Not Much of a Plan as Plans Go

  Chapter Fifteen: Let There Be Light

  Chapter Sixteen: Thank You for Shopping at Our Temple

  Chapter Seventeen: Outrunning the Boogey Man

  Chapter Eighteen: Showdown

  Chapter Nineteen: Taking a Dive

  Chapter Twenty: All Wet

  Chapter Twenty-One: After This, Kitchen Duty Will Be a Vacation

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Like a Bad Penny, She Keeps Turning Up

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Unjustly Accused Again

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Still Hanging Around

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Can a Goddess, Like, Resign?

  Chapter Twenty-Six: If I Can’t Resign, Then I Quit

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: I Am So Out of Here

  Spy Goddess Manga Sampler!

  Other Books by Michael P. Spradlin

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Kuzbekistan, A.D. 360

  Flavius, Emperor of the Roman Empire, knelt at the altar of the underground temple, his head bowed in prayer. Prayers that had, so far, gone unanswered. The battle was nearly over. From far away he could hear the clang of steel and the shouts of fighting, dying legionnaires. Soon his lines would be overrun. The forces of Queen Naromi had nearly decimated his army. He was a beaten man.

  Flavius stood. On his head was a shiny silver helmet with two long pointed horns that extended from each side. He wore a flowing black robe and around his neck hung a solid gold medallion. Carved into the medallion was a silhouette of a bull’s head. He looked every inch the High Priest of Mithras that he was. He wondered why his god had deserted him.

  He heard a noise in the temple behind him and turned to see Gaius, his aide-de-camp, striding toward him across the temple floor. Gaius reached the altar, knelt, and saluted, his thumb touching the center of his chest, fingers spread, his arm then moving outward. The Mithrian salute.

  “Praise be to Mithras, my lord,” said Gaius.

  “Praise be to Mithras,” said Flavius. He grasped his beloved aide by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

  “Did you summon the Centurions?” he asked.

  “Yes, Emperor. As you commanded. They shall arrive momentarily,” Gaius said.

  “And what of my ships?” Flavius asked.

  “They are provisioned and ready to leave when the order is given,” he said.

  Flavius sighed in relief.

  “Well done, Gaius. You have served me ably these many years. When the Centurions depart, you are to leave with them. Return to Rome if possible. Try to salvage whatever life for yourself that you can.”

  “My lord, my duty is to remain here with you!”

  “I release you from that duty, Gaius. You have served Mithras with honor. You must go.”

  “Emperor, it is not over. Surely Mithras will provide…”

  Flavius shook his head.

  “Mithras has found me unworthy of his power. He will one day rise again, when a new successor is chosen. Our duty to him now is to complete our last sacred mission.”

  Gaius started to protest but was interrupted by the sound of the Centurions entering the temple. Seven men, their armor blood-spattered and covered in dust and grime, strode to the altar, where they all saluted and knelt before Flavius.

  “Praise be to Mithras,” they murmured in unison.

  Flavius returned the salute and stood before the Centurions. They were the best and bravest of his army. All of them were strong and capable men, fearless in battle, and wholly willing to die for the cause.

  “You have been chosen,” said Flavius as they knelt before him. “The battle is lost, and our dark lord Mithras will soon return to the underworld to await his next ascension. Your exceptional bravery and devotion are called upon to carry out one last mission in his name.”

  Flavius took a golden statue off the altar and handed it to the first man in line. The image was a bull seated on its hindquarters, its horns encrusted with diamonds and rubies.

  “Quintus, you have been my most faithful and dedicated commander. You have served the Empire and Mithras with honor and distinction. Do you accept this last task I ask of you?”

  “As you command it, my lord, so it shall be,” said Quintus.

  Flavius gave Quintus a small parchment scroll from the pocket of his robe.

  “Do not accept this mission lightly. Quintus, you especially will travel the greatest distance, to a faraway land. You will encounter many dangers, but you must succeed. Will you still undertake this mission in the name of Mithras?” said Flavius.

  “I swear it shall be done,” said Quintus, bowing his head before the Emperor.

  Flavius smiled. He turned back to the altar and picked up a silver chalice bedecked with rubies and sapphires. He handed it to the Centurion next to Quintus and then gave him an identical small parchment scroll.

  “Each of you will be given one of the Seven Treasures of Mithras. Once you are aboard your ships you may open your scrolls, but not before. It will provide you with details and guidance as to where each treasure is to be hidden. It will not be easy. Mithras has commanded that many of you will travel great distances, some of you to lands yet undiscovered, but with his aid you shall arrive at your destination. There you will build a temple in his name and keep the treasure hidden from the forces of Etherea. One day, Mithras will choose a new vessel for this fight. That man shall gather the treasures together again and use their power to summon our lord forth to rule over the Earth!”

  Flavius finished his speech and, one by one, the Centurions took the objects that Flavius handed them—the golden medallion from around his neck, a parchment scroll wrapped around a solid silver rod, a spear, a chalice—until each man held one of the sacred objects in his hands.

  In the background the sounds of battle drew closer. Screaming horses, thundering chariots, and the clash of steel on steel could be heard clearly, even in the underground temple.

  “Each of you understands what you must do?” said Flavius.

  Each of the Centurions nodded.

  “Then go, and may Mithras guide you safely on your journey.”

  The Centurions stood and saluted. Quickly they filed to the back of the temple and up the stairs to the surface. In a moment they were gone, leaving Flavius and Gaius alone in the temple.

  Flavius turned to the altar again; a great book lay upon it. He took up his stylus and wrote several lines on the last page, then gently closed it. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he removed a large ruby the size of a small chicken egg and held it above his head. Light from the torches that lit the temple caused the ruby to glitter and dance in his hand.

  “I seal the Book of Seraphim with the Bloodstone of Mithras,” h
e said. He took the ruby and placed it in a clasp on the very center of the front cover of the Book of Seraphim. It was the largest jewel on the cover, and was surrounded by seven bright smaller rubies at various points on the face of the book. The effect was dazzling.

  Flavius’s shoulders seemed to sag. He turned and looked at Gaius.

  “It is time for you to leave,” said Flavius.

  “But, my lord, surely we can escape. We can take the book and…”

  Flavius shook his head.

  “No, Gaius. It is done. Mithras has commanded me. I was foolish to think myself worthy of his power, and to die here shall be my fate. Fear not, my friend. One day long after our bones have turned to dust, he will choose a new champion, and when the time is right, that champion will bring him forth and the blood of Etherea will darken the sky and the power of Mithras will raise an army of followers that will lay waste to all who oppose him! But we shall not live to see it, so you must go. Keep the word of Mithras alive and one day our descendants will know his glory! But you must hurry!”

  Outside the temple the sounds of battle grew louder. The cries of dying Roman soldiers seemed to echo off the temple walls. Gaius looked at his Emperor one last time and then sadly turned and strode across the floor to the steps. As he climbed out of the darkness, he could swear that he heard the cry of a furious bull fill the temple, echoing off the walls until it seemed the sound was all around him. Frightened, Gaius risked only a quick glance back. For a moment he thought he saw a swirling mist rise up out of the temple floor near the altar. He was sure his mind was playing tricks, for he seemed to see something not quite a man, not quite a beast, but a hideous half-man, half-beast materialize in the mist.

  Gaius looked away and quickened his pace up the temple steps. Just as he reached the surface, he heard evil-sounding laughter fill the temple.

  Then he heard Flavius scream. It was an unholy scream full of rage and pain, as if the soul was being torn away from its body. It haunted Gaius for the rest of his days.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Future Goddesses of America

  There is a crazy man after me. Not just your normal crazy man, either. Not some simple ordinary type of crazy, like a celebrity stalker or someone who gets messages from outer space. This is a guy who thinks that he can rule the world. We’re talking Adolf Hitler–type looniness here.

  Many years ago this guy accidentally discovered an ancient temple in a Middle Eastern desert that was once dedicated to a Roman god named Mithras. When he discovered the temple, either he unleashed some kind of supernatural force that made him nutso or his obsession with what he found caused him to check himself into the Crazy Hotel.

  Oh, and did I also mention that he thinks I’m the living reincarnation of the Goddess Etherea? I told you: wacko. Anyway, whatever he thinks or however he came to think it, the main thing is he wants me dead. Somehow he’s got the idea that I’m the only thing standing between him and world domination.

  His name is Simon Blankenship. For many years he was a member of an elite, clandestine group of U.S. secret agents called the Blackthorn Squad, along with my headmaster and teacher, Jonathon Kim. Mr. Kim was with Blankenship when he discovered the temple, but whatever happened in there didn’t make him crazy. I know this because Mr. Kim is probably the most centered and noncrazy person I know.

  Mr. Kim is the headmaster at Blackthorn Academy, the boarding school in Pennsylvania that I attend. Well, “attend” is not exactly the right word. Saying you “attend” a school would imply that you had a choice in whether or not to go there, whereas I really didn’t. See, I was in a little trouble with the law and this judge said I could either go to the school or go to Juvenile Detention. Since I figured that a young girl from a wealthy Beverly Hills family wouldn’t do so well in Juvie, I chose the school. Yep. I fought the law and the law won. I’ve been here for just about two months now and it’s been “interesting,” to say the least.

  I’ve had to work every other day in the school’s kitchen, attend a full load of very difficult, really weird classes, and start to learn Tae Kwon Do. And for the most part I’ve been denied my beloved Internet access. Also, I discovered that the school secretly sits on top of one of the most sophisticated crime labs and secret-agent hangouts in the world. That’s because Mr. Kim, the former secret agent, established the school to train students to become members of a worldwide network devoted to stopping Blankenship and his Mithrians. Some of the upperclassmen here at Blackthorn, the ones who belong to the “Top Floor” section, go on missions with agents to help with surveillance or sting operations. That’s way cool. Mr. Kim won’t let me into Top Floor yet, but I’m wearing him down.

  Along with some of the other students here I also helped Mr. Kim recover a very rare, ancient book that Blankenship had tried to steal. Of course, it turned out that Mr. Kim had actually switched the books ahead of time, so Blankenship ended up with a fake. Only, Blankenship doesn’t know it’s fake. He thinks it’s real. Which is a good thing for us.

  That was when Blankenship, who now calls himself Mithras, swore that he would seek his revenge on me. Like I said, he thinks that I am the reincarnation of the goddess Etherea, who, according to legend, was sent by the gods to banish Mithras to the underworld.

  Did I mention he was crazy?

  “No, Rachel, you must cock your hip first, then sweep your arm like this and throw the attacker across your leg, like this,” said Mr. Kim. He grabbed the front of my do bak and sent me sprawling to the mat. I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. Again.

  From where he was watching, Alex Scott let out a chuckle. Alex is a second-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and while he’s pretty strong and brave and stuff, he’s really kind of a pain in my backside. He’s always laughing at me, because for the most part, I’m a total klutz. I gave him my best stink-eye as I struggled back to my feet.

  Brent Christian, who was almost a black belt, stood next to Alex. Brent was different. He was quiet, soft-spoken, and gentle, and he never laughed at me when I exhibited my less-than-graceful nature. Also, it didn’t hurt that he has this kind of young Colin Farrell look going, either.

  It was 7 A.M. and I was in the school’s do jang, taking another private Tae Kwon Do lesson from Mr. Kim. Do jang is a Korean word that means “the place of the way.” It’s a training room where students practice. Since all the fuss with Blankenship, Mr. Kim had decided that we needed to accelerate my martial arts training. So I met him at 6:30 every morning in the do jang, where he drilled me relentlessly on the patterns and taught me self-defense moves. Alex and Brent came along most mornings to help out.

  There were two problems with this as far as I was concerned. The first was that I am not a morning person. It was bad enough that everyone at Blackthorn is an early-riser, go-getter type. I mean, they serve breakfast at eight o’clock for crying out loud. I can’t possibly form a coherent thought before 10 A.M. The second problem was that since Mr. Kim had started these “extra training sessions,” most of the “extra training” involved me landing on my keister. Because Mr. Kim, in addition to being a superspy and the headmaster, is one of the very best martial artists in the world. He is a Ninth Dan in Tae Kwon Do, an Aikido master, and not only that, he is a personal friend of Jackie Chan. Needless to say, I was a little overmatched. But Mr. Kim felt it was important that I learn as much as I could, as fast as I could.

  Don’t get me wrong. There aren’t any shortcuts to learning a martial art. Believe me, because I looked for them. All you could do was train over and over until the movements and patterns became second nature. So Mr. Kim’s solution to my problem was simply to train more. And when Mr. Kim felt something was important, he had a way of making you feel it was important. Only, somehow he made it all seem like it was your idea. He was a tricky one, that Mr. Kim.

  I stood there for a moment, hands on my knees, trying to get my breath while shooting daggers at Alex. I don’t like being laughed at, and he seemed to think my training is all a big joke. He�
�d told me earlier that I didn’t have the “martial arts mentality.” I’d replied that I thought it was amazing that he could use three such big words in the same sentence and congratulated him on his improving verbal skills. So now he was a little sore at me. Hence the chuckling while Mr. Kim tossed me around like I was his own personal cat toy.

  Speaking of Mr. Kim, he stood waiting for me to straighten up. I thought maybe a question would stall him before he sent me on another short flight across the room.

  “Mr. Kim?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “You told me that the only way to stop Simon Blankenship would be to find him first, right?”

  “You are correct.”

  “Well, how are we going to do that? I mean, how are we going to find him when he has followers all over the world and a million places to hide and we never know where he is?”

  Mr. Kim straightened his do bak and then, almost faster than I could see, he launched a spin kick. But this time I was ready, and since he was only going at about half speed, I was able to catch his kicking leg with my crossed arms and, at the same time, sweep his standing leg from under him with my foot and send him to the mat. Takedown, Rachel Buchanan! I couldn’t believe I had done it. Soon I’d be starring in the remake of Fists of Fury. Hah! I gave Alex a smirk and was very pleased to see the look of total disbelief on his face. Brent smiled and gave me a big thumbs-up. He had a pretty cute smile when he smiled, which wasn’t often.

  “Excellent, Rachel! First rate!” Mr. Kim bounced back up quickly and beamed a big smile at me. “You showed excellent reflexes. Self-defense is a matter of planning ahead. When someone approaches you, someone who may be a potential foe, you must learn to subconsciously do a ‘threat assessment.’ If that person is an attacker, what are they likely to try first? From which direction might they launch a strike? Continually ask yourself those questions and eventually it will become second nature.” Alex was shaking his head and staring at the floor.