The thin drizzle on O'ahu's coast that night brought no refreshment, but rather a sticky dampness, as if the air itself was grieving. At the wooden dock hidden behind dense mangrove trees, a heavily modified single-engine light amphibious plane, a de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver, swayed gently with the restless rhythm of the waves. Its matte black paint absorbed the remnants of moonlight, rendering it almost invisible in the darkness of the Pacific.
Mateo Rossi stood at the edge of the dock, holding his flight jacket, which felt far heavier than usual. Inside its pocket, a small memory card held the coordinates forced upon him by Arthur Vance's digital voice. Ten minutes ago, he had left a brief voice recording on the dining table, a farewell message he hoped Elena would never have to he
