* * *At the same time Skip Schaefer fell into bed in his suite at the Hale Lono, drunk and exhausted, Hideo Kamada opened the door to his penthouse suite to admit the person who had just arrived on his private elevator.
The visitor, a young woman of Japanese ancestry, said nothing as she stepped into Kamada's suite, but she did twist her lips into a semblance of a smile as she passed him. Once inside she avoided looking directly at her host.
The woman had a secretarial air. Her thick black hair was pulled back tightly from her face, braided and coiled into a bun, and she wore large gold-rimmed spectacles that gave her a studious look. She had on a high-collared blouse with long sleeves and a simple black calf-length skirt with a short slit up either side. Over one shoulder wa
