will do anything I can to help. Now, what’s the problem?”
They exited the bridge and came into a lavish foyer. Some of the attendees were already milling about. Rachel and Lateen weaved their way through and entered the Kamehameha Ballroom, the largest in the hotel.
“The problem,” Lateen said, “is that we are supposed to start the brunch in less than an hour, and I can’t even get onto the dais.”
He pointed to the wide raised table at the back of the ballroom. On the right side, a standard staircase led up to the dais. On the left side, a short ramp had been constructed over the staircase. Now Rachel could see the problem.
As instructed, a ramp had been installed, but whoever oversaw the construction either hadn’t done it before or hadn’t thought about the needs of the person that would be using it. They had essentially laid the ramp directly over the stairs, canting it up at a slope impossible for anyone in a wheelchair to negotiate.
“If I use that ramp,” Lateen continued, “I will look like an idiot because I will have to have three people help me up. They might as well carry me up the stairs on the other side.”
“I understand the problem, sir. Let me contact the contractor. We’ll have this fixed before the brunch starts.” She pulled out her walkie-talkie.
“Max, is the dais contractor still in the hotel?”
Max Walsh, her assistant manager, picked up immediately.
“I’m just signing some papers with him,” Max said.
“Put him on the walkie-talkie. Now.”
A second of silence elapsed before John Chaver, the contractor, came on the line.
“This is John.”
“John, this is Rachel Tanaka. You and your men need to come back up here immediately. The ramp is installed improperly.”
“It’s built according to my specs.”
She edged away from Lateen so that she was out of earshot and explained the problem with the dais. This guy picked the wrong day to mess with her.
“The ramp is useless. Now, if you want to continue to do business at this hotel—a hotel that’s scheduled to have over a hundred and fifty conferences this year—you better get back up here and fix that ramp in the next twenty minutes.”
“Just a minute.”
Another few moments of silence. Then Chaver came back sounding much more contrite.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tanaka. I just checked with one of my guys. He installed the wrong ramp. We’ve got the right one in our truck. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Good.” Rachel walked back to Lateen. “A Mr. Lateen will be up here to describe exactly what he needs,” she told Chaver. “He is a very important guest, and I expect you to extend him every courtesy.”
“Of course. I’m on my way.”
She replaced the walkie-talkie on her belt.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tanaka,” Lateen said. “I appreciate your help.”
“Not at all. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I hope this won’t discourage you from using our hotel in the future.”
“If we get this fixed, you can consider me satisfied.” Chaver arrived, and Rachel left him with Lateen to get the ramp changed.
As she walked away, her cell phone rang. It was Teresa.
“Are you still awake?” she said.
“Are you kidding?” Teresa said. “Most nights I’d kill for five hours’ sleep.”
“Thanks for staying up late. You’ve got so many good stories about the hospital.”
“I just told you the glamorous stuff. Tonight I’ll tell you the things I normally deal with, like strung-out junkies, idiotic insurance forms, and every bodily fluid you can imagine. It’s not pretty.”
“I’m still proud of you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m proud of you too.”
“For what?”
“For having such a great family. You’ve got something good going there.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Okay, I gotta go. The juice on my cell is running low.”
“Wait! The reason I wanted you to call was because I reserved you a spot in the Grand Hawaiian parking garage. Just tell them I sent you.”
“You kick ass, Rachel! I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
Rachel got only two steps back into the skybridge when her walkie-talkie crackled to life. It was Max.
“Rachel, we have a problem with the Russian tour group.”
“What’s the problem? Something with their rooms?”
“I don’t know. I can’t understand them. But they’re getting pretty irate.”
“There’s no interpreter?”
“Nope. And none of them speaks a word of English.”
“That may be the problem. Where are they?”
“Second-floor mezzanine.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Rachel stopped and leaned against the skybridge railing. She took a deep breath to gather herself as she watched thousands of carefree people enjoying their holiday on the beach. Then she headed to the elevators, ready to take on the day’s next emergency.
SIX
Kai wasn’t worried about the tsunami information bulletin Reggie had issued. It was a standard message issued whenever sensors picked up seismic activity in the Pacific basin that might be powerful enough to generate a tsunami. Since it hadn’t been a tsunami
None of these organizations had to take any action; the message was strictly to inform them of a seismic event and its potential to generate a tsunami. Already that year, the PTWC had issued over forty bulletins. None had actually resulted in a tsunami.
Once the bulletin was issued, the real work started. They had to analyze the data to determine how likely it was that a destructive tsunami was heading for a populated coastline. If the event happened off the coast of Alaska, the closest tsunamigenic zone to Hawaii, remotely operated buoys called Deep-ocean Assessment and Reporting of Tsunamis buoys—commonly called DART buoys—would be able to tell the size and velocity of a tsunami headed across the Pacific. While much of the work was computer-automated now, it still took a lot of sweat to verify the threat and calculate specific wave arrival times. It only took five hours for a tsunami to reach Hawaii from Alaska, which was barely enough time to mount a coordinated mass evacuation.
The interior of the PTWC was just as neat and functional as the exterior. A reception area greeted visitors, and next to it was a small conference room. The receptionist, Julie, had the day off, as did most of the rest of the staff. Kai picked up a sheet of paper lying on the front desk to look at the specifics of the school group that would
