“Yes, it is. This is a token of Lloyd’s appreciation for our coming to Seattle without needed rest.”
“You mean Lloyd knows about it?” Kelly curiously inquires.
“No, but since I am such a nice guy, I am going to let Lloyd take credit for it later, when the bill comes.”
“You are bound and determined to get us fired, aren’t you?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. If worse comes to worse, I’ll be the fall guy. The worse thing that could happen is that Lloyd fires me, and then you wouldn’t have to work me with any longer.”
“Actually, when you consider those prospects, it sounds pretty good. Plus, I get to stay in a luxury hotel to boot,” she teases.
“How far is it to the Seattle Center from the hotel?” I ask the cab driver.
“Not far. Actually you can take the Monorail right to the Center; it only costs a quarter. In fact we’ll go right by the Monorail downtown station on our way to the hotel. It will take you directly to the Seattle Center.”
“That sounds great, thanks”.
The Olympic Hotel, an old European-style opulent hotel, was created to be a renaissance of elegance. We walk into the hotel lobby and try not to gawk at all the lavish appointments around us like a tourist. This time we request a room for each of us. Hell or high water, or Lloyd Hatch, we will sleep and eat in style tonight. Kelly and I go our separate ways, each to indulge in the luxury of our spacious hotel room.
This hotel room is about the same size as my apartment back home, I think to myself. The bell man opens the window, overlooking the piers and the shipping activities of Puget Sound. I give him five bucks and then I am left alone. I feel like I have been anointed as king of a small country, which is isolated from the rest of the world. All this luxury and space for one person. I feel out of place, but I think I could get used to it.
I flop myself onto the king size bed in my bedroom. It feels like angels have just laid me upon a bed of clouds. I’ve never slept on clouds before, and I have never been this relaxed before in my life. I close my eyes, and I am soon sound asleep.
From the nearby Seattle harbor, the sudden sound of a freighter’s breathy tuba-sounding foghorn jerks me awake. Since I feel as though I am now a resident of the seventh heaven, I decide to allow myself to drift back asleep. As I float somewhere between awake and blissful slumber, I hear a faint paper rustling sound from the door.
Reluctantly, I raise my head up from the bed and look out through the bedroom doorway, over towards the bottom of the entrance door to my suite. It looks as though someone outside my door is attempting to slide a letter or an envelope through the threshold opening of the door.
More alert now and wary to the possibilities of what is going to happen next, I quickly sit up on the side of the bed and watch a large piece of paper complete its entrance under the door. The shadow I see through the crack underneath the door moves away quickly.
I stare at the unsolicited envelope that lies on the floor. I stand up cautiously, move away from the bed and then slowly walk over to the envelope. Probably it is just the housekeeper or something. I stand at the door for another second listening for any activity outside my room. Leaning over, I pick up the envelope and carefully tear it open and read the enclosed.
“I have warned you before…Don’t mistake my warning for a lie… Because if you speak of these things… You will positively… Die.”
As I finish reading these words, I become totally unaware of my surroundings. For that matter, in that moment, I am unaware of the existence of the entire world. This is the third time I have been served such a warning.
I feel as though I have walked into a deep mire of quandary, not knowing the way out.
With a collapse I sit on the bed, and shake my head in confusion. Why do I keep receiving these warnings? What have I done that makes me worthy of such warnings? Why me, what have I done?
Yes, why me? The only thing I have had time for lately is my work. The only stories I have been working on lately are boring tabloid-type stories that people see in the paper everyday. I can’t think of anything that I have done that is worthy of death.
I mean, I am pretty sure that I would remember being responsible for some carnage or evil act of violence. I have had a few thoughts that would be classified as sinful, but I cannot remember committing any crimes that would deserve capital punishment. In fact, lately, I haven’t had time to commit or be guilty of any crimes, misdemeanors or otherwise. To my recollection, I have not been guilty of even stealing candy from a baby, lately that is.
Those strangers that keep popping up, the one with the eyes, and the one with the hat and coat, come into my mind now. Could these strangers be the ones giving me warnings?
The warnings keep saying not to reveal their secret. What in the world is the secret that I am supposed to know? What secret am I supposed to say nothing about? Is it because I’ve seen them? So what, so I’ve seen them, who cares?
I think for a moment, about the several times I’ve seen the strangers. I don’t recall anything that happened or anything that I have done that would make me a threat to them. Maybe it is something I don’t even realize I’ve seen, but what?
There was the stranger, the one with the eyes at the Portland airport, and in the woods as a Forest Service Ranger. Of course, it is very strange that I also found his face in a 1937 newspaper clipping—an old photograph that was taken right as the Hindenburg disaster was happening. Maybe he is trying to keep that fact quiet? It is also very strange that he looks as if he hasn’t aged a bit in those seventy-odd years. And of course, my father saying that he saw this same man shoot President Kennedy in 1963 definitely adds to this mystery.
The man wearing the hat and long coat, I’m not at all sure what he is all about, or how he fits into all of this.
When I stop to consider everything, it sounds so absurd, so bizarre. But really, what have I discovered? There exists only a bottomless pit of mystery, along with a head full of questions. There has got to be more to the puzzle. In fact, that’s all that I’ve discovered; a puzzle. I don’t know why that merits death. Nevertheless, someone out there is warning me, and someone out there feels so threatened by what they think I know that they will kill me to shut me up.
I look at my watch; it’s 6:38 pm. Once again, Kelly is fashionably late. The Emerald Peacock is a little intimidating, at least for me anyway. I’ve never been to any restaurant that I can remember, that was this formal, or had the word ‘peacock’ in its name.
The only restaurant that I’ve been to that was named after a bird is that quirky little coffee shop in Portland, down on El Dorado drive, called the Rusty Rooster. Somehow, I don’t think my experience at the Rusty Rooster has prepared me for the elegant dining experience before me.
My waiter sets my second Jack and Coke down in front of me. I pick the drink up and take a big mouthful of the distilled liquid fusion. Looking up, I see Kelly entering the room. At the sight of her, I completely lose the ability to swallow. It’s like having a gun that is cocked and ready to fire, but the finger is too weak to pull the trigger.
Kelly looks like a beautiful chiffon apparition, floating into the room. Everyone’s eyes abandon whatever they are doing; they turn and stare at her. Her entrance captivates and bewitches everyone in the room. I finally find the strength to swallow, and look quickly at what I’m wearing. It is unmistakably clear that my jeans and aloha shirt are the wrong attire for this occasion.
Kelly walks to our table; the waiter pulls out her chair and adjusts it for her. I try to open my mouth, without looking too flustered.
“Where did you come from?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You must be from another planet, because I haven’t seen anything this beautiful on earth.”
“Oh Matt, that is so sweet.”
“Where did you get such a fetching dress anyway? I was under the impression we both were bringing casual attire on
these assignments.” I try to talk without sounding out of breath.
“I hope you don’t mind, but a girl always tries to come prepared for every occasion.”
“I don’t mind at all. I hope you won’t mind eating dinner with jeans and an aloha shirt.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous. You look great.”
“Yeah well, it’s like putting a beautiful diamond along side a wooden nickel.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s not that way at all and you know it. Now, why don’t we order, I’m starving.”
“Okay, but I still think I’m getting the best end of the deal. But if you don’t mind being seen with me, I’m not going to complain.”
Just as I finish trying to be witty, the maître d’ of the restaurant, comes up to our table.
“Pardon me sir; I’m sorry I wasn’t present when you came in. I would have been able to inform you that we require a tie and jacket in the Emerald Peacock room. I would be happy to supply that for you if you would like.”
I look over at Kelly for a second, and then we both burst out laughing. I’m sure the guy didn’t have the foggiest notion what was so funny.
“What was your name?” I ask the maître d’.
“James, sir.”
“James, I would be proud to slip on a coat, if you have my size. And if you have a tie that will go with the yellow parrots on my Hawaiian shirt, I’d be glad to wear that too.”
Kelly and I snicker a little, as I stand to follow the maître d’ out to the cloakroom to put on the required tie and coat for the evening.
The evening is going well; I mean how it could be otherwise. Good food, fine wine, and dining with a very beautiful lady. Every once in a while Kelly looks over at my tie and aloha shirt and chuckles. But I don’t mind being laughed at, as long as she is willing to sit on the other side of the table from me.
Walking back to our rooms later, we talk about our assignment.
“How long do you think it will take us to complete this assignment?”
“I don’t know. Unless this proves to be more than just the usual typical museum exhibit, I think one good day should do it. But you know as well as I do, there’s always a chance for a surprise to pop up somewhere.”
I ask for Kelly’s key and open her door into her room. She enters the doorway and turns around, looking up at me with those chocolate brown eyes.
“Thanks for the great evening Matt.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the chef. He’s the one that spread the table for us. Oh, I guess you can thank Lloyd too, since he is paying for it.”
“Don’t be stupid, Matt. I enjoyed your company, that’s what made it great.”
“Being with you this evening was heaven, pure heaven. I’m going to file it away in my treasured memories file.”
“The exhibit doesn’t open till ten, so we’ll have plenty time for breakfast before we go. I’ll give you a call about eight, okay?”
“That sounds good.” I lean down and kiss her on her cheek
“Good night, sweet dreams.”
§
TWELVE
At 9:30 the next morning we take a taxi to the Monorail terminal. We ride the Monorail for about ten minutes to the Seattle Center. Stepping off onto the Seattle Center terminal, our eyes slowly follow a great inanimate structure up to the blue sky above. The Space Needle, the grand iconic romantic landmark of Seattle.
The museum exhibit is located in the cultural arts building next to the Space Needle. We proceed to the entrance of the building, and step up to ticket window and show our press cards to a young lady behind the counter. With a professional and very upbeat manner she asks us to wait a few minutes, while she talks to her manager.
After a few moments, she gives us each a day pass to the exhibition, and wishes us both a wonderful day. Talking about wonderful, I would like to meet someone with that kind of attitude everywhere I go, I think to myself.
Even though it is only 10:15, there is already an impressive crowd assembled to view the exhibits. While Kelly stops to get a drink from a drinking fountain, I step over to the information booth and pick up an exhibit brochure. ‘World History Traveling Museum.’ The brochure is titled.
As I read further, I see that there are five separate exhibits contained in this traveling museum. Exhibit 1: History of flight, Exhibit 2: Famous Crimes, Exhibit 3: History of war, Exhibit 4: Famous disasters, and Exhibit 5: Myths of History, are the themes for exhibits. I can’t wait to dig into each of them. It looks like it will be an educational day.
As I approach the first exhibit, the History of Flight, Kelly instantly busies herself taking pictures. The exhibit starts with the Wright Brothers, and continues on through to our present-day Space Shuttle program.
The exhibit includes many personal belongings from famous people who were pioneers in the history of flight. Charles Lindbergh’s personal logbook is here, from the trip he made across the Atlantic; actual letters Charles wrote to his wife Anne, while he flew to fame, as well as other Lindbergh memorabilia are on exhibit.
One of the Wright Brothers’ leather headgear and a pair of boots are on display, along with many design sketches of their plane; sketched and designed sometime prior to their famous flight.
Continuing on in the History of Flight Exhibit, we approached a huge hanging picture of Amelia Earhart. The title, ‘The Mystery of Amelia Earhart,’ is written on a banner above the display.
Many personal letters of Amelia Earhart are displayed here, letters that she had received from fans, wishing her success just before her famous flight into history.
Next to the display of letters to Amelia Earhart there is a small video screen, that plays live film interviews with Amelia Earhart, most of which have never before seen or heard before.
I press the play button and watch the old newsreel. Amelia Earhart is standing before her famous plane, taking questions from a crowd of reporters. After each question is asked, she steps up to several microphones and graciously answers their questions. Then a man from NBC stands up and asks her a question.
“Miss Earhart, I’m Robert Jones from NBC. Tell us please, how many letters have you received from well-wishers, and have all of them wished you well?” he asks. The small crowd chuckles at the question. Miss Earhart smiles at the question, and then begins to labor at giving an appropriate answer.
“I have received many letters wishing me a successful journey. I want to say to everyone who took the time to write me; thanks to all of you from the bottom of my heart. It has made me more determined then ever to finish my dream and my goal.” Everyone cheers supportively. The same man from NBC steps up again and waits for the cheering to die down before he continues.
“Miss Earhart,” he calls out. At first she acts as if she doesn’t hear him, so he tries again.
“Miss Earhart!” This time everyone in the crowd undeniably hears him.
Miss Earhart reluctantly steps up to the microphones once again. She points at the reporter.
“I’m sorry; this has got to be the last question.”
“Miss Earhart, you told us about all the letters from your fans, but what about letters you received that weren’t supportive. Did you receive any negative letters, Miss Earhart?”
Now, the famous Amelia Earhart becomes noticeably uneasy with such a question. Twice she opens her mouth ready to speak, but something inside of her stops her short. She contemplates and weighs her words carefully.
“Mr. Jones, to be honest with you, not all the letters I have received have wished me well.” Amelia Earhart begins to step away from the microphones.
“Miss Earhart! Why would you say that some of the letters have not wished you well, and what specifically did the letters say that made them negative, in your opinion?”
Miss Earhart thinks for a moment, her face appears solemn.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins.
“It is 1937; we live in the most exciting time in history. God is granting amazing advances in science and te
chnology. Each day that we wake up, something new is discovered or invented. It is marvelous, but at the same time, for some, it can be hard to see our old ways of life being sacrificed to a new modern world.
New discoveries can be wonderful and impressive, but they can also be frightening. Now in this modern age, mankind has the ability to fly. With the ability to fly, what is next on the horizon?
Ladies and gentlemen, I say anything we set our minds to, we will attain. That idea frightens some people.
Some letters I have received are negative, because I think they are scared, scared of what the future might bring.”
“Have any of the letters contained any threats to you personally?” The reporter digs deeper.
Miss Earhart is visibly irritated now, but keeps her composure.
“Mr. Jones, I will make one last comment concerning negative letters I have received. I know what you’re driving at, and the answer is yes; I have received letters that contain threats to my life,” She has now becomes visibly emotional. She stops for a moment and shakes her head.
“I will not comment on the exact words of these letters, but I will say this; someone keeps sending me letters saying that I know a secret, and because I know this secret, I must die.” Amelia nervously snickers at the validity of such a thing.
“Ladies and gentleman, I think some have allowed their fears to get out of hand. Their fears have turned into fantasy,” she trys to successfully downplay any threats to her life.
Everyone in attendance laughs quietly at the comment. She steps back away from the microphones and walks over to her Lockheed Electra 10E aircraft, where Fred Noonan, her navigator, is already aboard waiting. They taxi down the runway and both fly off into history. The video screen goes black.
I look up away from the video screen, and I see a large poster with a picture of Amelia Earhart next to her plane. The caption reads,
“World famous, Amelia Earhart took off from Lae, New Guinea, in her twin-engine Lockheed Electra 10E Airplane, on July 2, 1937. Along with her navigator Fred Noonan, she planned to land on the tiny Howland Island, 2,556 miles to the northeast. They both disappeared forever, never to be found. Seventy years later, the disappearance of Amelia Earhart is still a mystery.”
Wyatt, Richard Page 11
