Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  Guy was flying low, for speed, and Heather started growing nauseous. The small plane would hit down-drafts and the plane would lose altitude unexpectedly. It felt like her stomach landed in the ocean every time it happened. She still had painkillers working in her body and the combination of the unpredictably rough movement of the plane and her weakened condition made her feel quite ill, not even considering that the pain itself was becoming more severe as time went by. She concentrated on the stars and the moon, which looked like a giant had taken a bite out of it, so bright from the vantage of this height. She didn't look down at the ocean, far below, as it made her dizzy.

  While Guy talked about the Waimea Canyon, which was 3,000 feet deep, Nakamura was having fantasies of revenge. The daydreams involved clever and brutal beatings of the monster, Samson Stoker. The only limiting factor in his imagination was the fact that he couldn't make the guy any uglier.

  When they finally arrived at the airport, there were no lights on the runways, but there was enough ambient illumination from the moon and stars for an easy landing. Several cars were parked near the office building, including the black Jeep waiting for them.

  Guy had been off in his estimate of the relative arrival times for their flight and that of their prey. They could hear another plane engine as they deplaned. They headed for the jeep at a run, hoping to get inside without being seen as another of Guy's fleet circled in preparation for a landing.

  Nakamura dove into the drivers seat, with Heather beside him. Guy hopped in the small back seat. They crouched down low and peeked through the windshield as Samson and the witches got off the plane and unloaded the suitcases. Even at this distance they could hear Lucifer's screaming protest as the three people walked to an off-road truck near their Jeep. They slipped even lower in their seats. Nakamura had the uncomfortable feeling that the monster, Samson, who paused and looked around, could smell them with his big smashed nose.

  They hardly breathed as Samson Stoker loaded the luggage in the back of the truck and the two women got inside. The truck took off down the only road leading away from the airfield.

  Nakamura waited for a couple of minutes before he turned the engine over and began following. He didn't use his headlights and the going was rough when they got out of the airfield itself.

  The road was paved, but had been abraded by the rains and was riddled with large rocks. They were surrounded with lush vegetation like a jungle. Nakamura could imagine crocodiles crossing the road and brightly plumed parrots sleeping in the trees above them. Bushes crowded the roadway and the tropical trees made a canopy above, tall banana and palms blotting out the moonlight, making it hard to follow the truck in the shadowy darkness. Nakamura strained his eyes as the miles continued on for what seemed like hours. There were many curves and they frequently lost sight of the vehicle ahead. Nakamura's worry was that he would go too fast and suddenly find himself right on the other vehicle's bumper rounding a sharp curve. At times he didn't know if the truck had gone off on one of the almost invisible trails that frequently bisected their road. He couldn't drive very fast, which was extremely frustrating for him.

  Guy, possessing the excellent eyesight of a flyer and having frequently flown over the area himself, knew the terrain intimately, and was a big help in navigating. He and Heather changed places, climbing over the seats, so he could help track the truck and tell Nakamura what to anticipate next.

  The road eventually began climbing to the coast and along the edge of cliffs that dropped directly down to the sea. Guy told them that the road was now about a thousand feet above the ocean. It was sickening to look down on their right. One inadvertent movement of the wheel would send them crashing down hundreds of feet into the rough sea frothing against the rocks below.

  Nakamura was trundling along mindlessly, occupied entirely with keeping the Jeep on the road and the truck in sight, when Guy suddenly shouted, Stop. It sounded urgent. Nakamura hit the brakes so quickly that the Jeep began to slide, heading right toward the edge of the cliffs. In Kauai there are frequent and violent tropical downpours. He had hit a muddy spot. All his expertise with the four wheel drive was necessary to prevent them from sliding over the edge. Heather almost threw up and Guy made a hoarse, strangled cry as they stopped inches from the edge.

  "Close one," Nakamura said, laughing. He downshifted to get a low gear, rocking the Jeep a little bit back and forth in the mud, scaring his passengers even more, and they backed away from certain death.

  "You thought that was funny?" Guy asked, the skin around his tight mouth almost white.

  "You're the one who yelled to stop," Nakamura commented, still smiling. "Where'd they go?"

  "I promise not to yell any more. Just be more careful," Guy said very slowly, obviously still shaken. "I think they took a dirt path that leads down through the cliffs. It's very steep. Even a four wheeler can't make it, so they'll probably park somewhere along here and walk the rest of the way."

  "You know where they're going?" Heather asked.

  "Looks like the beach."

  CHAPTER 30

  Michelle and Vincent had almost reached the island and the water was getting turbulent.

  "When you pick the wave, paddle as fast as you can so you're just behind the big swell," Michelle said very seriously, treading water beside Vincent. "Then just ride. Stop paddling or you'll go over the top and get smashed under tons of water."

  Vincent could only nod, the water was so choppy.

  "It's like riding a freight train. You'll be moving very fast," Michelle warned, thinking how ridiculous it was to try to teach someone to bodysurf who couldn't even swim.

  He nodded again.

  "Watch how I do it."

  Vincent grinned, "I'm going to catch my first wave!"

  It was a joke, and not very funny in these conditions, but Michelle smiled in spite of herself.

  "Ten feet, at least," Michelle muttered to herself. It scared her to even look at the enormous things. Experienced swimmers had broken their backs in this kind of surf. They were still pretty far out, but it was too choppy to get in closer without being caught by the strong tide and pulled helplessly in, all choices stolen from them.

  "What?"

  "When you get to shore, keep on moving out of the water. Another wave will be right behind you, ready to crash on you. Crawl fast, if you can't stand up. The beach is steep and another wave could suck you right back in."

  The water was choppy enough so that Michelle didn't think Omar could see their heads bobbing beyond the breakers, but she was sure he was waiting on shore. She could see the large bonfire on the beach quite clearly now, but could not make out any figures, although Omar could be sitting behind the fire.

  Michelle started giving Vincent the instructions all over again, holding up his chin. She tried to show him how to do a breast stroke, letting her head go under the water after each stroke. That way he could keep sight of the small beach and get in straight. His practice was passable, enough to keep him afloat.

  Michelle looked behind her. There were mountainous swells, moving them up and down which would turn into the waves crashing to shore. She took a deep shaky breath. Not the next one, the one after that.

  She gave Vincent a wave and took off, letting the first big swell go under her, feeling the grand lift and dip. She started swimming fast, feeling the second one picking her up. As it swept under her she really put on speed, and then she was riding the wave, right behind the crest. She had never ridden so swiftly and it was scary and exhilarating at the same time, watching the beach and cliffs rocket forward in ultra fast motion. She had about ten seconds to realize that she really loved body surfing more than using a board, when all hell broke loose.

  Michelle's wave was cresting, but the one before it had been so large that it broke prematurely, causing a gigantic back-flow. As her wave hit the turbulence she was suddenly caught in the rough water between. She tried to dive, to get under the water where it was safer, but the force rolled her like a twi
g caught in a storm gutter. She felt the avalanche of water pushing her down until she was scraping the bottom, abrading arms and legs, holding her breath, aware of bubbles of churning water all around her. There was that eerie roaring in her ears that one hears only underwater. One arm was wrenched almost out of the socket as she was forced into a somersault under the water. Then she crashed into the steep beach very hard and tried to follow the directions she had given Vincent. Get the hell out before she was smashed and sucked back in.

  Michelle had both hands and feet on sand and staggered up. She was punched unexpectedly in the back by the last of her wave and fell, managing to roll up the beach on her side in the midst of frothy spume from the dying wave, feeling it trying to suck her back in. She finally crawled out of the water and collapsed, panting.

  As she got to her hands and knees, a sick spasm hit her stomach. All the rolling around in the surf and the salt water she had swallowed finally rebelled and twisted her insides. She started retching up salt water helplessly, spasm after spasm racking her body. She thought she would finally die here on the beach, each upchucking was so painful. The salt water had mixed with bile and burned her throat. It was burning in her nose, the spasms were so violent. Her eyes teared with the torture to her sinus membranes.

  "Not very graceful, Michelle."

  The fucker sounded mirthful, Michelle thought as she slowly looked up and wiped off her mouth, pushing lank strands of hair out of her face. Almost too tired to be murderously furious, she suddenly felt rage like she had never experienced it in her life. She wanted to beat the man to death with a baseball bat. Break every bone in his loathsome body.

  First she saw immaculate shoes, not five feet away from her on dry sand, with a mirror-like black shine. Her gaze drifted higher, as she blinked salt water out of her reddened eyes. He was dressed like he was going to a ball, for Christ sake. Even sporting a ridiculous black cape, which was snapping in the breeze.

  "Of course, the surf is a little high this evening," Omar murmured politely. She could see the menace covered by the ridiculously courteous exterior behavior, but she was too angry to care.

  Michelle scooped handfuls of wet sand as she stood up straight and took two steps forward, clenching so it would be packed hard. She let fly. Her aim was good.

  Wet globs of sand were all over his immaculately white frilly shirt, sand in his perfect black hair, sand all over the stupid cummerbund and in his nasty black cape.

  She stared at him dispassionately as he started wiping off the sand. He was definitely surprised. She bent down to get another couple of handfuls. As a revenge it wasn't very satisfying, but she was standing alone on a beach with only underwear to cover her. Her choices were limited.

  Then she realized she didn't need the baseball bat. Her arms and legs really were lethal weapons, but she was so exhausted she knew she couldn't attack. Her legs were rubbery and her arms were burning from the exhausting swim. She needed time; time to physically recover, time to firm her resolve. She thought she could castrate him with one good kick in the crotch.

  He was very fast and she could hear him laugh as he grabbed her arm to prevent her from bending over to scoop up more sand. His grip was like a vice and she remembered the bruise that she had carried for days after he had grabbed her arm when she had tried to flee the lounge at the Ilikai Hotel, the first night she had met him in Hawaii.

  Michelle wrenched her arm from his grasp, not caring if she broke it, just needing his loathsome touch away from her person. Electrical impulses had shot down her arm at the first contact with his skin. She knew he let go; she never could have broken his grip. A part of her mind was coolly calculating that he was very strong and fast. She would need a good fifteen minutes to recover sufficiently.

  Michelle turned around and scanned the ocean. She couldn't see anything. Vincent should still be floating in the water. They had decided he should wait awhile before making his approach. Michelle wanted to be in position so she could see him and run into the water if he needed help. She wouldn't attack Omar until she was sure Vincent was safe.

  She stalked up to the fire. She had to get Omar faced away from the ocean so she went behind the large blaze, facing the ocean, hoping he would take a position facing her. She realized the problem when she got to the fire. Her night vision was gone. She wouldn't be able to see Vincent come in if she was staring into the flames.

  It disgusted her, but she had to keep Omar's attention on her, which meant she had to sit close to him. He sat down sideways to the ocean and she moved, sitting beside him so she wasn't staring directly into the flames. He had been comfortable, she noticed with contempt. There was a large beach blanket with a plastic beach chair and a radio was playing classical music softly.

  "You took much longer than I expected, Michelle," Omar said. "You tried to help the professor?"

  "I couldn't," Michelle said dully. Her exhaustion made her sound believable.

  "Not too enjoyable, watching someone drown, I imagine," Omar commented politely.

  Michelle felt such a wave of fury she knew the color was red. A bright red fury. She could feel it in her eyes when she looked at him, like a live entity ready to burst upon him.

  "Now, now. Don't take it so hard. You didn't really know the man," Omar said.

  The thought of Vincent drowning in the ocean was almost too horrible to contemplate, but Michelle's exhausted mind turned the picture over. Too depleted to even direct her own thoughts, she could see Vincent choking in the surf and finally going under for the last time. She shook her head to rid herself of the nightmare, but evidently Omar had somehow caught her terrible thoughts.

  "So he really is dead."

  Michelle nodded.

  "You know, he's been following me for years. A bulldog, that man. England. Russia. Haiti. The Orient. I always managed to stay ahead of him. You would think he would have given up long ago. I almost thought he would make it tonight."

  "Lucifer's dead too?" Michelle asked dully, reasoning that if the gas was strong enough to render her and Vincent unconscious, it must have killed the cat.

  "No. You dropped him when you passed out. He was under the gas."

  Michelle stared at him.

  "You don't believe me? I had to get someone to pull him out from under your bed."

  That she could believe.

  "Your cat is fine."

  Michelle sighed, looking over her shoulder at the huge barrier of cliffs. Between the high volcanic rocks there was a small, steep sandy trail that Omar must have used to get here.

  "Don't even think of it," Omar said. "That trail goes for miles before you even reach a road."

  "I'm too tired anyway," Michelle commented. But she thought he must be lying. He would never hike for miles to this place alone. Especially in that get-up. Civilization was closer than he wanted her to believe.

  "Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty." Omar handed her a Thermos he had lying on the blanket. He also had a small blanket that he covered her shoulders with.

  Michelle took the Thermos, opened the top and sniffed. She couldn't smell anything.

  "Just water," Omar said.

  "Right. Laced with cocaine from your South American connection? Or LSD? Maybe a few tranquilizers?" Michelle asked cynically. Not waiting for an answer she gulped it down despite her suspicions, almost finishing the whole thing, until she realized that Vincent would need some too, when he got out of the water.

  "Some chocolate?"

  It was a Hershey's candy bar!

  Michelle grabbed it from his hand and devoured it. She would need the quick sugar-high to help overcome her physical exhaustion. Only one of them would be leaving this beach.

  Omar laughed at her greedy behavior, but Michelle ignored him.

  "You passed the Trial-by-Water," Omar murmured.

  "I know, next you throw me into the blaze and see if I burn. Like the old witch hunts?"

  "No, Michelle," Omar's voice was like a caress.

  "What g
ives you the right to torture people? And kill them?"

  "I'll give you what you want most in the world."

  "I'm pretty happy right now. Just let me recover for a minute and I'll leave."

  "I've taken away some reasons for happiness. The little one who calls you Shelly is gone. So is the new love you were with all last night and this morning."

  He was trying to scare her, Michelle decided. Heather and Nakamura were fine. She had to believe they were all right or she would go mad.

  "Just like I took the professor, Vincent Middleton, I have taken your friends. If it's not enough, I'll take your brother, Bobby. Then your parents."

  She should play along, Michelle thought, gritting her teeth. She couldn't let Omar know that Vincent was alive. Not that it would do much good if she had to pull him out of the surf, but she had promised.

  "What do I want most in the world?"

  "Travel, Michelle. Anywhere on earth. Unlimited wealth. The fountain of youth; you will never get old and ugly. Look at me, I'm years older than I appear."

  Michelle just looked at him, unmoved.

  "But most important," he paused significantly, "I'll give you a baby."

  Michelle stared at him in horror. "You watched while Samson Stoker cut that possibly out of me," she said fiercely, trying to control her anger.

  "No. Doctors said a 99.9% probability you could not have a child. But you still have one ovary."

  "Thank's to you, I imagine." Michelle felt herself getting more angry, remembering the attack which had almost taken her life. She was glad. Her fury would make her strong. She knew, for her, it would be almost impossible to begin a physically unprovoked attack against anyone. Even given that the opponent, Omar, was an evil person, it went against every shred in her conscience. She was aware that her very life and the lives of those she loved might depend on it, and that it was a last resort. Using karate could mean that she would kill this man, especially if he fought back. Maybe she could merely disable him, but it probably wouldn't be enough. Unless she killed him he would continue to rape, kill and addict people to drugs.