Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  “Keep a line on her, over.”

  “Roger, checked them out at school—they saw the film, over.”

  “Good, now make sure no one else sees it, over.”

  “Somebody already knows Electra’s here. Had to take out assassin in the bar, over.”

  “Who was he? Over.”

  “VC—why would they want Electra? Over.”

  “You better find the answer... over and out.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bursts of light flashed from dense jungle cover, followed by the steady pop of gunfire. Young infantrymen rushed the tree line. Their dark-haired squad leader crashed to the ground, lay still in the tall grass; blood oozed from his chest...

  “Steven!” Amelia awakened, covered her face with trembling hands and curled into a fetal position.

  The telephone rang. She wasn’t in the jungle. The phone rang again. Twisting in bed, she picked up the receiver.

  “How’d it go?” The voice was harsh.

  “Harry?” She stretched. “I just woke up.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “In the grass—blood all over.”

  “I mean Vincent. What’s with you?”

  “Oh, bad dream,” she said. “Vincent—yeah, he has an old war film. Shows Japanese island bases, a long time ago.”

  “How do you know they’re Japanese?”

  “He told me they were the Mandated Islands.”

  “My father needs that film.”

  “It’s his?”

  No answer.

  Amelia stared into the receiver. “Hello, Harry?”

  “Just get the film.”

  “Is that an order?” Her stomach fluttered. “Thought I was done with him. He asked me to lunch. I told him no.”

  “Call him. Tell him you’ll go.”

  “Is that old film really important?”

  “Tell him you changed your mind. Meet him at the Square. You’ll know how to get it.”

  “He’s not stupid. Last night a man was killed. I think Vincent knew the man who did it.”

  “He’s dangerous and involved in your father’s murder.”

  “Is that connected to the film?” Her face tensed.

  The line went dead.

  She stared at the receiver. “Harry...”

  Vincent hung up the phone at Jungle Wings. “Amelia changed her mind.” He turned to Blue. “How’d she know I’d be here?”

  “Figured I’d give you the message if you weren’t, mate.”

  Vincent scratched his beard. “You sure got her out of here quick last night.”

  “Like I told you, mate, she’s like me own daughter. No need to get her involved with cops.”

  “You do watch out for her.” Vincent twisted on his stool.

  “You need watching, too.” Blue drew a beer and slid it down the bar. “Cops asked a lot of questions when I got back. Body was already gone. Did you see his face?”

  “He looked Vietnamese,” Vincent said. “Why would they be after me?”

  “You’d better find your Japanese buddy.”

  “No buddy of mine.”

  “Thought you knew him, mate.” Blue looked up from the sink.

  Vincent turned his back to the barkeep.

  Vincent met Amelia just after noon at Anzac Memorial Square. “I wondered if you’d really be here.”

  Her face showed no emotion. “I was hungry.”

  They moved to a table near the center of the open Square and ordered from the menu.

  “Why...” Both spoke at the same time. They laughed.

  “Go ahead,” he said. Her smile would melt any man.

  “No, you first.” He did have a nice laugh.

  “I was going to ask why you changed your mind?”

  He’d better stop staring. “That film bugs me. I’d like to see it again.” She focused on his blue eyes.

  “It’s so old and pretty scratched up, but someone was right there and took those pictures. If they’d got out, the course of history could’ve been changed.”

  “That’s what bugs me,” she said, “how somebody took it and who it belongs to.”

  Vincent watched her. Why was she looking at him like that?

  Amelia started to say more but their waiter brought the food. She thanked the waiter and moved her chair closer to the table. One of her legs brushed Vincent’s knee.

  He took a gulp of water and stuffed a greasy roll into his mouth. “These are great.” Thick red sauce trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  Amelia smiled and pressed her napkin on his chin. “Better slow down.”

  “Sorry, an old habit.” He grabbed his own napkin.

  “Do you have any other old habits?”

  He took a breath. “I’m sure I do.” He leaned his elbows on the table and locked his fingers under his chin. “Now, don’t tell me—you don’t have any bad habits.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Well, what would you—” A flash of light hit him in the eyes. He leaped out of his chair, charged across the cobblestone plaza.

  Rounding a corner of the end building, Vincent found nothing but cigarette butts squashed on the pavement. He scanned the empty alley leading from the Square. Damn! That glint of light could’ve been a gun. He walked back to their table.

  “What’s going on?” Amelia asked.

  He sat down, brushed back his dark, graying hair. “Thought I saw something.”

  “Well, I thought you were sticking me with the check.” She stared at his weathered masculine face. “I don’t get you. Are you sure you knew my dad?”

  He twisted around. “Why would you ask that?”

  “He never told me about you.”

  Vincent gazed around the Square. “Someone did.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Amelia shifted in her chair.

  “It’s obvious you want something.”

  “I told you, I want to find out who murdered my father.”

  “You think I did it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Vincent’s adrenaline rose. “Look, Stan was my pal—my partner. Only he and I knew the secret of AE’s plane.”

  “Secret? What do you mean?”

  “Never mind, I gotta go now.” He moved away from the table.

  She’d pushed him too far. Harry wanted that film. Better try a new tactic. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and smiled. “How about going to the symphony tonight? It’s at the park.”

  “What?” His eyes flashed.

  “The symphony, you know, like in orchestra.”

  “I don’t believe this.” He scratched his bearded chin. “Do you always invite murder suspects to concerts?”

  “Come on, when’s the last time you heard classical music?”

  A small smile outlined his white teeth. “All right, I admit it—years.”

  “It’s settled then. Pick me up at seven.” She walked away. Her young body swayed side to side.

  Vincent stared after her and extended his hand then slowly pulled it back. Such feelings he’d put aside years ago. God, she was beautiful. Just to touch her . . . .

  Early that evening Vincent backed out his cabin and locked the door. A wrinkled white envelope was taped to the bulkhead. He tore it open. Air disasters UB library. Holding the note, he gazed across the other moored boats’ decks. Another feed from Toshio about AE’s disappearance? Things G-2 never told him. Which side was Toshio on then? Was Amelia part of it now?

  The summer night was filled with stars in the dark velvet sky. Amelia talked about the Masters on the way to the park. Vincent listened but classical music seemed like another world.

  They sat on a blanket on the grass close to large fern trees. Strains of Debussy’s Clair de Lune surrounded them and blocked out the crowd. Amelia clasped her hands around her legs and let the music flow through her body. Hair tumbled over her shoulders like a long, dark river. Her brown, honey-toned skin glowed under the gas streetlights.

  Vincent
, surprised by the soothing effect, let the strings mesmerize him. His eyes swept up Amelia’s legs as her dress inched closer to her slender thighs. Inside him, the tingle spread like ocean waves. What a waste if she was just using him.

  After the concert they walked to a small outdoor café and sat at a tiny wrought-iron table capped with a red umbrella.

  “You were quiet tonight,” Amelia said. “Didn’t you like the music?”

  “It was fine.” He sipped his cappuccino. “Just thinking.”

  Lovers at adjacent tables held hands and stared into each other’s eyes. Vincent shifted his gaze, remembered a night by the ocean long ago.

  “Hard to forget the past.” Amelia grazed a hand across his arm. “I know how it is.”

  He felt his stomach tighten and avoided her eyes.

  “Want to tell me about it?” She said it cautiously.

  “Someday, maybe.” He turned. “Look, let’s walk.”

  “All right. Along the river, it’s beautiful at night.”

  They admired the Parliament House, lit like a permanent festival in rich golds, blues, and greens. Other couples, holding hands with arms around waists, passed behind Vincent and Amelia. Lights reflected off the water and brightened the narrow path.

  “Brisbane was founded because of convicts,” Amelia said.

  Vincent looked across the river. “I’ve heard that, but you’d never know it now. Look at that skyline.”

  A short man in combat fatigues edged in front of Amelia and turned his head toward her.

  She tapped Vincent on his right shoulder. “That man . . .”

  The man faded into nearby trees before Vincent turned.

  “He was right here,” she said. “He was staring at me.”

  “Not so strange, you’re a beautiful woman.”

  “Didn’t seem the type—he looked like a Vietnamese soldier.”

  “Cut down this path.” Vincent led her through the trees. Halfway to the street he stopped in a small opening.

  “What’s the matter?” Amelia moved closer to him.

  He scanned the tree line. “Someone’s following us.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Keep walking. When I tell you, run like hell to the street.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be around. Now go!” He leaped behind a large tree.

  Amelia bolted through the brush toward the lights. Once on the street she looked for a policeman but saw only a few concertgoers milling around the far end of the park.

  A man dashed out of the trees. Amelia heard the footsteps, turned. The man aimed a pistol at her. She hit the ground, lay still. Two shots cut the air. She jerked up her head, rose on her knees, and stared at a body on the grass near the tree line. “Vincent!”

  A large hand touched the back of Amelia’s left shoulder. She dove back to the ground but could not stop her legs from shaking.

  “Let’s go.” Vincent’s voice was deep.

  Amelia turned over. “You scared me. I didn’t know who got shot.”

  “Are you okay?” He pulled her to her feet.

  “Yes.” She brushed off her dress. “Who was it? The guy by the river?”

  “Yeah, could be Viet Cong—easy to infiltrate here with so many military around.”

  Amelia still shook. “Why do they want us?”

  “The other night at Jungle Wings, I thought they were after me, now it looks like you’re on the list, too.”

  “Why would somebody want to kill me?” She glanced around.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said. “Maybe you better ask your friend, Harry.”

  Amelia flared. “Just what do you mean by that? Nobody tried to hurt me before I started hanging around with you.” She started to walk away.

  Vincent caught up with her. “Easy—it’s just, that guy bugs me. Somebody knows more than we do about all this.”

  She pulled away. “Well, it’s not Harry. Now, leave me alone before you get us both killed.”

  “No, I’m going to see you home.”

  She picked up her gait. He trailed behind her.

  “Amelia!” Vincent almost fell off his berth in the middle of the night. He rubbed his eyes, looked around the cabin. She wasn’t there. He fell back on his pillow and gazed out a porthole at the star-crowded sky. The Southern Cross loomed above him. Had AE used it to chart her last course? Her last course—never to be seen again. Who let it happen? Now, another Amelia, two of the same in one lifetime. He flopped like a dolphin washed ashore until he snuggled a pillow close to his chest and dreamed….

  They walked along a deserted beach on a tepid, mist-soaked morning. Heavy fog rolled in and blocked out everything but small waves lapping at their feet. Amelia’s long, wet hair lay flat against her head. Vincent stopped and cupped her face in his hands. She kissed his fingers. When he drew her closer, the mist captured her and lifted her away from him. His outstretched arms just missed her fingertips. He jumped, ran after her. The faster he ran, the more the fog engulfed him....

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Vincent downed four aspirins before his head cleared. He felt like he’d spent the night drinking Coconut Killers. That dream really messed him up. He put down his coffee cup, picked up the note about air disasters. In between the lines, Amelia’s dark eyes and soft lips shot up at him. He reached for the phone. “Hi, it’s me. I was thinking about yesterday.”

  “Me?” Amelia said, “Oh, Vincent.”

  “You didn’t know it was me?”

  She muffled her giggle. “I’d hoped last night might’ve turned out a little different.”

  “I agree. Seems like dead bodies follow us around.”

  “Maybe I should’ve listened more closely to my friend, Harry. He told me about you.”

  “How does he know about me?” Vincent paused. “Did he tell you somebody wants both of us out of the way?”

  “I don’t think they want me.”

  “If you’re Stan’s daughter, then you’re involved. Exactly in what, I don’t know, yet—but you are involved.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get involved with you.” Her tone was cold.

  “Fine with me. You just stick with your boyfriend, he’ll find out what happened to your dad.”

  “You sound a little sarcastic.”

  Vincent flushed. She’d picked up his jealously. He set the phone on the table for a few moments then put it back to his ear. “Look, Stan and I had mutual interest in Amelia Earhart. She’s gone—he’s gone. I want some answers.”

  “So do I.” Her voice was soft. “You seem to forget, you’re not the only one who’s lost someone.”

  “Then you know how important any lead might be.”

  “Did someone else contact you?” she asked.

  “Will you meet me at the library later today?”

  “Yes, what’d you find out?” Her voice pitched higher.

  “I’ll tell you when I get there,” he said. “I’d like you to pull books on air disasters in the Thirties. I’ve got to find the link between Stan, AE, and that sub base film.”

  “If you change it to ‘we’ve got to find’, I’ll do it.”

  Vincent laughed. “Okay, we’ll find it.” He hung up. Damn, her face, her smell, her sexy voice, even when she was mad. She was taking him over.

  When Vincent arrived at the university library, Amelia was seated at a long table in the middle of the main room. She had a stack of books piled in front of her.

  “Have you found anything?” he asked.

  Her dark eyes glanced up in childlike innocence. “I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, but I thought there’d be more about Amelia Earhart.”

  “What I—we’re looking for are wrecks. Planes were always going down in those days.” He gazed at her gleaming hair.

  She sat up. Her small, firm breasts pressed against her dress. “You’re going to include me after all?”

  “I’ll get used to it, give me time.” He sat next to her
, reached for the stack of books.

  “I skimmed a few of these, didn’t see much.”

  Vincent leafed through one of the books. “These old photos probably don’t mean much, but sometimes you might find a diamond.”

  “Dad must’ve found one and it got him killed.” Amelia turned back to her project, hid the mist in her eyes from him.

  They studied book after book until only two remained.

  “We’ll have to check out the old newspapers, I guess,” he said. “Not much in these books.”

  “Seems like an endless search.” She stretched her arms.

  He moved closer to her. Her exotic scent overwhelmed him. He wanted to take her in his arms right then. “Just one to go.”

  “Good, I need a break.”

  “Look at this.” Vincent pointed to a photograph of an old airstrip on a small island.

  Amelia strained her neck over his arms. “Where?”

  “A little left of center, toward the bottom.” Vincent slid the book under her chin. Her closeness stirred him.

  “All I see are hundreds of white birds, in the air and on the ground.”

  “No, right here.” He marked the area with his pencil.

  “Looks like a dark blob to me.” She moved closer; one breast brushed his arm.

  His arm tensed. He felt her softness.

  She pulled back.

  “Here,” he said, “take this magnifying glass.”

  Amelia held it right on top on the picture. “I see something now, like part of an airplane.”

  “A wing, maybe?”

  She raised her eyes. “What kind of a plane?”

  “Small, like a Zero. Part of the ‘meatball’ is still there.”

  “The what?”

  “The Japanese flag. Is a date listed?”

  Amelia gave it a longer look. “Circa 1937.”

  “That’s odd, only a few experimental Zeros were in production then.”

  “Well, it looks like one of them crashed on an island close to where Amelia Earhart disappeared.”

  “If it really is a Zero,” he said. “We can’t be the only ones who’ve noticed this.”

  “Maybe whoever told you about this meant you to find something else.”