Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  Amelia twisted her hands together. “Hate and prejudice.” Her eyes moistened. “Just to save face.”

  Vincent nodded. “Wasn’t much left of the Japanese War Machine by then. We had bombed Tokyo, beat them in the Coral Sea and Midway, and island hopped all the way to Saipan, their Pacific Headquarters.”

  “Look.” Amelia pointed up. “Before the war, no white birds flew on the island. Now, they ride the winds over these cliffs, vessels of souls who died.”

  “Beautiful.”

  Amelia gazed at the rough sea battering the rocks. “Banzai, dear Vincent. Cheers to you, may you live ten thousand years.”

  “And so may you.” He kissed her cheek. “May those years be ours.”

  “I hope so.”

  Driving back to Antonio’s, they passed Matilde’s house. Flashing red lights filled her rutted driveway.

  “Oh, God, look!” Amelia pulled Vincent’s arm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The jeep screeched to a stop across the street. Two white-clad attendants wheeled a body-laden gurney down the front steps.

  “Is it . . .” Amelia saw three small children crying in the yard. “Oh, no.” She put her hand to her mouth, held her breath.

  A short, round-faced, gray-haired woman herded the children away from the flashing lights.

  “We’d better help.” Vincent patted Amelia’s shoulder.

  They climbed out of the jeep. The crowd around the house grew larger. Halfway across the road, Amelia stopped, sensed someone’s eyes on her. When she scanned the spectators, the feeling disappeared.

  “Something wrong?” Vincent took her arm.

  “Don’t know, wait—there, that man.”

  Vincent peered into the crowd. Neighbors milled about vying for a better view.

  “What man?”

  Amelia searched again. “I’m a little jumpy.” She saw Matilde’s body being loaded into the ambulance and sighed deeply.

  He put an arm around her. “Looks like the cops have everything under control. We better go.”

  “Those poor babies.” Her voice was just above a whisper when she settled in her seat. “But I guess Grandma will take care of them.”

  Vincent shoved the jeep into gear.

  Amelia glanced at the crowd one more time. “There—by the house.”

  Vincent caught a glimpse of a man’s shoulder in a dark suit rounding the back corner of the house. “Couldn't see his face.”

  “Thought I knew everybody.”

  “Too many people around to chase him. Let’s go back to Antonio’s.” He pushed on the accelerator.

  Antonio Basas’ house looked deserted when they arrived. Vincent rattled the door. “Doesn’t he ever come home?”

  “Not much since his wife died,” Amelia said.

  “When was that?”

  “Few years back.”

  “Don’t tell me—too much tuba.”

  “Not this time. She drowned. They found her in the grotto on the other side of the island.”

  “Didn’t she know how to swim?”

  “Oh, she was a good swimmer.”

  “I don’t get it,” Vincent said. “You mean it was no accident?”

  “Nobody knows. A dark, rainy night—water gets real rough.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. Here’s this good swimmer out in a big storm.”

  “It was all hushed up, like when Dad was killed.” She paused. “Soon afterward, Antonio started spending his time in local bars.”

  Vincent banged on the door again. “Well, he sure isn’t here.”

  “Maybe he’s dead, too.”

  “We’ve had enough bodies for one day.”

  “Yes, let’s go home.”

  Vincent hopped into the jeep. “So, what’s AE got to do with all this? Some of these people seem to know she was here, but they won’t talk.”

  “Growing up, I didn’t think much about all this stuff.” She settled in her seat. “You come here and events that happened years ago begin to make sense—or at least start me thinking.”

  “Well, that’s where we are, not much closer than when we started.”

  “One thing for sure, Matilde knew more than she should and someone didn’t want her to talk.”

  “That someone knows we’re here, now.”

  They entered Joaquina’s darkened house.

  “Strange—maybe she’s at Matilde’s.” Amelia felt for the light switch.

  Joaquina sat at the kitchen table staring out the window. “First your father, now my friend.” She turned.

  “I’m sorry.” Amelia put an arm around her mother’s shoulder. “We saw the police and ambulance. How did you know what happened?”

  “Grandma called. Matilde was such a dear person. Never thought they’d hurt her—a helpless widow, trying to care for her children.” Joaquina buried her face in her hands.

  “I’ll pour you a glass of tuba and fix some dinner,” Amelia said. “Then you can check on the children.”

  Vincent pulled up a wooden chair. “I know it’s a bad time, Joaquina, but who did you think would hurt Matilde? What’s going on?”

  She lifted her head, eyes still wet. “Isn’t it enough just to know she’s gone. I don’t want to talk now.”

  While eating, they heard a heavy knock. Amelia opened the door. “Antonio!”

  “We’ve been looking for you all day.”

  “What?” The old man’s mouth spewed alcohol breath. “I’ve been fixin’ fishing nets and enjoying my siesta.”

  “After a little drink to keep cool.” Joaquina wiped her eyes and gave him a big hug.

  “Too bad about Matilde.” He patted her back.

  Joaquina released her hug. “Why’d they kill her, Antonio?”

  “Same reason they killed Stan.”

  She blinked with surprise.

  Vincent held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Vincent, friend of Amelia’s. We work together. Trying to find out about Amelia Earhart—if she was ever on Saipan?”

  Antonio’s eyes locked on the bottle of tuba. “I know she was here—got a piece of her plane at my place. Japanese scooped her up soon as she crashed. There’s a man got records. Runs the whole show.”

  “What man?” Vincent touched his arm.

  Antonio glanced at the door and the windows. “I ain’t dead yet. Don’t wanna be.” He showed betel nut-stained teeth.

  “Oh, Antonio.” Joaquina shook her head. “You must know the stories going round.”

  Vincent looked at Amelia. “He’s all we’ve got.” Then he turned to Antonio. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay, okay, but how about a quick drink first?”

  “Here, take the whole bottle,” Amelia said.

  Amelia and Vincent led him toward the door. He cradled the bottle to his chest.

  “By the way,” Vincent said, “do you know a man named Ito?”

  Antonio stiffened, downed another big swallow. “That’s not his name.”

  “What is it?”

  His head straight ahead, his face a blank stare, Antonio stopped. “Stan—Matilde, no.”

  “Come on, Antonio.” Amelia pulled on his arm.

  He slurped on the bottle, stumbled down the steps. “She was here—I saw . . .”

  “Sure, sure,” Amelia said, “you know about everybody.”

  “Can he drive?” Vincent supported him while he crawled into his beat-up jeep.

  Amelia smiled. “Everybody gets out of his way.”

  They jumped into their vehicle. Antonio roared off.

  “He must keep that piece of junk glued together with spit and tape,” Vincent said. “Sounds like a tractor.”

  “Hurry.” Amelia watched him zigzag down the bumpy road. “Poor old Antonio... I wonder why we were so afraid of him when we were little?”

  “Your mom said he worked for the Japanese.”

  “He doesn’t like them anymore.”

  “Did they put him in prison? I thought he spied for them.”

  “Mother said the
y used him for interrogations.” Her voice inflected as they shot down a big dip in the road. “He speaks several languages—can you believe it?”

  “Japanese grilling sessions were tough. They boxed prisoners in a small, sealed room with a cobra.” The wind blew his hair. “No lights, no sound. The captive had to reach the light switch by the door without disturbing the snake. Quite a few never made it.”

  “Gives me the shivers,” Amelia said. “I wonder if Antonio was in on that?”

  Vincent gunned the motor. “He’s getting too far ahead. Hang on.” The jeep bounded over the bumps.

  “Just how much do you think Antonio knows about AE?”

  Vincent gripped the wheel tighter. “Depends who he reported to. Japanese spies were all over. Twenty years before it happened, a Marine colonel said the Japanese would attack the Hawaiian Islands. Then he was sent into their Mandated Islands, never heard from again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Reports all classified till 1960, just like some of AE’s. They’re both listed as missing.”

  Amelia shook her head. “The Japanese still treat her like nothing ever happened.”

  “The U.S. knew those islands were fortified, but didn’t know how to prove it.”

  She brushed her wind-blown hair away from her face. “Is that where AE came in?”

  “Roosevelt thought he could use her. The Depression—Germany re-arming. He wanted someone else to start the war.”

  “Americans still can’t avoid war.” A cold tremor spread through Amelia.

  “Nam?”

  “Yes.”

  Vincent touched her cheek, felt the coldness. “War’s tough. Look what AE and Noonan flew into after leaving Lae.”

  “A world on the brink of war.”

  “Five days later, Japan invaded China.” Vincent glanced into the rear view mirror. He clamped harder onto the steering wheel. A pair of bright headlights, closing fast, blinded him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Vincent shielded his eyes, downshifted, and gunned the jeep around a corner onto a side road.

  “Hey!” Amelia banged against the car frame. “What’re you doing?”

  “Hang on!” He tore down the dark road, bounced in and out of ruts. In the mirror, two lights still chased them. “Where does this lead?”

  “Cane fields.” She coughed and waved dust away from her face.

  He floored the throttle; fishtailed forward.

  “Turn here, quick!” Amelia pointed between tall sugar cane.

  They roared up the dusty road full out, scattered large rats lurking in the dirt.

  Approaching a crossroads of truck lanes, Vincent whirled right, almost rolled the jeep, and ripped down a narrow passage. He slammed around corners, twisted in and out of dense green rows until the sugar cane swallowed them.

  “Think we lost him.” He braked to a sliding halt, cut the lights. Dust billowed over the jeep.

  Amelia released her numbed hands from the top of the windshield. “Some ride.”

  “Well, you can relax now, let your motor cool down.”

  The radiator steamed a long hiss. “Like the jeep’s, eh?”

  “Yeah, we’d better wait a while.”

  She rubbed her hands, looked over her shoulder. “Who do you think followed us?”

  “Don’t know, couldn’t see what kind of car it was.”

  “Maybe he killed Matilde?”

  “Then he’ll want to kill us.”

  “I want to go. I think—”

  “Quiet.” Vincent cupped a hand over her mouth. “Listen.”

  She pushed his hand away. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “There it is again.”

  “Probably the wind.”

  He lowered his voice. “I’d better take a look.”

  “You mean we’d better look.”

  “No, you stay here.” He pulled a combat knife from underneath his seat, hopped out. “Glad I brought this.”

  Amelia’s mouth opened, but he had disappeared into the cane. “Stubborn man.”

  The full moon peeked from high clouds, shot restless shadows around Amelia. She sat still but her eyes stretched right and left. Her neck cramped after a few minutes and she massaged it until the stiffness disappeared. Wind rippled cane stocks behind her. “Vincent?” She turned to the darkness, her eyes straining.

  Noises under the jeep stiffened her back. She turned her eyes downward. Damn! What’d Vincent get her into? Her hands shook but she grabbed a jack handle from the back floorboard, climbed on the seat, steadying her weapon for the attack.

  Sweat dripped down her face. The rustling sounds grew louder. She cowered, clenched the jack handle to her chest. Her pulse pounded against her temples.

  She sucked in a big breath of air, planted her feet. “All right! Enough!” She swung the weapon above her head. “Come out!”

  Wind whipped through cane leaves, tousled her hair. She twisted, lashed out with the iron.

  “Hold it!” Vincent ducked.

  Amelia slumped toward him. “I got scared.”

  “Pity the guy messing with you.” He held out his arms.

  She cracked a slight smile. “Guess I got a little excited.”

  “Good you did.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Just rats.”

  She sighed. “Then we can go.”

  “Let’s make sure it’s clear first.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “We wait.”

  “And do what?”

  He inched closer. “We’ll think of something.”

  She snuggled against his chest, lifted her face. He kissed her lips for a long moment then released her. “Still scared?”

  “Not as much.” She sought his lips again.

  He pressed harder, caressed her shoulders and neck with a quickening gentleness.

  She broke their bond for air. “I think we should go now.”

  “Amelia.” He clutched her warmth. “I love you.”

  “We’ll finish this later.”

  Antonio stood on his front porch, a beer in his hand. He waved when Amelia and Vincent pulled up.

  “You just get here?” Vincent asked.

  “No, saw you weren’t behind me, so I stopped and polished off the tuba.” He pitched his beer can into bushes, opened another. “Had these in the jeep—you want a brew?” He offered it to Amelia.

  “No thanks.”

  Antonio took a big swallow. “What took you two so long?”

  “Car trouble.” Vincent did not move.

  “Thought these old geezers never broke down.”

  “This one did.”

  Antonio fumbled for his key, still watched Vincent. “Never can find things when I need to. Had the dang thing once this week.”

  “You’ve been gone all week?”

  Antonio grinned. “There’s one here, someplace.” He reached above the doorframe, withdrew a bent key from a crack. “Come on in.”

  Vincent and Amelia followed him. Antonio switched on a dim light in the cluttered room.

  “Look at this stuff.” Vincent surveyed the collage of aircraft parts and firearms.

  Antonio hiccuped, looked at Amelia. “You remember—when your dad, God rest his soul, brought you here many times.”

  “It used to scare me when I was little,” she said.

  Vincent picked up a bayonet. “Most of this looks Japanese.”

  “Some is, some isn’t. Depends who’s looking.”

  “Anyone been nosing around?”

  “There’s this Japanese—”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know. Young guy, carries a camera and binocular case. Smokes a lot.”

  Vincent focused on Antonio’s eyes. “Did he take pictures?”

  “Wouldn’t let him. Then he stormed off.”

  Vincent inspected more war relics. “Not much special stuff here.”

  “The special things take extra hunting.” Antonio slugged down
another beer.

  “Like what?”

  “Sakurakai papers.”

  “You know about the Society of the Cherry? What about parts to Amelia Earhart’s plane?”

  “Got’em.” Antonio walked across the room. “Just checkin’ you out. This is tourist junk. Be right back.”

  Amelia turned to Vincent. “What about the Sakurakai?”

  “It was closely bound to the Kempei Tai. I’m sure—”

  “Here we are.” Antonio returned from the back room with a bent metal hoop, half-wrapped in worn newspapers.

  Vincent cleared a spot on the table. “A directional finder.”

  “Is this really hers?” Amelia asked.

  “Of course, found it in the harbor myself.”

  Vincent checked for markings on the hoop. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  Antonio tottered to a cupboard, poked around, and pulled out an olive-colored light. He pushed the switch. Vincent grabbed the flashlight, rapped it against his hand. A faint beam flicked on.

  “Well, is it hers?” Amelia asked.

  Vincent scratched off some corrosion with a knife. “Has to have an ID number.”

  “Let me hold the light for you.”

  He handed it to her. “Not even Japanese markings. Nothing.”

  “That light’s no good.” Antonio sank into a worn over-stuffed chair. “I know it’s hers. Japs took her plane to Tokyo, this thing got ditched.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vincent said. “Western Electric had serial numbers, trademarks.”

  “So why did this skinny Japanese man show up after the war?” Antonio asked. “He knew all about her. Said nobody would ever find her.”

  “I’d like to meet this guy,” Vincent said. “Is he still here?”

  Antonio looked at the door, put an unsteady finger to his lips. “Could be.”

  Vincent walked around the room, turned the directional finder in his hands. “Mind if we borrow this?” He stopped behind Antonio.

  Antonio’s head rested on the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

  “Hey, Antonio, wake up.” Vincent juggled his shoulder.

  Antonio snored; his head slid to the side.

  “Let’s get him into bed,” Amelia said.

  They carried him to his saggy bed, pulled off his boots.

  “Sleep well, Antonio.” She put an old Army blanket over him.