Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  Amelia forced a smile, focused on the smoke and flames in the distance. Sparks flew upward through the blackened horizon, like on their island—not so long ago... .

  She and Vincent had cooked lobsters over hot coals on the beach. The moon, high overhead, shined on the clear water. Tropical reflections changed their calm mood into heated kisses. Soothing touches awakened desire, cemented their closeness when he eased her on the sand....

  “Look at that, will you.” Joaquina pulled in front of Antonio’s house.

  Flames danced on the roof; smoke shot out open windows. Neighbors formed a line around the house, passed buckets of water. They leaped back when an explosion shattered the night, blew wood fragments and metal skyward.

  Amelia saw her mother’s empty jeep parked beside a tree. A four-door black sedan touched its back bumper. Both cars were soot-covered. She ran toward the house. “Vincent!”

  “Where’s Antonio?” someone shouted.

  “Probably dead drunk,” a voice answered. “Bet he started the fire.”

  Amelia stopped. Her head spun. How could Antonio have done it? Wasn’t he dead? She didn’t really see him at the Grotto, only his jeep. She coughed from the heavy smoke, put a hand to her mouth. Her cheeks burned from the fire. Vincent wouldn’t have come here. He was after Harry.

  The flames rocketed higher; smoke grew dense like thick fog. Amelia choked, raised her arms to protect her face. The wind shifted, moved the fire away from the steps to the back of the house. She better make sure Vincent wasn’t in there. She darted toward the steps.

  An arm stopped her. “You’re not going in there.”

  She jerked around, gazed into a set of dark, cold eyes. “You—let go!” She tried to pull away.

  His grip tightened. “I said stop.”

  Amelia struggled in his grasp, but pain overwhelmed her and she slumped against him.

  Joaquina rushed through a cluster of spectators. “Get your hands off my daughter, Ito Sakura.”

  “I was just trying to save her from the fire.”

  Amelia’s eyes flew wide open; she twisted free. “I don’t need your help.”

  Joaquina stood between them, hands on hips. “You’ve caused enough trouble. I’m gonna get the police.”

  His icy eyes drilled into Joaquina. “We’ll see about that. It’s time she knew—”

  Joaquina stepped toward him, picked up a broken plank. “You better get out of here.”

  He saw some of the crowd staring and backed away into the darkness.

  “Mother, are you sure his name was Ito? Harry’s father?”

  “Yes.” She dropped her weapon.

  “I’ve got to find Vincent.” Amelia ducked into the crowd.

  “What next?” Joaquina ambled to the jeep. “She’s just like her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Vincent had stopped the jeep in Antonio’s driveway. No sign of activity. Harry and Antonio must be connected somehow. What did they know about AE? When he found out, Harry was dead.

  “Antonio!” He skirted the maze of airplane parts, banged on the door. Amelia said police dragged his jeep from the Grotto. Was he dead? “Antonio!” Vincent banged on the door again. It flew open. He stuck his head inside. Dark as a pit.

  “Anybody here?”

  Vincent stumbled over Antonio’s cot, felt along a wall until he located the kerosene lamp. After lighting it, he saw papers and aircraft parts scattered about. Empty liquor bottles were strewn on the floor; a rattan cupboard, half-filled with expensive booze, was smashed in. Someone wanted Antonio’s attention when he came back — if he came back?

  Papers and documents lay messed up on a table. Why did they leave them? He held the lamp above the papers, saw they were written in Japanese characters. He leaned closer, steadied the light. So, old Antonio was ensnarled by those bastards.

  A gunshot cracked the air, blew the lamp apart. Fire spread at his feet. Flames leaped from one pile of debris to another. Vincent jumped back. Within seconds, the room ignited. Smoke blocked his vision; flames swept around him. He grabbed at the door. It did not budge. Fire snapped at him. He pivoted, crashed through the front window onto the ground. He leaped up, brushed dirt and glass off his arms.

  A slim figure darted from behind a tree toward the beach. Vincent saw him, gave chase.

  The man turned when he hit the sand and fired his pistol at Vincent. Vincent ducked, raised his own weapon. Before he fired, the man disappeared beyond a slope near the water. He tucked his .45 back into his waistband. Another bullet whizzed past Vincent’s head. He sprinted faster, caught the man down the beach.

  “Now, let’s see who you are.” Vincent pounced on his back.

  The man fell face first. Vincent rolled him over. “You!”

  “So—we meet.” Harry kicked loose, bounced to his feet.

  Vincent saw a slow grin cross his face. “You’re done.” He jabbed his left fist at Harry’s chin.

  Harry blocked the blows with his forearms, smacked Vincent’s ears with the heels of his hands. Vincent dropped to his knees, held his head. Harry chopped the back of his neck with a quick right hand. Vincent sank to the sand.

  “What’s the matter, old man, out of shape?” He grabbed Vincent’s hair, snapped back his head, and pressed a knife against his protruding throat.

  Vincent gasped for breath. His back ached where Harry straddled him. He clenched cool sand in both hands at his sides.

  “Now, she’ll be mine.” Harry turned the blade.

  Vincent felt a little blood run down his beck. He threw sand over his head into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s hands flew to his eyes. Vincent spun up, thrust his hip into Harry’s groin, and knocked him into the water with a punch to his head. Before Harry washed all the sand out of his eyes, Vincent jumped him, clutched his throat. Harry went limp underwater. Vincent relaxed his grip, started to pull him to shore. Harry twisted, kicked Vincent’s feet out from under him, and pounced on his back. He pulled a pistol, pressed the muzzle against Vincent’s skull.

  “Don’t move.” Harry’s biceps flexed.

  Vincent blinked, drew in a breath, stiffened. Son of a bitch! The bastard was really gonna kill him. His heart pumped faster.

  Harry tightened his trigger finger. The gun moved. Vincent’s head twitched.

  Harry squeezed... a bullet tore into Harry’s right arm. He dropped his weapon. “Who the hell?” He grabbed his arm; blood trickled between his fingers.

  Vincent lunged for the gun. Harry kicked it away. Vincent crawled after it but Harry picked up a large rock, slammed it against his head. Vincent staggered on his knees, shook away the blurriness. Harry hit him again until Vincent bled profusely and fell to the ground unconscious.

  * * * *

  Amelia hurried through the trees, heard voices on the beach.

  A woman stopped her. “Wait, please.” She put a hand on Amelia’s shoulder.

  “Mrs. Garcia.”

  “I told you to leave Saipan.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “They’ll kill all of you.” She clenched her fists. “They murdered my husband—Antonio—your father.”

  “Who? Tell me—”

  Gunshots echoed from the shoreline. Both women turned.

  “Quick, this way.” Mrs. Garcia ran toward the road

  Amelia dashed toward the gunfire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Amelia found Vincent face-down on the sand. Matted blood covered the back of his head. She turned him over, saw his closed eyes, a still chest, and felt for a pulse. He couldn’t be dead. She moved her fingers to his neck. “Vincent, Vincent—wake up!” Her ear pressed against his chest. “You can’t die on me, too!”

  Tilting his head back, she put her mouth on his. Her chest rose and fell when she breathed into him. Still, he didn’t stir. She backed off, pressed the heels of her hands on his chest. He sputtered air, saliva. His body convulsed.

  “Thank God.” She pulled his head to her bosom.

  His ey
es opened. “Is this heaven?” A weak grin parted his lips, then he blacked-out again.

  “Help!” Amelia patted his cheeks. “Somebody please help!”

  A bright overhead light woke Vincent. Antiseptic fumes assaulted his nostrils. A blurry green figure bent over him.

  “Take it easy,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Amelia?”

  “You’re at the hospital.” The heavy-set nurse placed an ice bag on his forehead. “You’ve got a heck of a bump.”

  He felt the bandage on the back of his head. Harry—the fight—head still hurt—must’ve hit his forehead when he fell.

  “Where’s Amelia?” Vincent asked.

  “I’m here.” Amelia pulled back a partition. “How you doing?” She leaned over the bed railing, kissed him on the cheek.

  “Hell of a headache.” He reached for her. “Now we’re both banged up.”

  “Maybe I should get in there with you.”

  “That would be nice.”

  She adjusted the ice bag, massaged his temples. “I thought you were dead.” Her eyes moistened.

  “Who, me?” Vincent lowered the railing, pulled her closer.

  “What you two up to?” The nurse pushed between them. “You need to take it easy, Mr. Carlson.”

  He smiled. Amelia traced her hand across his chest. He shook the sheet with his toes.

  “I give up.” The nurse left the room.

  Amelia bent over him. “A little exaggerated wouldn’t you say?”

  “Had to get rid of her.”

  “Good, then move over. We haven’t been together much lately.”

  “I know, but it’ll have to wait.” He flipped the sheet back, swung his legs over the bed’s edge. “I’m getting out of here.”

  The nurse parted the curtains. “You’re staying put, sir.” She pushed Vincent back down. “If you don’t relax, I’ll have to give you a sedative.”

  “I don’t need sleep.” He turned to Amelia, gave her his helpless look. “Will you please get my clothes?”

  “Your clothes can wait.” The nurse filled a syringe.

  A young Japanese man in a hospital uniform walked past the nurses’ station.

  “Who’s the new orderly?” the younger nurse said. “He’s cute.”

  Her companion shrugged, turned back to her charts. “He’s okay.”

  The man stopped at the fire alarm, scanned the hallway, and pulled the handle. The guard posted outside Vincent’s door jerked awake and bolted toward the nurses’ station.

  The orderly emerged from a supply room, stole into Vincent’s room. His bed was empty. Curtains fluttered at the window. The intruder jumped behind a fabric partition but found nothing. Footsteps roused him. He crouched, pulled an ice pick from his back pocket. The footsteps moved closer; a shadow filled the screen. The assassin plunged the pick into the shadow’s chest. A male voice gasped, his legs gave way. Before he hit the floor, the orderly rammed the point into the man’s neck. Blood spurted through the divider. A smile crossed the killer’s face; he slipped out the side window.

  * * * *

  “Did you see this?” Vincent, lying on Joaquina’s sofa, pointed to the headlines in the local paper. GUARD SLAIN AT HOSPITAL LAST NIGHT

  Amelia read over his shoulder. “Says they found the guard in a patient’s room with a ice pick stuck in his neck.”

  “Lucky I got out.”

  Amelia’s hand tightened on his arm. “The nurses said they saw a new orderly in the hall shortly before the fire alarm went off.”

  “Did they say what he looked like?”

  “Only that he was Japanese... and cute.”

  “Yeah, real cute. Ask the guard.”

  “Wonder if it was the same guy?” Amelia said.

  “Who—what guy?”

  “When I found you on the beach—I was yelling for help. Someone ran out of the trees, saw us, and ran toward Antonio’s. Few minutes later help arrived.”

  Vincent raised his head. “Couldn’t have been the killer. Someone shot Harry’s gun arm just before he was going to kill me—saved my life.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “Come to think of it, a note was left in the jeep at the harbor—where I might find you.”

  “I thought those lights behind me, when I went to Harry’s Place, stayed pretty close.”

  “He musta followed you and Harry—probably got stuck in the storm.”

  “The main thing is—we’re both safe.” Amelia turned the page. “Look, this other article. A Mrs. Garcia exposes a secret society on Saipan before she flees to relatives on Guam.”

  “If she made it that far.” Vincent shook his head.

  “How could she have gone to Guam? I was just with her two nights ago.”

  “What?”

  “She stopped me at the fire, said we should leave Saipan.”

  “You sure it was the same Garcia.”

  “Positive.”

  “I wonder how she learned so much.”

  Amelia put the paper down. “When I saw her at Harry’s, she was scared. At the fire, she seemed bolder, said they’d kill us like they killed her husband, Antonio, Dad.”

  “They? The secret society?”

  Joaquina ambled into the room with a basket of papayas. “What about a secret society?”

  Vincent sat up. “We were talking about Mrs. Garcia.”

  “Her husband, Manny, fought the secret police during the Japanese occupation. My people are still afraid of them.”

  “So, they are active.” Amelia said. “Mrs. Garcia was right.”

  Joaquina’s forehead creased. “One night, they dragged my father away. He didn’t come home for many days—never was the same after that... until he died.”

  “Mother, you never told me.”

  “Too late now,” she said. “Just stay out of Japanese business.”

  “What about Ito?” Amelia asked.

  “I can handle Ito.” Joaquina walked into the kitchen.

  Vincent looked up. “Ito?”

  “I saw him at the fire,” Amelia said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’d only known him as Mr. Sakura.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Don’t know for sure. When he grabbed me—”

  “He grabbed you?” Vincent leaned forward.

  “Said something about ‘time I knew’. Mother chased him off.”

  “The time you knew what? What’s he up to?” Vincent scratched this beard. “He disappeared the same time all AE’s files did after the war. Nobody thought to look on Saipan.”

  “Dad and Antonio did, and Emanuel Garcia—they got killed for it.” She swallowed hard.

  “Stan must’ve found out the truth—that she’s still alive.”

  Amelia’s eyes watered. “But he’s dead. Why is one woman flier so important?”

  “If she is alive,” he said, “it’d be the biggest scoop of the century. The Japanese could have hidden her all these years, just to save face. I think she stumbled onto their Pacific conquest plot in 1937.”

  “Would they still be saving face, even today?”

  Vincent shifted on the couch, folded his arms. “You have to understand the Japanese. They’ll never admit anything about AE. They still think it was our fault the war started. And they’ll never forgive us for dropping the A-bombs.”

  “I always thought they were such a gracious people.”

  “They are, even when the U.S. interned them in camps. But, I’ve seen their deadly nature also, Black Dragon Society—Kempei Tai.”

  Amelia’s expression darkened. “That’s what worries me.”

  “We can’t quit now.”

  “Do we just wait for Ito’s next move?”

  “And try to stay alive.” Vincent gazed out the window.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Harry walked into his father’s living room, which was decorated with valuable Oriental antiques. Ito sat in a large padded armchair. He raised his eyes, ignored Ha
rry’s bandaged hand. “We have failed again.”

  “But Father, I had him cold. Someone nicked me. Had to get out of there.”

  “A poor excuse. Who is this someone? Where did he come from? Must I handle everything?”

  “I don’t know who it was. I thought we were alone on the beach. I just missed him in that old fool’s house. He jumped through a window after the fire started.”

  “I cannot tolerate these miscalculations.”

  Harry stiffened, faced his father. “What about the hospital? Your new man killed the wrong person.”

  “You dare question me?” Ito glared at his son. “I’ll deal with incompetence my way.”

  “You are right, of course.”

  “Now, back to business. Our enemies must die. First, the girl’s mother. She will never threaten me again.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them. Harry opened it. A woman, hunched over like Mrs. Garcia, walked in. She was dressed in black, wore a shawl over her head.

  “Ah, you are back,” Ito said.

  “Yes, I caught the first plane from Guam, but I have disturbing news. People posing as authors are questioning officials about Amelia Earhart. They want to know when she was on Saipan, what the Japanese did with her? If she’s still alive?”

  “They will learn nothing,” he said. “The Americans won’t tell the truth, either.”

  “But, some of the officials are natives.”

  “They’ll say anything for money. Our secret is safe.”

  “I thought money would buy me secrecy in Germany, but after the Russians built the Berlin Wall, I had to get out quick.”

  “You and your father did invaluable work for us. I will not forget. Too bad he betrayed us after his capture by the Americans.”

  “Doctor Keuhn was not my real father,” she said.

  Ito smiled. “As you wish, Mrs. Garcia.”

  “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

  Harry pointed down the hall.

  “I know where it is.” She pushed past him.

  Harry watched her leave. “She’s a little older than your others, isn’t she, Father?”