Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  “I should take him out now.” Vincent’s face tightened.

  Amelia saw his coldness. “No, no more killing.”

  They rushed out the cave into daylight and scrambled up the mountainside.

  “Jeep’s still here.” Vincent jumped in, hot-wired it.

  They sped down the crooked dirt road, bouncing with the jeep.

  Amelia fingered the cross. “Poor Dad.”

  “I’m sorry.” Vincent touched her arm.

  She looked back up the mountain. “What happened to him up there?”

  “I think Stan got the goods on Ito,” he said. “They couldn’t let him live. We’ve got to find those papers before Ito does.”

  “Dad hid them so only he or Mother knew where they were.” Amelia straightened. “Mother—she’s home alone.”

  They stopped in Joaquina’s driveway. The front shutters were closed.

  “Look—the windows,” Vincent said.

  “She only closes those when a typhoon’s coming.” Amelia jumped from the jeep. “Come on!”

  Vincent hopped out, saw wide tire marks in the dirt. “Easy now. Damn, I need my pistol.”

  “Mother!” Amelia ran up the steps. “You here?” She swung open the screen.

  Smoke billowed from under the front door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Harry’s Mercedes stopped in front of Ito’s house in Garapan Heights. Ruth stepped out, opened the rear door. She guided the blindfolded Joaquina from the car.

  “Where are we?” Joaquina lifted her tied hands, touched the cloth over her eyes.

  “Leave that alone,” Ruth said. “You don’t need to know where you are.”

  Joaquina stopped. Ruth jabbed the Luger in her back, urged her along the path to the large guesthouse behind the main residence. Once inside, Ruth shoved her down on a chair beside a small wooden table. She untied Joaquina’s hands, pulled her arms behind the chair back, and refastened a cord around her wrists.

  “That should hold you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Joaquina strained at her bonds.

  “You’re a meddlesome old fool, just like your husband.”

  Joaquina glared at her. “You killed my Stan.”

  Ruth paced across the floor, glanced at the doorway. “Shut up.”

  Joaquina perked up her head, stretched her neck. Darkness entrapped her like the day of Stan’s funeral....

  She’d known people surrounded her, but she’d seen nor heard nothing. Still hard to realize he was gone. Never again to laugh with her, confide in her, make love to her—just be around when she needed him. Damn that Amelia Earhart! She could fly straight to Hell! Why Stan? She needed him now....

  A door opened. Joaquina heard footsteps. Now what? “Who’s there?” A few minutes later, a flicker of light shone through her blindfold. She tried to lift her hands from behind her back, but the cord held tight.

  “Now, we shall see what the mama knows,” a masculine voice broke the silence.

  Joaquina winced at the tone. The cloth around her head flew off; a sharp light blinded her. She jerked back, blinked.

  “Just like the war, huh?”

  “I know it’s you, Ito.” Her eyes adjusted.

  He stood before her, a smirk on his face. “Yes, it is I, to remind you that your daughter shares our heritage. She will unite with us one day.”

  “Amelia will never be Harry’s.”

  “We’ll see,” Ito said. “Ever since that stubborn Earhart woman was captured, my destiny has been sealed. Entrusted to protect Japan’s most secret records, I lost face when your husband stole them.”

  “Stan never stole anything in his life.” Joaquina’s voice rose. “Besides, who cares about your stupid records—no one cares anymore—that was thirty years ago.”

  Ito’s face flushed. “On the contrary—some people are quite interested. These Jewish Nazi hunters still cry ‘war crimes’ as an excuse to hunt down patriots.”

  “Patriots?” Joaquina’s face reddened. “You mean murderers, like you—a murderer.”

  “Enough.” He bore down on her.

  She felt the heat of his cigarette-breath, fended off the probing light he tilted close.

  “We know your husband stole secret information about Amelia Earhart and our country’s survival.”

  “You killed him.” She tugged at her restraints.

  “The Society has a way of dealing with intruders.”

  “Your secret society was destroyed. Now, there’s just you and that no-good son of yours.”

  “So the world thinks.” He cracked a thin smile. “That is good, but it doesn’t answer my question. What did your husband do with those papers?”

  Joaquina closed her eyes. She thought of the times she and other Chamorros stood in lines before the Japanese invaders, interrogated over missing food or small pieces of equipment. How they had hated the Japanese. Then one day before the war, the island was astir about the arrival of two American pilots, a man and a tall, slim woman.

  “I see I must become a little more persuasive,” Ito said.

  Joaquina heard the coldness in his voice.

  “Ruth,” he called into the darkness, “I think we’ll have to do it your way.”

  Ruth approached the table, set down a small metal case. She drew out a long, thin surgical needle. “This will get us some answers.” She fondled the shaft. “Good German steel never failed the Gestapo.”

  Joaquina flinched when Ruth poked the needle into the fat around her neck.

  “I see she likes it.” Ruth looked for Ito’s approval and increased the pressure, drew some blood. “Now, where are those papers?”

  Joaquina stiffened. “You don’t scare me.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to scare you. I want to kill you—be done with you.”

  “I know nothing.” She tightened her lips.

  “We’ll see.” Ruth touched the sharp tip to Joaquina’s mouth and nose, moved it close to her eyes.

  Joaquina gasped, drew back her head. The needle followed, menacing her eyes.

  “Now, do you feel like talking? Be a shame if you lost your eyesight—you wouldn’t be able to snoop into other people’s business.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  Ruth moved to her right side. “This might change your mind.” She slid the needle through her fingers several times like she was polishing it. “Last chance.” She eased the sharp end of the needle into Joaquina’s ear canal until she felt it press against her eardrum. Smiling, she turned the chair around so she could see Joaquina’s face. Then she pushed the point through the soft membrane into the middle ear.

  Joaquina’s eyes flew open. She screamed. Ruth pushed harder. Blood oozed onto Joaquina’s neck and shoulder. Her pupils grew huge, her screams pitched higher and louder.

  “Tell me now!” Ruth shook her.

  Joaquina slumped in her chair. “Oh, Stan, please help me.” She faded into darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Joaquina sagged on the chair like a rag doll, eyes still closed. Ruth slapped her face, hurled water from a pitcher at her.

  Joaquina’s eyes popped open. She shook her head. Water and blood streamed down her neck.

  “Now, take me to the hiding place,” Ruth said.

  Joaquina did not answer. Her head spun; she groaned.

  Ruth retrieved the blood-covered needle, twirled it between her fingers, and inched it close to Joaquina’s eyes.

  Joaquina’s heart jumped, beating faster. She followed the needle back and forth until her eyelids twitched from the steel’s closeness. She jerked backward. The needle’s tip just missed her eyeball. Her ear throbbed; pain squeezed her skull. Fear overcame dizziness. She slumped against the chair back. “No more—please. I’ll take you.”

  Hands still bound, Joaquina sat in the front seat of Harry’s sedan. Ruth put on gloves, started the car, and pulled from Ito’s circular driveway. Harry followed in his new-model jeep.

  Ruth turned to Joaq
uina. “Your house?”

  “No, the other way.” She struggled with her bonds. Too dark—windows rolled up tight. No one would hear her screams, anyhow. “Trust Territory Headquarters.” Bloody drainage oozed from her ear.

  “Are you crazy? Police station’s across the street.” Ruth braked the car, turned off the lights. She drew the needle from her handbag.

  Joaquina yanked away, trembling. Ruth grabbed her arm, pierced it fast, deep. Joaquina screamed, thrusting her body against the door.

  “Now, where should I go?” Ruth pointed the needle at her.

  “Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine.” Blood flowed down Joaquina’s arm. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back on the seat.

  Ruth turned on the headlights, signaled Harry behind her, and pressed hard on the accelerator.

  Skirting the jungle’s edge, the two cars turned off Cross Island Road, headed up the narrow dirt lane to the shrine. Vine-covered stone pillars, evenly spaced in a half circle, spiraled skyward on the hill’s crest. A spotlight shone on a decaying statue of the Madonna. One of her crumbled arms lay on the ground next to containers of wilted flowers.

  Ruth shook Joaquina awake, pulled her from the car. A green lizard leaped behind a pillar out of the light.

  “Poison snakes around here.” Joaquina leaned against the car for support.

  Ruth took a flashlight from the glove box, pointed it down the path. “Snakes don’t bother me.” She jabbed a pistol in Joaquina’s back, pushed her away from the car. “Hurry up, fat lady, get the papers.”

  Harry followed close behind; his shoes crunched the gravel.

  “Over here, behind the shrine.” Joaquina motioned with her head. “But you’ll have to untie me.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” Ruth poked her again. “Keep moving.”

  “I’m trying.” Her clouded eyes focused. “Can’t find the box with my hands tied.”

  Harry caught up with them. “Untie her—the old bag can’t move fast enough to run away.”

  Joaquina made the sign of the cross, cupped a hand over her ear, and mumbled to herself.

  “Speak up,” Ruth said.

  “This way.” Joaquina took the trail’s fork that wound behind the shrine.

  “Where is it?” Harry asked.

  “It’s here—somewhere.” Joaquina felt along the crumbling plaster wall. Her hand touched a jungle snake. She twitched, grabbed it, and flung it at Harry and Ruth.

  Harry jumped out of the way. Ruth raised her gun, fired three quick rounds at the snake. Joaquina ran for the jungle.

  “I wouldn’t . . .” Ruth raised her voice. “You have a lovely daughter to think about.”

  Joaquina stopped in mid-step. Her hands flew up; she walked back, panting.

  “Much better, old woman.” Ruth motioned her on.

  Joaquina gritted her teeth, crashed through vines until she found a rough, wooden door built into a hill. “Here it is.”

  “Out of the way.” Ruth shoved her aside. “Keep an eye on her.”

  Harry pulled his gun. “Over here.”

  Ruth turned the rusty doorknob. It fell to the ground. “Damn. Harry, got any tools?”

  “No.”

  She pointed a light into her bag, fished out a long needle. “Such a handy little gadget.” She guided it into the keyhole, twisted it. The door squeaked open. Ruth peered inside the cubicle, spun around, and faced Joaquina. “Where is it?”

  Joaquina’s chest tightened. “I put the trunk in there myself.”

  Color flooded Ruth’s cheeks. “You know where to get rid of her.” Her jaw stiffened. She hurried back to her car.

  Harry led Joaquina from the jeep. The Grotto’s churning waters pounded against rocks below. Her breathing quickened. He pushed her toward the bank. She pressed back against him, but he shoved her forward harder.

  “Please—I can’t swim!”

  “Too bad you’ll never learn.” Harry slammed his fist in the fold of her back.

  She stumbled, lost a sandal.

  He prodded her to the edge. “Here we are.”

  The foaming surf whirled water around rocks onto clean sand.

  Harry clutched her arm. “Time for your swim.”

  Joaquina pulled back, stiffened. He kicked her legs out from under her, rolled her over the side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Help!” Joaquina plunged down the rugged bank, slammed onto a ledge. She lay motionless, air knocked from her lungs. Pain spiraled along her spine. Her breaths seeped out in short grunts. The water raged below. She froze. “I’m going to die.” She closed her eyes...

  Wind whipped across Joaquina’s face, awakened her. She rose on her elbows but the back pain flattened her again. She needed more air in her lungs. Her heart slapped against her chest when she leaned over the ledge. She clutched her bosom, lost her balance, and tumbled into the tossing water.

  * * * *

  “Where is she?” Amelia ran from Joaquina’s room.

  Vincent emerged from the smoke-filled kitchen. “That pot’s burned to a crisp. Food spilled all over the stove. Lucky the whole house didn’t go.”

  “She’s not here,” Amelia said. “I checked all the rooms.”

  Vincent walked into the living room. “Her purse is still on the table.” He opened it, took out the gun he had left her. “I saw those same wide tracks outside.”

  “Harry’s car—they must have her.”

  “Get cleaned up quick—we’re gonna find Ito.”

  Vincent and Amelia stopped at Ito’s house in Garapan Heights. Harry’s sedan was parked in the driveway. No lights showed in the front section of the house.

  “You stay here.” Vincent slipped from the jeep, circled to the back.

  When he was out of sight, Amelia jumped out, headed in the opposite direction. She peered inside a small front window. The room was dark. Where have they got her? She edged along the house to the rear. A soft, white light spilled from a bedroom window.

  Ito sat at a low table smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He wore a silk kimono, held a sake cup between his fingers. Two young Japanese girls with long, black hair knelt at his sides. One was naked, the other wore a pink, see-through negligee, her creamy breasts highlighted in the lamp’s glow. Ito smiled when she lowered her face to his groin.

  Amelia swallowed hard and turned away.

  “Can’t mind your own business, can you?” The voice was behind her.

  Amelia raised her head, met Ruth face-to-face. “Where’s my mother?”

  “How should I know?” Ruth pointed her Luger at Amelia. “Let’s go inside.” She motioned toward the double French doors.

  Ito heard the handle turn, jerked upright. Both girls slid away from him. Ruth shoved Amelia into the room.

  “Ah... just in time for the party.” He stood, pulled his robe together, tied the sash. “Come over here.” He patted the cushion at his side.

  Amelia did not move.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Ruth poked her in the small of the back.

  “Move.” Ito’s dark eyes traced Amelia’s lithe bodylines through her white dress. “So beautiful.” He stared at her breasts. “Undress.”

  She took a step backward, glared at him. Her legs quivered.

  “I said undress.” A chill hung on his words. “And you . . .” He turned to Ruth. “Get back to your business in the guesthouse and take them with you.” He pointed to the other women. “I want this one all alone.”

  Ruth’s blue eyes clawed Ito like talons. She stomped out. The two young girls grabbed their clothes and followed her.

  “I’m not a patient man, as your mother knows.” Ito placed his hands on Amelia’s buttons. “Do what I say if you ever want to see her alive.” He pulled on the top button.

  Color drained from her face. He’d really kill Mother. Amelia raised her hands to her bodice, undid the buttons, exposing small amber breasts.

  “Such beauty.” He slid a hand over her breasts, tightening his fingers around each ni
pple.

  Amelia shied away. “No... please don’t. Tell me where Mother is.”

  “I felt them harden.” He pulled the dress down to her hips. “I know you saw me watch you when you were young. You were with Harry then; you must have known what I wanted.” He coveted her brown body. “I can make you very happy. You are like Venus, much too good for my son.”

  Amelia’s shoulders straightened. She was mad—but why did she feel stimulated? She remembered his stares. She and Vincent made love a lot on the island. Lately they’d been apart. “You won’t hurt my mother?” Her look was pleading, seductive.

  “Not if you cooperate.” He spread his hands over her breasts again. “I know you like my touch. You need what I need.”

  Her nipples peaked outward. She hesitated, then lowered her dress to the floor. Clad only in lacy panties, she waited.

  Ito’s lips spread into a thin smile. “Now, those pretty panties.” He undid his kimono’s sash. “Do it real slow.” His robe opened.

  “Please... my mother... don’t . . .” She gazed at him, backed away.

  He pulled her to his chest, slipped his fingers into the sides of her panties, and slid them down her hips. Pressing hard against her, he forced his way between her legs. His eyes dilated, glassed over. “I’m going to have you right now.”

  “I won’t! No!”

  Vincent crashed through the French doors. Ito flung Amelia at him, leaped on the bed. Vincent chased him. Amelia sank to the floor. Vincent hesitated, glancing at her.

  “Vincent! Stop!” She pulled her dress around her body. “He’ll kill you!”

  Ito dodged Vincent’s lunge, jumped off the bed, and ran for the door.

  “You bastard!” Vincent grabbed a gun off the nightstand.

  Amelia waved her arms. “They’ve got Mother in the guesthouse.”

  Vincent stopped, turned to Amelia. Ito fled out the open doors. Vincent fired three rounds into the darkness outside. He waited for a hit, heard none, then tucked the gun inside his waistband.