Wake of the Hornet

by R. R. Irvine

“How could that be?” Buettner asked.

  “Maybe they fell while they were climbing the mountain,” Yali offered.

  Nick examined the girl’s arms. “Look.” She pointed to faint bruises on both arms. “These were made before she died.”

  Elliot nodded and placed his right hand on the girl’s left arm. His thumb and fingers covered the bruised areas. “Someone grabbed her by the arms,” he said. “Hard.”

  Nick rotated the girl’s head from side to side. “Her neck’s broken, too.”

  Nick’s fingers trembled slightly as she examined Karen’s blouse. One look and Nick rocked back on her heels. Bile surged up her throat. Most of the buttons had been ripped away. The blouse was misbuttoned and hanging loose.

  She swallowed convulsively.

  “Do you want me to take over?” Elliot asked softly.

  Nick shook her head. “I think Karen deserves some privacy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “Another time I might agree, but two broken necks rules out accidental death as far as I’m concerned. Do you agree?”

  Nick nodded.

  “Then, prudence comes before privacy. We all have to know what we’re up against.”

  As gently as possible, Nick loosened Karen’s shorts and pulled them down.

  “Goddammit! Her panties are missing.”

  “We don’t know that she was wearing any,” Elliot said.

  “Trust me. In this climate, with these bugs, a woman’s going to wear panties to protect herself.”

  “Are you saying she was raped?” Buettner asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” Nick answered.

  “Before we jump to any conclusions,” Elliot put in, “let’s check Axelrad’s pockets for lover’s souvenirs.”

  When they found none, Nick stared straight at Henry Yali and said, “May God strike down whoever did this!”

  Yali’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out. He looked to Lily for support.

  Lurching to her feet, Nick lunged across the porch to jab a finger against the shaman’s bony chest. “I want to know what happened on that mountain.”

  “Lily?” Yali implored. “You must help me convince them.”

  “Of what?” Nick snapped, turning her anger against Lily, who raised a hand as if to ward off a blow.

  Tears, or maybe rain from her matted hair, ran down Lily’s face. “You must understand, child,” she said in a shaky voice, “I . . . we are cursed.”

  “Curses have nothing to do with this. Someone killed them, and maybe raped Karen.”

  “John Frum,” Yali intoned.

  “Since when does God break necks?” Nick shouted, pinning him with her finger again.

  “Easy, Nick,” Elliot said.

  “Your father’s right,” Buettner added, coming to stand beside her. “This isn’t doing any good.”

  “They brought it on themselves,” Yali blustered. “They were struck down as a punishment for their transgressions. There’s no other explanation.”

  “What transgressions?” Nick demanded so forcefully that Buettner grabbed her arm.

  “They were on Mount Nomenuk. You were all warned. The mountain belongs to John Frum.”

  “That won’t do,” Nick said, her voice shaky. “I want to see the place for myself. I demand that you take us there now.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Buettner said, “the weather is getting worse.”

  “It is a holy place,” Yali added. “Outsiders are not allowed.”

  “Henry,” Lily said softly, “maybe this one time an exception should be made.”

  Shaking his head, Yali looked away, but not before Nick thought she detected fear in his eyes.

  “When the authorities hear of this,” Nick said, forcing herself to speak as calmly as possible, “you’ll have to show them where you found the bodies.”

  “She’s right,” Buettner jumped in. “They were my students and my responsibility. The police on Guam have to be notified. The best thing to do until then is to investigate what happened ourselves.” He stretched a hand toward Lily. “Surely, you’ll help us?”

  “Listen to him, Henry,” Lily said, her eyes pleading. “Sooner or later someone will have to climb Mount Nomenuk to see what happened.”

  Yali folded his arms across his chest. “John Frum has not spoken to me on this.”

  “Then there’s nothing I can do,” Lily said. “On matters of John Frum, Henry’s word is law.”

  Elliot said, “Tell us, Henry, since you won’t guide us, will you stop us if we climb Mount Nomenuk on our own, without your consent?”

  “You do so at your own peril.”

  “We understand that.”

  “Understand this, then. I will raise no hand against you.”

  “What about your people?” Elliot persisted.

  “You have only John Frum to fear.”

  Elliot turned to Lily. “Is Henry right?”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Yali shouted.

  “I have a daughter to protect,” Elliot answered.

  “That is a father’s duty,” Lily said. “Isn’t that right, Henry?”

  Yali glared but said nothing.

  “I don’t know what’s happening up on that mountain,” Lily added. “I’m not sure Henry does either. So maybe it’s best if we all stay on low ground for now. In the meantime, we must do something for these two departed souls.”

  “I’ll have no part of it,” Yali said.

  “Then I will ask the Reverend Innis to conduct another service,” Lily told him.

  “I’m afraid a burial is out of the question,” Nick said. “We’re going to need autopsies. The quickest way to do that is to fly the bodies to Guam as soon as Coltrane gets here.”

  “I turn my back on all of you,” Yali said. Like a soldier at attention, he pivoted sharply and marched down the steps and started across the square toward the communal buildings.

  “Henry’s a proud man,” Lily said. “If he gives his word, he’ll stand by it.” She moved to Nick’s side. “You can believe him if he says he won’t raise a hand against you.”

  “We can worry about Henry later,” Elliot said. “Right now, we’ve got to make a decision about the bodies. Do we fly them off the island? If we do, the authorities might raise hell.”

  Nick said, “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “I hate to bring this up,” Buettner put in, “but we really ought to dig up Walt Duncan and send him back too.”

  “Then, you’re going to need body bags,” a voice said, startling them all.

  Todd Parker had seemed to appear out of nowhere, though quite obviously his arrival had been masked by the sound of falling rain. A glistening black poncho that had been fashioned from a plastic trash bag enveloped him.

  “I don’t have real body bags,” he said, tugging at his makeshift rain gear, “but I have plenty of these.” He pulled a box of them out from under his poncho.

  “Christ,” Buettner muttered, looking squeamish.

  Nick knew how he felt. Chances were that body gases would inflate the bags long before they reached Guam. If one burst . . . My God, that didn’t bear thinking about.

  “I brought duct tape too,” Parker said, “though I thought you’d be needing rain gear, not shrouds.”

  Nick accepted the offering with a grim nod and then they all went to work wrapping the bodies.

  The moment they finished the job, Parker lit a cigar, blew smoke at the nearest swarm of mosquitoes, and said, “Take my advice. Leave Balesin while you still can. With three people dead already . . .” He glanced at the plastic bags and shook his head. “. . . there’s no telling what might happen next. I’ve been here a long time and there’s never been violence before. Isn’t that right, Lily?”

  “Certainly not in your time,” Lily answered. “But you are young to Balesin. You weren’t here during the war.”

  Parker dismissed her comment with a flick of ash. “There are no soldiers here now, and no war
.”

  “Tell Henry that,” she said. “He is a soldier in John Frum’s army.”

  Parker rolled his eyes.

  “And what about you, Mr. Parker,” Elliot said. “Are you planning to leave?”

  The man shrugged. “You’re the outsiders. You’re the ones dying.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” Buettner said. “You all came here because of me. Duncan, Tracy, Axelrad. I couldn’t bear having anyone else on my conscience.”

  “If we decide to leave,” Elliot responded, “we’re going to have to make a choice. Do we leave the dead behind, or do we send them on ahead? I don’t think that Coltrane’s Widgeon will hold everybody at once.”

  “If the dead go first,” Nick said, “I’ll have another day to ID my airplanes.”

  Elliot looked to Buettner. “What about it, Curt? How do you vote?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll go with Nick. It’s better we fly out Tracy and Axelrad first. I think we’d better hold off on Duncan until we have a more substantial container.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Parker said, condemning them with a sharp shake of his head.

  Lily laid a hand on Nick’s arm. “They’re under my protection, Mr. Parker.”

  “Is that good enough?”

  Lily didn’t answer. She was already on her way down the steps.

  “Is it?” Parker called after her.

  But by then she was invisible in the rain.

  Kobayashi paced the room. The sight of his beloved horse no longer served to calm him. I know why the tiger paces in his cage, he thought. It had been a mistake to let Farrington supply the agent, but who else could he have turned to?

  The voice came through the receiver. “This is Tarzan, calling Jane. This is Tarzan calling Jane. Come in Jane.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Kobayashi felt a churning in his stomach. He hated the American penchant for theatrics. He felt that they were mocking him, making a game of his predicament.

  “Report,” he commanded. He refused to use their foolish code names.

  “The pistol is primed. I repeat, the pistol is primed.”

  “Stop speaking gibberish,” he nearly screamed into the transmitter. “Did you destroy the evidence?”

  “Uh, not exactly,” the agent replied.

  “What do you mean, not exactly!” Kobayashi realized that an icy calm had overwhelmed him. He felt that he was floating somewhere high above the island where the evidence of his grandfather’s shame rested. If he could not get this stupid fool to carry out orders, there were always others.

  The agent must have heard the change in his interrogator’s voice because his answer was straightforward. “I set the charges, but I was interrupted.”

  “It’s been discovered, then.” Kobayashi sat down. It was all over. The patient years of waiting, planning, researching the site were all for nothing. His grandfather’s crime, Kobayashi’s shame, had become known.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the agent replied. “I took care of it.”

  “Who interrupted you and how did you take care of it?” Kobayashi almost didn’t want to know.

  “It was those two kids from the expedition. They caught me with my pants down, so to speak. I thought everyone was over at the services for the other geek, that Duncan guy that pegged out before I got here. Let’s say they’ve been effectively silenced.”

  Kobayashi closed his eyes. “Why did you not destroy the evidence after you had killed them?”

  There was a long pause. Finally, “Uh, it took me longer than I had expected.” There was another pause, then, “I’ve been on this island for three fucking days and, shit, a man’s got to have a little relaxation, if you know what I mean. In any case, a bunch of natives came tearing up the trail and I had to hightail it out of there. I didn’t even get a chance to hide the bodies, but the charges are out of sight so unless someone goes poking around in there, they won’t be noticed. With any luck I’ll be able to just mosey on back later tonight and finish the job.”

  “Tomorrow, at the same time,” Kobayashi replied. “May your luck hold,” he added, and broke the connection.

  Kobayashi was not a believer in luck. I am cursed with bad luck and poor tools, he thought. He had placed Todd Parker on the island to keep a watching brief and he had failed to meet the rendezvous. He claimed that he’d been sick, but Kobayashi suspected drink. As for the agent Farrington had supplied, the man gave priority to his animal needs over the mission he was supposed to carry out. The man would ruin them all. Farrington would just have to take care of him.

  It was up to Ohmura now. A college professor on a mission such as this. Kobayashi shook his head. Even if Ohmura was successful, Kobayashi would have to make certain that Huruko would be in need of a new husband. As head of the family he would choose more wisely than his father had.

  CHAPTER 36

  Nick heard the plane but couldn’t see it. Low clouds and pelting rain obscured everything beyond the village square. My God! What was Coltrane thinking about, flying in weather like this?

  For an instant, the thought crossed her mind that it might be someone else up there, but that seemed unlikely.

  The engine sound faded, then abruptly grew loud again as the wind shifted slightly. In the center of the square, the American flag snapped like a towel in gym class.

  Nick winced sympathetically and squinted at the impenetrable sky. Behind her, the door banged open and Curt Buettner joined her on the porch. “I told you Coltrane wouldn’t let us down,” he announced before thrusting his head through the curtain of water sluicing from the roof. “Damn, I can’t see shit.”

  “I know,” she said, hugging herself. “That means Coltrane can’t either.”

  “It sounds like he’s getting closer.” Buettner retreated to the back of the porch, shaking his head like a dog drying itself.

  “He should have waited for good weather,” Nick said. “He’ll never be able to land in this stuff.”

  Buettner gave up shaking himself to mop his face with a soggy handkerchief. “Maybe the visibility’s better up there.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “Coltrane’s an experienced pilot. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sure, Nick thought, remembering her first impression of the man, not to mention his disreputable Widgeon. They were both throwbacks, relics. The image made her smile. After all, she’d made a career of unearthing relics.

  The engine pitch changed, growing louder until it sounded as if the plane were directly overhead.

  “Jesus Christ!” Buettner muttered. “I hope he doesn’t try to put down here.”

  Nick crossed her fingers.

  “If he’s missed the beach,” Buettner went on, “he’s had it.”

  “You’d better try the radio again,” Nick told him, even though she knew it had given up the ghost,

  “But—”

  “We’ve got to do something. He’s flying blind.”

  Buettner jerked open the door and launched himself across the threshold just as Elliot was coming out. The two collided momentarily.

  “Is that Coltrane I hear?” Elliot asked as soon as he’d untangled himself.

  Nick nodded. “It sounds like the Widgeon’s engines to me.”

  “You’re the expert.”

  “But I’m no pilot. If I were, I think I’d head for shelter.” She was about to start down the wooden steps when Elliot caught hold of her.

  “I know that look of yours,” he said. “You get it every time you’re around airplanes. It makes me nervous. It’ll be pretty rough on the beach where he landed us the last time.”

  “He’ll probably head for the mouth of the river. It’s possible that the waves and the river current will just about cancel each other out. If he does land there, he might need help getting ashore.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Elliot said. “We’re standing in the middle of a monsoon. What can you do?”

  “I’m going.�
�

  Elliot groaned. “Then I’d better come with you.”

  “I don’t have time to argue. I jog three times a week, you don’t.” She caught her breath to listen. “I don’t hear the engines anymore, so he’s either down safely or he didn’t make it. Either way, it’ll be dark soon and I can get there faster than you.”

  Elliot looked hurt.

  “I also know where I’m going,” she added.

  “Then take someone from the village with you.”

  “Just round up some villagers and send them after me in case more manpower is needed.”

  Before Elliot could respond, she grabbed her backpack and first-aid kit, ran down the steps and headed across the square. As soon as she reached the trail to the river, she discarded her sandals, which were slowing her down.

  The wind was in her face, howling and hurling the rain with staggering force. The footing was treacherous, slick in places, muddy in others. Time and again, she fell headlong into the goo, but each time she struggled to her feet and kept going. But she was no longer running. The foot-clogging mud made that impossible. Instead, the best she could manage was a kind of stumbling jog.

  Soon she was sucking air through clenched teeth. Her feet felt cold and on fire at the same time. God, she should have kept the sandals. Or better yet, retrieved her desert boots, anything to protect her tender feet.

  Idiot, she thought. What good was she going to do anybody if she crippled herself?

  And maybe this was for nothing. Maybe Coltrane didn’t need help. Had she guessed right or was she heading the wrong way?

  She was gasping now, mouth wide open, her lungs burning, but she knew she had to go on. Coltrane, whatever his macho, soldier-of-fortune image, had kept his promise and come back rather than leave them stranded.

  By now, she felt as if she were moving in slow-motion. Her legs were leaden, her feet encased in burning concrete. She had to stop; she had to rest. If she didn’t, she’d be no use to anyone. Gasping for breath, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. At least the ever-present mosquitoes were gone. The wind seemed to be too much even for them. It may be too much for me, she thought.

  When she looked up, the river was only fifty yards away. It was racing to the sea in a dark oily torrent in the fading light. She realized that the blinding rain and wind had disoriented her and caused her to take a course too far upriver. She needed to veer down toward the beach. She tucked stray hairs under her soggy baseball cap, lurched to her feet, and trotted forward. From now on, she had to be careful. The jungle was dense along the riverbank. It would be hard to pick her way downriver. There was the added danger of getting too close to the water’s edge and falling in.