Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

“Could be, but if that’s really a Zero, there’s a reason for it.” Vincent took the magnifying glass from her, scanned the photo over and over. “Damn, those gulls cover everything.”

  “So, what’s the reason?” she asked.

  “Don’t know for sure.”

  She twisted her head, arched her eyebrows, and smiled. “You mean you admit you don’t know something.”

  He raised his head and met her teasing eyes. Ease up, old man, remember, business first. Couldn’t let her drive him nuts. “There was an old movie about a fictional aviatrix. She went on a round-the-world flight like AE, but was supposed to get lost. This was before the war. Then the Navy could search the Japanese Mandated Islands. Actually, she was to land on a Gull Island and be picked up by the Navy after the U.S. had combed the Mandated Islands.”

  “This photo sure looks like Gull Island,” she said.

  “In real life, it’s probably Hull Island, just south of Howland, where everybody thought AE disappeared.”

  “I’m a little confused.” Amelia leaned toward Vincent. Her shoulder touched his.

  “You aren’t the only one. Her last message, ‘We are on the line of position 157, 337... we are running north and south’, has confounded navigators all these years.”

  She searched his bearded face. “You never forget anything about her, do you?”

  “It’s like I was there.” His eyes blanked. “The cutter Itasca laid down billows of black smoke to help her navigate. If AE was within thirty miles of Howland, she should have seen the smoke.”

  “But, what if she wasn’t even close?”

  “That’s the kicker. You need more than a single line of position to establish a geographic point. There has to be an intersecting line. When she didn’t show, the search began to the northwest. No one went south.”

  Amelia looked at the photograph again. “And Hull Island is south. Did the Japanese know where to search?”

  “They never admitted it, but their gunboats blocked the Gilbert and Marshall Islands. The Japanese knew what was going on. If AE accidentally on purpose strayed over their territory, she would’ve been forced down by a warplane. Possibly one like the Zero in this photo. What better way to test a new plane.”

  “But it crashed,” she said.

  “A lot of test planes crash.”

  “I wonder if AE really went into the ocean or crash landed on an island.”

  Vincent ran his fingers over the photo. “Years later, eyewitnesses from the Marshalls to as far north as Saipan said they had sighted her and the Electra. Someday, I’m going to find the real answer.”

  “I remember when I was young,” she said, “my dad and this old guy, Antonio, would traipse all over the island talking to the old timers and Navy personnel. Dad wrote down everything. He kept all his papers in an old trunk. Sometimes, this skinny Japanese man would come around late at night. I was supposed to be asleep, but I saw him.”

  “How old was this guy?”

  “About Dad’s age. Later, when I was older, Harry told me it was his father.”

  “Harry’s father? Sakura, eh... so Stan was connected to him. Interesting. What would they do?”

  “Just talk, I guess. He was always gone in the morning.”

  “And Stan’s notes—they’re still on Saipan?”

  “Yes, Mother has them, but Dad willed them to me.”

  “Maybe we should go get them.”

  Amelia eyed him closely. “I don’t think you could handle my mother.” She really wondered if she could handle him. Somewhere along the way he was creeping into her thoughts more and more. He seemed to be her dad’s friend. Hard to believe he could’ve killed her father.

  Vincent lifted his head. “I’ve charmed a mother or two in my day.” A slow smile crossed his lips.

  “No doubt.” She played with a page of an open book and flipped it back and forth with her fingers. “You sure you want to travel with me?” She slowly ran her hands over the crease of the book.

  He shot her a quick glance. “Why not?”

  She twisted her mouth in a sensual smile. “Yeah, why not?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the library, Vincent focused on an overhead fan and ruffled the pages of a book. His mind swirled back to July 2, 1937, the day he had monitored Amelia Earhart’s last flight from Nauru Island, halfway between Lae, New Guinea and Howland Island....

  Vincent stared out the open window in the makeshift observation hut. Darkening clouds shifted across the sky, blotted out the intense blue. Cooler-than-usual trade winds blew maps and charts off his radio workbench onto the dirt floor.

  The Electra had been overloaded with fuel on its departure from Lae. AE radioed they dropped to within a few feet of the ocean after takeoff from the short field on top of the cliff. Luckily, the plane’s extra power kicked in before disaster.

  Vincent wiped sweat, dripping in tiny rivulets, off his unshaven face. The message he awaited from the cutter, Itasca, signaling Amelia off Howland, was late. He thought of the freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose, the way her blue-gray eyes flashed when he and she sat in the Lockheed hangar, talking about flying and how women would fit in.

  Static filled the air, Vincent’s eyes fixed on the radio monitor. Through the roaring din, he heard her faint voice. He twisted the dials and signal antenna.

  “The weather! I’ve got to have the weather!” AE’s voice broke through.

  Vincent blurted the report back to her but received no response. A crazy mixture of hope and fear twisted in his mind. Why had he agreed to G-2’s plan?

  An hour later, her shrill voice pierced the speakers like an explosion. “KHAQQ calling Itasca! We must be on you but cannot see you. Gas is running low. We are flying at altitude 1000 feet.” She’d been in the air more than sixteen hours.

  Unable to control his trembling hands, Vincent tried a different frequency. Panic like he’d never known welled in his throat. She couldn’t see the Itasca. He clutched the microphone tighter. The cutter’s black smoke should’ve been visible.

  “Amelia! Come in Amelia!” He switched from channel to channel. Fuzzy silence.

  Several minutes later, Vincent received word Howland was cloud covered. A sliver of land in a trackless ocean. The island—socked in and her radio out. She couldn’t be out of fuel. Or was it another mistake like the crash at Luke Field in March? They said AE caused the wreck. Vincent bit his lip until it throbbed like his quick pulse. “Wasn’t her fault. The Electra was sabotaged.”

  Now, Japanese aircraft and ships crisscrossed the Pacific like a hostile fishing net—just waiting.

  AE didn’t take a tuning crystal for a Pan American frequency in her transmitter. “I don’t need that,” she’d said. “I’ve got a navigator to tell me where I am.” Ground stations could have fixed her position anywhere.

  “Noonan,” Vincent said, “that drunk. I should’ve switched with him when I had the chance, before they stashed me here.”

  He tried to reach her again. A nagging fear tugged at him. Why had she refused to learn Morse? She must’ve ditched the trailing antenna. He should’ve made her listen.

  Her last words before the flight burned inside him. “I have a feeling there is about one more good flight left in my system. I hope this trip is it.”

  “So do I.” Vincent glanced at the clock. Over twenty hours and still no word from Howland or the Itasca.

  Static crackled across the airwaves a few minutes later. Amelia’s voice, high-pitched and strained, barely came through. “We received your signals but unable to get minimum. Please take bearings on us and answer on 3105 kilocycles with voice.”

  She faded out. Vincent worked the dials. “Damn radio!” He braced his elbows on the bench. “She was lost!”

  At 8:44 A.M., Amelia radioed once more. “We are on the line of position 157-337. We will repeat this message on 6210. Wait listening on 6210. We are running north and south. . .”

  Vincent tried to hold her transmission but she fade
d again. He twisted the knobs, picked up the Itasca’s messages, but nothing from AE.

  At 10:15 A.M., the Itasca flashed the news over the wire. Amelia Earhart was down at sea.

  Blood had drained from Vincent’s face. He had stared across the small hut, her last words like acid in his mind... .

  “Vincent, you still here?” Amelia Adams shook the book in his hands. She saw the troubled look on his face. “Where were you?”

  He swallowed hard and looked away. Sweat dripped off his brow. “Errr... just thinking.” He wiped his forehead. It was as if he never left Nauru Island.

  She was quiet a moment, then placed a hand on his arm. “Can I help?” Something was happening to her. Did touching him pierce her armor? She wasn’t sure.

  Vincent cleared his throat. “I wrote down all the radio transmissions word for word. Something’s not right.” He fingered the book’s pages until he found a map.

  “We’ll just have to keep digging.” She watched his eyes.

  He pointed to the Phoenix Islands. “Maybe it’s what she didn’t say. Her last position was ambiguous; it just confused Commander Thompson on the Itasca. When the Navy began its search, all they had was an 1841 whaling map.”

  “I can’t believe they’d use a map that old,” Amelia said. “Why didn’t the Navy have up-to-date navigational data?”

  “That’s what I mean. Washington wanted her lost.”

  “Look on this map.” She pressed her fingers over his. “If you follow her last line down, it cuts right through Hull and Gardner Islands and the rest of the Phoenix Group.” She left her hand on his.

  “All the way to Samoa.” Vincent wiped his brow with his other hand. “If she was that close, she could’ve landed on Canton’s big airfield. But, the Japanese duped us.”

  “How?”

  “They covered the islands before we got to them. They’d waited since March at Jaluit ready to track her. She got tailed soon as she hit the Marshalls.”

  “Hold it,” Amelia said, “How could she go that far? It’s halfway to Saipan.”

  “She should’ve had fuel and the equipment to shoot that roll of movie film I have.”

  “And it’s linked to the photo with the gulls and wing on the other island?”

  “Somehow,” he said, “and Stan found the connection.”

  “How did he?” She lifted her hand off his. “Unless that skinny Japanese man told him.”

  “You didn’t tell me he was Japanese.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Ito...” He scratched his beard. “I must be slipping.”

  “We’d better take another look at that airstrip.” Amelia turned the pages but paused at a picture of Amelia Earhart. “The more I see her, the more interested I become.”

  “She was even more impressive in real life.”

  Amelia brushed her fingers over AE’s face in the photo. “She comes right out at you.” The longing look on Vincent’s face touched her. He must’ve really loved AE.

  Vincent picked up the magnifying glass, turned the page, and explored every centimeter of the island airstrip. He returned again and again to one spot next to the plane’s wing.

  “What is it?” Amelia asked.

  “There’s other wreckage. I need to look at this with my high-powered scope.”

  She rested a hand on his back and looked over his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense but didn’t understand the stirring within her. She wanted to pull away but the warming inside her wouldn’t let her. “Is it AE’s plane?”

  “Could be.” The pressure of her hand on his back flowed through his body. He liked the feeling but he gathered his books and papers. Big mistake if he took her in his arms. “Wish I was home now, takes a couple days to outfit my boat.”

  “Want me to help?” Amelia’s eyes widened. Find out what he was up to, Harry had said. Stay with him. Now, a strange feeling coursed through her. She wanted to.

  “Thanks.” He handed her some books. “I’ll need copies of these pages.”

  “I meant help you ready the boat.” She flashed a smile.

  “Oh, you know about sailboats?”

  “Yes.”

  After making copies, they walked down the library steps.

  A gentle breeze blew hair in Amelia’s face. “I think we’d make a good team. You know how to play on a team, don’t you?”

  His mouth dropped. He turned to her. “Living on an island is hard work.”

  “I’m from Saipan, remember?” She kept a straight face.

  “Guess I just connect you with the city.”

  “I can live anywhere, especially on an island.” She gave him a seductive smile. “Never did like to wear a lot of clothes.”

  Vincent let the image of her in a pareau pass through him. He paused, changed the subject. “Why did you come here to school, anyway? Seems Stan would’ve sent you to the States.”

  Her grin faded. “Wanted to be close to home. Besides, those eastern colleges didn’t like island girls.” Her smooth, brown skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight.

  He watched her dark eyes glitter. No doubt about it, he had to get away from her—now.

  “Don’t you want me with you?” She tilted her face upward.

  Her electric beauty almost melted him. He looked away and coughed. “Wouldn’t work, I’ve never lived with a woman.”

  “We wouldn’t be living together, not sexually anyway.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re quite frank.”

  “Isn’t that what you meant?” She took a step closer. “My dad lost his life over all this.” Her blazing eyes stared into his. “I want to go with you. I need the chance to find out what really happened and what’s going to happen.”

  Sparks shot through him again. He had to get away and think. Somewhere he couldn’t hear her voice or smell the scent of her hair. This was moving too fast. He stepped backward. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise.”

  Amelia nodded. “Fair enough. So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Let him think about it—but she’d get her way.

  “Fine. I have to go by the bank in the morning.”

  She walked under jacaranda trees that lined the walkway until she disappeared behind a curtain of falling lavender blossoms.

  The breeze picked up. Vincent stared after her. She’d made the move toward him. He liked that, wanted that, but the twisted feelings inside him drained all his security and left him exposed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cool afternoon trade winds blew through the open glass-paneled doors of Takeo Ito Sakura’s office, next to his spacious living room. Although he had lined two opposite walls with teak bookcases some years ago, the grains of the fine wood still showed their elegance despite the salt air. A large bamboo mat lay on the wooden floor in front of his desk.

  Business often called him away from Saipan, but he spent most of his home time in the office. He took his tea every day from a ceremonial set placed on a small table.

  A huge world map hung on the wall adjacent to the doorway that led into the front room. Imperial Japanese conquests of the Thirties and Forties were circled in red ink.

  “Things aren’t moving fast enough in Brisbane,” Sakura said.

  The large teak desk dwarfed him but he sat erect, always in command.

  “Someone’s interfering.” Harry stood before his father. “He’s a younger version of your old friend, Toshio.”

  Mr. Sakura closed his eyes, nodded. “Then he’ll be hard to contain.”

  “He killed one of the VC.”

  “When Toshio works, Electra works. Do not underestimate them.”

  “Our team will get him next time,” Harry said.

  “Lean on them. I do not tolerate inefficiency.”

  “The VC will know how much you hate the Americans.”

  “I will never forget what they did to your mother.” Ito twisted the large rubber eraser on the desk until blue veins protruded from his wrists. “Lucky you and your aunt had left Hiroshima.”r />
  “Yes, I too, miss Mother.” Harry looked at the map. “Now, what about Amelia?”

  “Can you still trust her?”

  “As long as she thinks the American killed her father.”

  “Make sure she does. Tell her his background.”

  Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know that much about his early involvement with Stan Adams.”

  “Maybe Triangle should refresh Vincent Carlson’s memory. Toshio’s betrayal burns deep. They were both spies.”

  “Are you going to Brisbane?” Harry leaned on a stuffed leather chair in front of the desk.

  “No, you go. I’ve got to keep the guns flowing, but keep me informed. Make sure Electra trusts the girl.”

  Harry ran his fingers over the Samurai sword hanging on the wall. “What if she won’t go along with us?”

  “Eliminate her.” Ito swiveled in his chair and stared out the open window-doors at the sun setting above rolling waves washing on the beach. “The Rising Sun will never set.”

  * * * *

  Vincent returned to his boat in the late afternoon with two heavy buckets of teak varnish. Rags littered the afterdeck, paint dripped from overturned containers. He set the varnish on the dock, jumped on board. Where was his deckhand?

  He looked forward and aft, stepped into the cockpit, and advanced down the companionway into the cabin. A chilled, black silence surrounded him. He switched on the overhead light. Heavy, dark sweatshirts covered the portholes. Clothes lay scattered about the cabin. Contents of the lockers were dumped on the floorboards. His charting table lay broken, upside down.

  Vincent hurried across the room to the yellow life ring hanging above his bunk and reached behind it. The film was still there. Relieved, he surveyed the cabin again. Beyond the chart table, in the galley, a pair of dead eyes stared upward.

  “Sam!” Vincent bent down on one knee. Blood ran down the man’s wrinkled face from a hole in his forehead, soaked his scraggly beard.

  Vincent felt the carotid artery, more to be thorough than from doubt. A cold knot twisted inside his stomach. His old jacket, a similar beard, about same height—poor Sam... did they realize their mistake? He’d better stay alert.