Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  He stirred, opened his eyes. “Such a sweet girl. I remember when they brought you home.”

  “What did he say?” Vincent bent beside the bed.

  “Just rambling. Let’s go. He needs sleep.”

  Antonio curled up, faced the wall.

  Vincent hurried to the table, re-wrapped the rusted hoop. One faded sheet of paper slipped out of his hand. “What the hell?”

  “What’d you find?” Amelia moved closer.

  “Old Japanese air chart. Different lines mapped out from New Guinea to the Marshalls and Marianas, Here’s one marked from Oakland to Honolulu and a line from Japan to Hawaii.” He raised up. “I’ve got to see this in better light. If there’s a trace from Miami to Lae, they had AE nailed from the start.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Vincent stashed the DF underneath a dense hibiscus bush near the front porch of Joaquina’s dark house.

  “I don’t think that’s very safe,” Amelia said.

  Vincent stood. “Just figured the charts were more important.”

  “I’ll take the charts, you take the hoop. Hide them inside. Mother’s probably asleep, so be quiet.”

  “Then what?” He picked up the directional finder.

  “I believe we have some unfinished business.”

  He tiptoed up the porch steps. “Unfinished business?”

  “It’s your fault. You started it in the cane field.”

  “Oh, that business, but Joaquina said we had to sleep alone.”

  “What she doesn’t know... you haven’t forgotten our little middle-of-the-night sessions on the island have you?”

  How could he forget her touch, their nakedness in the darkness? He scratched his head. “Don’t you think we’d better respect your mom’s wishes?” He placed the DF behind a stuffed chair in the living room.

  She gave him a surprised look. “Good night, then.” She swayed her hips and performed a seductive love dance. “You don’t mind if I get ready for bed here, do you?” She unbuttoned her blouse, wiggled out of her skirt, and slithered away.

  Vincent took a long, deep breath and watched her smooth, naked body disappear down the hall. He tucked the charts under one arm and Amelia’s clothes under the other. He lingered for a moment at her door, then went to his room and fell on the bed. The curves of her sleek body, the look on her face as she danced... such images swirled in his mind until sleep drifted him back to his island....

  He had waited on the hut’s steps for Amelia. The sun, only a dot moments before, had plunged behind the horizon to the other side of the earth. She’d been gone a long time. A quick dip, just to cool off.

  He looked down the beach, strained his eyes. Pink streaks invaded clouds, a glow settled across the sky. He jogged past the lagoon.

  Rounding a group of palms, he found her towel and sandals on the sand. Out to sea, the water was calm. Heavy shadows brushed final touches to day and evening stretched over the island.

  Small footprints had faded between her towel and the water. He had run along the shoreline, peered into the fast-closing darkness. Jesus! What was wrong with his legs? “Come on, dive in!”

  Vincent jerked awake. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He reached across the thin, flowered sheet, felt for Amelia. God, she wasn’t there. He shook his head. Wait a minute, this was Saipan, not the island.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, wiped his brow. Dream? Nightmare? What? The water just took her. How could he let it happen? He stared at the blank wall. Had to find out for sure—check her room.

  Vincent opened his door. The house was quiet. He crept down the hall; cringed each time the wooden floor creaked. At Amelia’s door, he squeezed the knob, listened for any stirring.

  Moonlight streamed into her room through an open window. He caught the night’s whisperings on his face. The trades blew sharp, then gentle, whisked delicate white curtains over her naked body. Thank God—only a dream.

  Entranced, he stared, unable to break her spell.

  Amelia, still asleep, moaned and turned on her side, faced him. Breaths quickening, Vincent inched closer like a tightrope walker above a deep gorge. His face skimmed her shiny hair. He stroked the smooth, black strands, tasted the softness of her skin. “You are the sweetest nectar.”

  She flicked away the intrusion, moved her body closer. He brushed his lips across her eyes, circled her breasts with his fingers.

  “Hmmmm.” She awakened to eager sensations, stretched, and twisted her lower body between his legs.

  He grazed his mouth over her parted lips, each kiss more rousing until she opened full to his urging. “You did want a wake-up call, didn’t you?” He buried his face in her long hair.

  “Yes...” She slipped one hand around his neck, pulled back his head. “And a little midnight snack.”

  Joaquina was already up the next morning when Amelia walked into the kitchen.

  “Early morning, huh, Mother?” She poured guava juice into two glasses.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Woke up in the middle of a strange dream.”

  “About what?” Vincent walked in, his arms full of the old charts.

  Joaquina’s eyes narrowed. “Funny you should ask? It was late. Heard the floor creak. Sometimes when Amelia was a little girl, I’d get up in the night. So I waited a few minutes, then peeked in her room.”

  Amelia looked at Vincent. He looked away, almost broke up.

  “Oh, Mother, that’s a silly dream.” She cast her eyes at the floor.

  “Don’t you want to know what I saw?”

  Vincent gulped his juice, almost spilled it. He coughed. “Sorry, went down the wrong pipe.”

  Joaquina raised her thick eyebrows. “We need to have that wedding. Some things just can’t wait... can they?”

  “The wedding will have to wait,” Amelia said.

  Vincent choked on his juice again.

  Joaquina gave her daughter a hard look. “By the way, what’s that piece of junk in my living room? I almost threw it out.”

  “It’s a DF, a homing device, from Amelia Earhart’s plane,” Vincent said.

  “Sure it is. How much did Antonio charge you?”

  “He let us borrow it,” Amelia said.

  Vincent spread the charts on the table, weighted down the corners, and wiped the faded papers with a hand towel. “Crucial stuff’s right here.” He thumbed through the four charts. “Wonder how long Antonio had these?”

  Joaquina shrugged her shoulders. “It looks like a pile of dirty old maps to me.”

  “We’d better make some copies,” Amelia said.

  “They’re too old.” Vincent’s look was cold, his tone sharp. “Antonio’s just not getting them back.”

  Amelia and Joaquina exchanged glances.

  “I can’t see well enough.” Vincent traced along the broken lines on the maps. “If these are authentic, she didn’t have a chance. Back in thirty-seven, Tad and I were both in Brisbane. I knew why I was there—he never told me his reason.”

  “You better get in touch with him,” Amelia said. “But now, I think we should take the directional finder down to Trust Territory Headquarters, see if it’s real.”

  Joaquina picked up dishes from the other end of the table. “Navy won’t be much help.”

  “Why, Mother?”

  Joaquina did not answer. She set the dirty dishes in the sink.

  “Maybe we’ll luck out.” Vincent rolled up the maps.

  An hour later, they emerged from the government building.

  “I knew Antonio was full of it.” Vincent tossed the signal finder into the jeep.

  “Don’t give up yet,” Amelia said.

  “I’m getting tired of it.”

  “I really think Antonio wants to help us. He and Dad were close friends.”

  “Then why did the Navy say it was a piece of junk?”

  “Maybe that’s what Mother meant.”

  “So, what’s Antonio’s game?”

  Amelia leaned her head against the seat. “I’m
not sure. He could be afraid. He was quite upset when Dad got killed. They spent a lot of time together.”

  “Could all be a ruse—to keep us going round in circles.”

  “Some quirk of fate has connected all of us. Got to keep plugging away.”

  “I figure Stan got caught in the middle,” Vincent said. “Tad spent time here. AE was here and Ito was here.”

  “AE’s the common link. Antonio and Mother must know much more than they let on.”

  He shook his head, started the jeep. “Your mother’s not ready to talk yet, that’s for sure.

  “Not until she fetches Father Quantero.”

  Vincent patted her on the thigh. “Think her little dream last night had anything to do with that?”

  She kissed him on the nose. “Let’s go to the harbor.”

  Vincent threw an old Army blanket over the DF when they reached the harbor. They walked along the dock, past the many moored boats.

  Amelia nudged Vincent. “I see he’s still around.”

  “That does look like the same boat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Vincent scrutinized the other moorings. Everything seemed quiet. The water, clear, a few ripples washed against the pilings. Afternoon glare bounced off the boat’s outline. He blinked. “This guy’s bugged me long enough.”

  “I don’t think you should go on board.” Amelia squeezed his arm.

  “I’m not. Let’s get our scuba gear and take the Courage out.”

  “I haven’t dived here since Dad . . .” She looked across the water.

  Vincent motored their boat to the harbor’s center. “Far enough.”

  He threw out the anchor.

  Large billowy clouds scooted across the sky, changed the water’s hue from aqua to emerald, to charcoal-gray, then back to aqua.

  “Come on, we’ll play tourist.” Vincent helped Amelia, then put on his own gear.

  They dove into the water, glided over entrenched war weapons until they found the remains of two airplanes. Vincent motioned Amelia to wait while he explored the wreckage, crusted with barnacles, vivid pink and orange coral.

  In the larger plane’s cockpit, he caught Amelia’s attention; indicated to her it was Japanese. She pointed to the other aircraft, its nose buried in the sand about twenty-five yards away. One wing was still attached to the fuselage, the tail intact. Vincent flutter kicked to the smaller, partially encrusted plane and circled the entire aircraft looking for cannons or machine guns. Cabin door torn off—no guns—passenger windows blacked out. The Electra?

  He floated to the escape hatch atop the cockpit. Closed, but just forward of the hatch gaped an empty metal hole. Antonio, that old bastard—the DF. Vincent descended under the wing, scraped away barnacles with his knife, and searched for markings.

  Amelia swam behind him. Vincent scratched off corrosion until he hit metal. Amelia slammed into his back. She spun him, pointed at a brownish-yellow moray eel sweeping toward them. He pulled her farther under the wing, slashed at the eel with his knife. The eel swerved, shot past them. Amelia huddled against Vincent. He squeezed her arms, pointed his right thumb up.

  Back on board their boat, they removed regulators and masks.

  “That kinda scared me,” Amelia said.

  “Yeah, morays usually like reefs, but I guess this one had a good home in that old plane.”

  “Thought I knew this harbor.”

  “You were fine, just be cautious, alert underwater.”

  “I’ve had enough today. What did you find out about the plane?”

  “Nothing showed where the ID numbers should’ve been.”

  “So, they were both Japanese?” Amelia asked. “That smaller one sure looked like AE’s.”

  “Probably a Model 14 Electra. Some were exported to Japan before the war and Kawasaki even built a bunch in Tokyo.”

  “It’s pretty well preserved.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “but there weren’t any tail markings either.”

  “I’d forgotten the harbor was so deep.”

  “Remember, this was their Pacific Headquarters, a major harbor.”

  “Guess I was too young then.” She looked around the harbor. “Don’t remember much about the occupation. I never heard of Amelia Earhart until Dad came back.”

  “I’m sure she was here, but the Japanese got rid of her plane.”

  “If we can find out how and where, we’ll know what happened to her.”

  “That’s why I’m going to check out our friend over there. He’s tailing us for a good reason. You stay here, I won’t be long.” Vincent put on his gear, slipped over the side.

  After swimming about fifty yards, Vincent contacted the moored boat’s hull. He inched along until he reached the bow, but backtracked when he heard noise on the dock. At the stern, he pushed hard around the quarter and crashed mask-to-mask with another diver.

  Stunned, both men jerked backward. Vincent grabbed for him but the smaller, dark-skinned man disappeared faster than Vincent recovered. Getting old. Good swimmer, once. Only Tad beat him like that. Vincent swept around portside, swam under the hull. The guy just vanished into bubbles, didn’t even see his face.

  Amelia helped Vincent climb on board. “What’d you find?”

  He removed his equipment. “I bumped into our friend.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Don’t know.” He shook his wet head. “I mean, I literally smacked into him.”

  “And you didn’t see his face?”

  “Happened fast. He was quick—gone in an instant. Tad used to pull that trick at Berkeley. Don’t know how he did it.”

  She handed him a towel. “Maybe you should contact him?”

  “Haven’t seen Tad in five years. He was the best at infiltration. We’d never have been onto Ito or the Kuehns without him.”

  “You mean before Pearl Harbor?”

  “Yes, Ito knew Oahu was wide open. He set up Japanese brothels in the Pacific, coordinated the whole spy system.”

  She leaned against the railing. “How did Ito keep from getting caught?”

  “Posed as a diplomat, screwed up our wire taps, flashed around Honolulu with different women.”

  Amelia moved away from the railing. “So, he was quite the ladies man?”

  “His code name was Triangle.”

  “Strange code.”

  “He liked two women at once.” Vincent put the towel around his neck.

  “Every man’s fantasy.”

  “I don’t know.” He looked away. “Sometimes one person is fantasy enough.”

  “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

  He avoided her eyes. “Couple times, maybe.”

  The hot afternoon sizzled on the water. Sweat formed on Amelia’s brow. “It’s boiling out here.”

  “I’ll take her in.” Vincent started the engines, motored toward the empty wharf.

  He secured the boat, stowed the diving gear below deck.

  “I’m going to change.” Amelia slipped out of her bikini.

  Vincent watched her. “What was that about fantasies?”

  “What’s good for man is good for woman.” Her dark eyes glistened. She slid her hands down her body, swayed her hips.

  “You certainly have the right angles.”

  “Right angles come together in the corners, don’t they?” She nuzzled her head against his damp chest, wrapped her arms around his waist, and tugged his trunks down his hips to the floor.

  “All those clothes were a little warm.” He grinned, threw the towel on a bunk.

  She pressed against him. “I feel a cool breeze already.”

  “Seems hotter to me. I’d better open a porthole.”

  “You stay right here.” She leaned, cranked open a porthole. Back in Vincent’s arms, her breasts squished against his sweaty chest. “A bit sticky, huh.” She lifted her open mouth.

  He sought her moist lips, caressed them with his. “You are so luscious, so desirable.” Squeezing
her, he slid up and down her body kissing her smooth nakedness with cloud-like softness.

  Amelia encircled his head with her arms, slipped one of her breasts into his mouth. She swirled her head, rotated her body as the pressure on her nipples quickened.

  Steaming wet, they lowered themselves to the floorboards.

  Vincent pressed his chest against her back, kissed her ear. “You are much more than just the right woman.” He stroked her breasts, entered her from behind. She swiveled her hips with his slow thrusts until their bodies became limp. They lay in each other’s arms, enthralled by their exhausting pleasure.

  “It’s like a sauna in here,” Vincent said.

  “But such a nice one.”

  “Would you like some water?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Vincent brought back the water from the galley.

  “Tastes so good,” Amelia said.

  “Yes, you do.”

  She smiled. “I think our afternoon break is over now.” She stood, drank more water.

  “Guess it is.” He pulled on his clothes. “I’d better put the tanks in the jeep. They need air.”

  “All right, I’ll just be a minute.” Amelia straightened the cabin. “My, we do get rambunctious when we get a little excited.”

  Vincent paused at the top of the companionway. “What?”

  “Nothing, go on.”

  “Oh.”

  She laughed.

  Vincent looked left, down the short wharf, at the run-down bait shop and the boat rental. No one seemed to be around. Still siesta time. He glanced at his watch, heard music coming from Harry’s Place at the far end of the old wharf. Pleasant refuge from the heat. Hmmm, could that be the same Harry Amelia knows? Building seems in better shape than the others down here. Maybe they’d have a drink there, later.

  He threw the two scuba tanks into the jeep’s back seat. “Hey, the DF’s gone.” Vincent surveyed the small parking lot. Only a few jeeps and trucks lined the unpaved lot. He waved to Amelia.

  She hopped off the boat, walked toward him when a short, gray-haired, chubby Chamorro woman hurried up to her.

  “My husband said he’d come someday.” The woman pointed to Vincent. “The lady flier, dressed like a man—Japanese held her at Garapan. They tortured her, said if she didn’t confess to spying, they’d execute her.”