“I never want to look at another coconut as long as I live. No pina coladas, either.” Bones stepped from the model Electra onto the sun-dappled, sandy bottom in front of a picturesque, palm-studded beach. “Well, maybe a pina colada. I’m not an unreasonable man.”
Maddock eased the old crate down to him and then got out next, wearing his backpack and splashing into the waist-deep water. They hauled the heavy crate to shore and laid in the soft sand.
“Check it out.” Bones pointed at a cluster of grass huts off to their left. “Where there’s grass huts, there might be scantily-clad ladies.”
“Hold up. We should do something with our trusty steed here.”
“Do something with it? Like what?”
Maddock shrugged. “It’ll attract a lot of attention if we just leave it here. We should sink it.”
“Sink it?” Bones hefted the crate.
“Yeah, just rip a hole in the bottom and sink it right here, so it’s out of sight and probably won’t be found by anybody until after we’ve left.”
“Good idea. It’ll keep the historians busy, too, whenever it’s finally found and they say, ‘Hey, look. It’s an old Electra! Must be Amelia Earhart’s!”
Maddock grinned. “Let’s get her out to deeper water and sink her.” He ignored Bones’ grumbling as they took Electra away from shore.
“Mind if I do the honors?” Bones asked. “I’ve got my coconut opener right here.” He unsheathed his dive knife and gashed a hole in the plane’s thin, sheet metal side just below the water line. He ripped another gash and then another. A few more hacks and water began filling the craft. They watched as the plane settled lower in the water, then swam back to the beach where Bones kissed the sand for dramatic effect.
When Maddock looked back at the plane, it was almost entirely submerged.
“No way am I lugging this damn thing all the way over there.” Bones prodded the crate with his toe and cast a tired glance down the beach toward the cluster of buildings.
Maddock pointed at some scrub brush at the top of the beach. “We can hide it here until it’s time to go.” They obscured the crate under the brush and then set off down the beach. At the far end they saw sunbathers lying out on lounge chairs, even a couple of kids playing ball. They took a manicured path up off the beach through a landscaped area to a thatched hut. A faded wooden sign reading “Tiki Bar” hung from the thatched roof.
“Score!” Bones looked the happiest Maddock had ever seen him. An elderly gentleman of Pacific Island descent tended bar for a smattering of customers, but there were plenty of open seats. Maddock and Bones, shirtless and shoeless and more than a little sunburned after their marathon open water paddle, didn’t look all that out of place as they took two barstools. Maddock thought the bartender might question whether they were staying here, but he simply asked if he could get them something to drink. He told them that he was running a special on coconut rum drinks and Bones grimaced.
Both of them ordered waters, draft beers and meals of fried fish. As they drank the delightfully cold beverages, Bones lowered his voice and said to Maddock, “You have any cash in that backpack?”
Maddock frowned and scratched his head. “Let me think. I’ve got a digital camera, my address book, and a bunch of old pictures that Amelia Earhart took.”
Bones nodded and took another sip from his beer. “So how are we going to pay for this?”
Maddock grinned. “Oh yeah, and a little spare cash. Drinks are on me.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re my best friend?” Bones raised his beer in salute.
Maddock took the address book from his pack and opened it. “But if we’re lucky, we can get Uncle Sam to pay.”
He asked the bartender if he could use the telephone, having no idea if there was one. The man smiled and brought out an old, corded, push-button phone from under the bar and set it in front of Maddock before turning back to another customer. Maddock lifted the handset from the cradle and put an ear to it. He nodded. Dial tone. He consulted his book and placed the call to the encrypted military line.
Maddock grinned as he pressed the buttons, entering the code to access the military satellite network. They both knew it was not that simple, of course. The pickup had been carefully prearranged and discussed during the military helicopter flight from the destroyer en route to San Diego International. From the time they made the call, a complex chain reaction of logistical events would be put into action that culminated in an unmarked, high-speed, long-range helicopter landing on the beach approximately six hours later.
Maddock put the phone to his ear as a series of clicks and beeps indicated the connection was being made. Then he listened to an automated message.
“Your request has been received and position noted. Standby for extraction.” The line went dead.
Maddock looked at Bones. “They’re on their way.”
Maddock saw the Cherokee grinning while he looked at a small piece of paper he held between two fingers.
“What is that?”
Bones smiled while he looked at the tiny square. “Something I found in the cave that somehow survived in my pocket.”
He handed it to Maddock, who took a close look at it while they sipped from their beers at the tiki bar.
It was a cancelled postage stamp from Lae, New Guinea. Date: July 1, 1937.