Trifecta (99 page)

M
ichelle and Vincent had almost reached the island
and the water was getting turbulent.

"When you pick the wave, paddle as fast as you can
so you're just behind the big swell," Michelle said very seriously, treading
water beside Vincent.  "Then just ride.  Stop paddling or you'll go over the
top and get smashed under tons of water."

Vincent could only nod, the water was so choppy. 

"It's like riding a freight train.  You'll be moving
very fast," Michelle warned, thinking how ridiculous it was to try to teach
someone to bodysurf who couldn't even swim.

He nodded again.

"Watch how I do it."

Vincent grinned, "I'm going to catch my first wave!" 

It was a joke, and not very funny in these conditions,
but Michelle smiled in spite of herself.

"Ten feet, at least," Michelle muttered to herself. 
It scared her to even look at the enormous things.  Experienced swimmers had broken
their backs in this kind of surf.  They were still pretty far out, but it was too
choppy to get in closer without being caught by the strong tide and pulled helplessly
in, all choices stolen from them.

"What?"

"When you get to shore, keep on moving out of the
water.  Another wave will be right behind you, ready to crash on you.  Crawl fast,
if you can't stand up.  The beach is steep and another wave could suck you right
back in."

The water was choppy enough so that Michelle didn't think
Omar could see their heads bobbing beyond the breakers, but she was sure he was
waiting on shore.  She could see the large bonfire on the beach quite clearly now,
but could not make out any figures, although Omar could be sitting behind the fire.

Michelle started giving Vincent the instructions all over
again, holding up his chin.  She tried to show him how to do a breast stroke, letting
her head go under the water after each stroke.  That way he could keep sight of
the small beach and get in straight.  His practice was passable, enough to keep
him afloat.

Michelle looked behind her.  There were mountainous swells,
moving them up and down which would turn into the waves crashing to shore.  She
took a deep shaky breath.  Not the next one, the one after that. 

She gave Vincent a wave and took off, letting the first
big swell go under her, feeling the grand lift and dip.  She started swimming fast,
feeling the second one picking her up.  As it swept under her she really put on
speed, and then she was riding the wave, right behind the crest.  She had never
ridden so swiftly and it was scary and exhilarating at the same time, watching the
beach and cliffs rocket forward in ultra fast motion.  She had about ten seconds
to realize that she really loved body surfing more than using a board, when all
hell broke loose.

Michelle's wave was cresting, but the one before it had
been so large that it broke prematurely, causing a gigantic back-flow. As her wave
hit the turbulence she was suddenly caught in the rough water between.  She tried
to dive, to get under the water where it was safer, but the force rolled her like
a twig caught in a storm gutter.  She felt the avalanche of water pushing her down
until she was scraping the bottom, abrading arms and legs, holding her breath, aware
of bubbles of churning water all around her.  There was that eerie roaring in her
ears that one hears only underwater.  One arm was wrenched almost out of the socket
as she was forced into a somersault under the water.  Then she crashed into the
steep beach very hard and tried to follow the directions she had given Vincent. 
Get the hell out before she was smashed and sucked back in.

Michelle had both hands and feet on sand and staggered
up.  She was punched unexpectedly in the back by the last of her wave and fell,
managing to roll up the beach on her side in the midst of frothy spume from the
dying wave, feeling it trying to suck her back in.  She finally crawled out of the
water and collapsed, panting.

As she got to her hands and knees, a sick spasm hit her
stomach.  All the rolling around in the surf and the salt water she had swallowed
finally rebelled and twisted her insides.  She started retching up salt water helplessly,
spasm after spasm racking her body.  She thought she would finally die here on the
beach, each upchucking was so painful.  The salt water had mixed with bile and burned
her throat.  It was burning in her nose, the spasms were so violent.  Her eyes teared
with the torture to her sinus membranes.

"Not very graceful, Michelle."

The fucker sounded mirthful, Michelle thought as she slowly
looked up and wiped off her mouth, pushing lank strands of hair out of her face. 
Almost too tired to be murderously furious, she suddenly felt rage like she had
never experienced it in her life.  She wanted to beat the man to death with a baseball
bat.  Break every bone in his loathsome body.

First she saw immaculate shoes, not five feet away from
her on dry sand, with a mirror-like black shine.  Her gaze drifted higher, as she
blinked salt water out of her reddened eyes.  He was dressed like he was going to
a ball, for Christ sake.  Even sporting a ridiculous black cape, which was snapping
in the breeze.

"Of course, the surf is a little high this evening,"
Omar murmured politely.  She could see the menace covered by the ridiculously courteous
exterior behavior, but she was too angry to care.

Michelle scooped handfuls of wet sand as she stood up straight
and took two steps forward, clenching so it would be packed hard.  She let fly. 
Her aim was good. 

Wet globs of sand were all over his immaculately white
frilly shirt, sand in his perfect black hair, sand all over the stupid cummerbund
and in his nasty black cape.

She stared at him dispassionately as he started wiping
off the sand.  He was definitely surprised.  She bent down to get another couple
of handfuls.  As a revenge it wasn't very satisfying, but she was standing alone
on a beach with only underwear to cover her.  Her choices were limited.

Then she realized she didn't need the baseball bat.  Her
arms and legs really were lethal weapons, but she was so exhausted she knew she
couldn't attack.  Her legs were rubbery and her arms were burning from the exhausting
swim.  She needed time; time to physically recover, time to firm her resolve.  She
thought she could castrate him with one good kick in the crotch.

He was very fast and she could hear him laugh as he grabbed
her arm to prevent her from bending over to scoop up more sand.  His grip was like
a vice and she remembered the bruise that she had carried for days after he had
grabbed her arm when she had tried to flee the lounge at the Ilikai Hotel, the first
night she had met him in Hawaii.

Michelle wrenched her arm from his grasp, not caring if
she broke it, just needing his loathsome touch away from her person.  Electrical
impulses had shot down her arm at the first contact with his skin.  She knew he
let go; she never could have broken his grip.  A part of her mind was coolly calculating
that he was very strong and fast.  She would need a good fifteen minutes to recover
sufficiently.

Michelle turned around and scanned the ocean.  She couldn't
see anything.  Vincent should still be floating in the water.  They had decided
he should wait awhile before making his approach.  Michelle wanted to be in position
so she could see him and run into the water if he needed help.  She wouldn't attack
Omar until she was sure Vincent was safe.

She stalked up to the fire.  She had to get Omar faced
away from the ocean so she went behind the large blaze, facing the ocean, hoping
he would take a position facing her.  She realized the problem when she got to the
fire.  Her night vision was gone.  She wouldn't be able to see Vincent come in if
she was staring into the flames. 

It disgusted her, but she had to keep Omar's attention
on her, which meant she had to sit close to him.  He sat down sideways to the ocean
and she moved, sitting beside him so she wasn't staring directly into the flames. 
He had been comfortable, she noticed with contempt.  There was a large beach blanket
with a plastic beach chair and a radio was playing classical music softly.

"You took much longer than I expected, Michelle,"
Omar said.  "You tried to help the professor?"

"I couldn't," Michelle said dully.  Her exhaustion
made her sound believable.

"Not too enjoyable, watching someone drown, I imagine,"
Omar commented politely.

Michelle felt such a wave of fury she knew the color was
red.  A bright red fury.  She could feel it in her eyes when she looked at him,
like a live entity ready to burst upon him.

"Now, now.  Don't take it so hard.  You didn't really
know the man," Omar said.

The thought of Vincent drowning in the ocean was almost
too horrible to contemplate, but Michelle's exhausted mind turned the picture over. 
Too depleted to even direct her own thoughts, she could see Vincent choking in the
surf and finally going under for the last time.  She shook her head to rid herself
of the nightmare, but evidently Omar had somehow caught her terrible thoughts.

"So he really is dead."

Michelle nodded.

"You know, he's been following me for years.  A bulldog,
that man.  England.  Russia.  Haiti.  The Orient.  I always managed to stay ahead
of him.  You would think he would have given up long ago.  I almost thought he would
make it tonight."

"Lucifer's dead too?" Michelle asked dully, reasoning
that if the gas was strong enough to render her and Vincent unconscious, it must
have killed the cat.

"No.  You dropped him when you passed out.  He was
under the gas."

Michelle stared at him.

"You don't believe me?  I had to get someone to pull
him out from under your bed."

That she could believe.

"Your cat is fine."

Michelle sighed, looking over her shoulder at the huge
barrier of cliffs.  Between the high volcanic rocks there was a small, steep sandy
trail that Omar must have used to get here.  

"Don't even think of it," Omar said.  "That
trail goes for miles before you even reach a road."

"I'm too tired anyway," Michelle commented. 
But she thought he must be lying.  He would never hike for miles to this place alone. 
Especially in that get-up.  Civilization was closer than he wanted her to believe. 

"Oh, where are my manners?  You must be thirsty." 
Omar handed her a Thermos he had lying on the blanket.  He also had a small blanket
that he covered her shoulders with.

Michelle took the Thermos, opened the top and sniffed. 
She couldn't smell anything.

"Just water," Omar said.

"Right.  Laced with cocaine from your South American
connection?  Or LSD?  Maybe a few tranquilizers?"  Michelle asked cynically. 
Not waiting for an answer she gulped it down despite her suspicions, almost finishing
the whole thing, until she realized that Vincent would need some too, when he got
out of the water.

"Some chocolate?"

It was a Hershey's candy bar!

Michelle grabbed it from his hand and devoured it.  She
would need the quick sugar-high to help overcome her physical exhaustion.  Only
one of them would be leaving this beach.

Omar laughed at her greedy behavior, but Michelle ignored
him.

"You passed the Trial-by-Water," Omar murmured.

"I know, next you throw me into the blaze and see
if I burn. Like the old witch hunts?"

"No, Michelle," Omar's voice was like a caress.

"What gives you the right to torture people?  And
kill them?"

"I'll give you what you want most in the world."

"I'm pretty happy right now.  Just let me recover
for a minute and I'll leave."

"I've taken away some reasons for happiness.  The
little one who calls you Shelly is gone.  So is the new love you were with all last
night and this morning."

He was trying to scare her, Michelle decided.  Heather
and Nakamura were fine.  She had to believe they were all right or she would go
mad.

"Just like I took the professor, Vincent Middleton,
I have taken your friends.  If it's not enough, I'll take your brother, Bobby. 
Then your parents."

She should play along, Michelle thought, gritting her teeth. 
She couldn't let Omar know that Vincent was alive.  Not that it would do much good
if she had to pull him out of the surf, but she had promised.

"What do I want most in the world?"

"Travel, Michelle.  Anywhere on earth.  Unlimited
wealth.  The fountain of youth; you will never get old and ugly.  Look at me, I'm
years older than I appear."

Michelle just looked at him, unmoved.

"But most important," he paused significantly,
"I'll give you a baby."

Michelle stared at him in horror.  "You watched while
Samson Stoker cut that possibly out of me," she said fiercely, trying to control
her anger.

"No.  Doctors said a 99.9% probability you could not
have a child.  But you still have one ovary." 

"Thank's to you, I imagine."  Michelle felt herself
getting more angry, remembering the attack which had almost taken her life.  She
was glad.  Her fury would make her strong.  She knew, for her, it would be almost
impossible to begin a physically unprovoked attack against anyone.  Even given that
the opponent, Omar, was an evil person, it went against every shred in her conscience. 
She was aware that her very life and the lives of those she loved might depend on
it, and that it was a last resort.  Using karate could mean that she would kill
this man, especially if he fought back.  Maybe she could merely disable him, but
it probably wouldn't be enough.  Unless she killed him he would continue to rape,
kill and addict people to drugs.

"Samson got a little carried away that night in Las
Vegas.  I stopped him."

Oh, Gee thanks, Michelle thought.  What a generous man.

Omar got up and started pacing in front of the fire, swinging
his cape.