One Night To Go
Chapter 8 of Vampire Island
As the launch was too big to beach, its two occupants came ashore in a rear-mounted boat. The scene was one of tearful farewells for Mary Ann, Ginger, and the skipper, who would all be going on to Hawaii. While the boat pilot helped them load, the passenger asked to see where the natives had died. He identified himself as Kenan, a distant relative of the chief, and was studying biology in Honolulu. He was an easy going type in glasses, Hawaiian shirt, and shorts.
Kenan looked over the compound where it had all happened, asking questions of Gilligan, the professor, and Howell. "From what they tell me, some kind of monster breathed blue fire on them." He looked plainly skeptical. "What did you see?"
"That's precisely what we saw," the professor said. "As a man of science myself, I can't explain it, but you may know a biological reason."
Kenan scrutinized them as if being played. "Except for the throat injury, there were no marks on them. It's as if their hearts gave out from fear. These do tend to be a superstitious people. I'd say this creature exhibits some form of bio-luminescence. It seems to be violent against newcomers, but has come to terms with your presence here. Have you seen it before?"
"Never," Howell said, well rehearsed. "See here, my good man, might you have a phone aboard? I'd like my company rep to meet me on the big island. I've rather a large crate of souvenirs that might not clear customs."
"Certainly," Kenan replied. "As for me, I want to lead an expedition here to find this thing. It seems to be unknown to science."
And how, Gilligan thought. "I'd do that during the day, when you can watch each other's backs. It has to hide somewhere to rest."
"And something else," Kenan added. "About your inquiry into the van Helsings—one of them has a weekly radio show about vampire lore. It might be possible for him to meet you in New York, if you can guarantee him something of value to his show."
"Kenan," the professor said. "You have no idea." He shook hands with Mr Howell.
Kenan checked his watch. "I'm due for some study time. Mr Howell, come and use the radio phone, and I'll be on my way with the others."
"Now we're talking, my boy." Howell set off with an arm about the shorter man. "The next thing I want to see is a company chopper with a nice big cargo bay."
By the time Howell boarded the launch, the three scheduled to leave were squared away. He insisted on his wife going on ahead to make hotel arrangements and deal with the press. This would be front page news, even as far as the west coast. It took several tries to verify his identity, but he recalled all his code words and passwords. His agent would rent a Sikorsky cargo hauler, as the only ones Howell Enterprises flew were the smaller executive transports.
The professor called from shore. "Why not join your wife, Mr Howell? Gilligan and I will await your transport." This was agreed to, and the departing launch hosted farewell waves and shouts. "Well, Gilligan, it's a quiet, lonely place without them. I suppose we can keep busy with meal prep and such."
"I'll go tell Emmy the plan. She can hear me."
"No need, Gilligan—she'll know everything's okay, since the cave hasn't been disturbed. Why don't we make sure there's a clear spot for the chopper to land. We can mark it off with logs and such. That will keep us busy until tonight." They set to work, pausing to drink from canteens and snack on fruit. Soon they'd be dining in style. Toward evening, the two rested on the Howells' recliners, having lit torches.
"Our last night here," Gilligan mused. "Do you still plan to teach?"
"Definitely. I want to inspire young minds to learn more about the world around them. I suppose you'll sign on with the skipper."
"Yeah. I guess he'll have me, since I came through in the end."
The sun had dipped, but it was still light when Emmy flew in and transformed to human shape, such was her need for an update.
The professor swung legs over the side to sit up. "Tomorrow we'll load your box on a flying machine to the main island. Mr Howell will see it's guarded at all times. The next day, it flies to California. From there, it's on a jet to New York, where I hope to have you meet van Helsing, since he'll need proof. Then we fly to Dubrovnik, and hire a guide to Locklor."
Emmy took the mug off her sash, having figured out how to unscrew the top. She pointed at the black inner lining, made a circle with one hand, poked a finger through it.
"I get it," Gilligan said. "In case somebody opens it, she can mist between layers. But if it comes to that, we're on thin ice."
The professor took the cup. "I'll heat up a screwdriver and melt a hole in the plastic. Even with the top removed, the inner layer is safe from the sun."
Having seen to plan C, Emmy took off on her last nip in this part of the world.
Gilligan followed the professor to the table, where they dined on the last of Mary Ann's dried fruit, nuts, and coconut flakes. "One thing bothers me, professor. If anybody forces open that lid, he's dead, pure and simple."
"Maybe not. I'm sure Emmy can hide the cup beneath the coffin liner. We'll know nightly how she's holding up. I doubt it will be a problem for one of the locals to get tapped. They won't even remember."
"Let's hope so. If you ask me, this is the hard part of the whole plan." They spent some time playing cards and talking about old times until it was time to turn in.
The next day around noon, Howell returned in the launch, saying that no passengers were allowed on the chopper. Also, no one intended to lug the crate through the jungle. Gilligan would show the pilot where the cave was, and the crate would be hauled up on a sling.
"I told them," Howell said, "how the crate has a tricky latch that only we can open. I've rented the chopper all this day and the next, so it can sit on the tarmac. The pilot said it's okay for us to stand guard."
"We'll take shifts," the professor offered. "That box can't be alone for a minute."
Howell tipped back his pith helmet. "Indeed, my good man, and none other than the skipper will stand the first watch. He has a business proposal for Gilligan."
"Gee, Mr Howell, I already know he's getting a new boat."
"Alas, but he isn't. You see, he's using the insurance money to open an ocean-themed restaurant called The Castaways. You and he will be partners."
The professor clapped Gilligan's shoulder. "That's great! It looks like your future is assured!"
"A restaurant? But the skipper doesn't know how to—"
"Tut, my boy," Howell put in. "My accountants will guide him through it."
"Where are the girls?" Gilligan asked.
"Winging their way to America, except for Lovie. She and I have the ritziest suite on the island. I've even arranged one for you fellows, when you're off watch."
The professor frowned. "Could there be trouble with inspectors?"
"Money talks, my boy. I told them it's artifacts headed for a museum. Since no owns this island, no one can claim any artifacts from us." At that moment, a noisy Sikorsky settled onto the beach in a spray of sand. "Let's go and show these gents where that cave is."