War Without End

I guess you could say it all began with Leonard Stroeker. He was a real lady killer - literally. A backwater thug who was an unofficial suspect in a Louisiana murder...among other things. The Bureau had assigned my partner, David, and I to keep an eye on him, in hopes that he would do something that we could nail him on. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. Stroeker took a flight out of New Orleans, heading for an expensive resort called Pangai on the island of Avua'tutu, part of the tiny Pacific Kingdom of Tonga. It didn't make any sense. Nothing in his profile indicated he had any connection to the island. And the only thing happening at the resort was some sort of bizarre convention, called the Fortieth Congress of Inexplicable Phenomena, running from January 29 - February 3. It was basically a gathering of scientists and mystics on the fringe, run by the Westlake Foundation, a wealthy organization that funded unusual research. In other words, a bunch of paranoids and nutcases getting together to trade conspiracy theories. Not the sort of crowd that Stroeker usually frequented. I knew what the response would be when we reported in, of course. Tonga was out of our jurisdiction. We would just have to hope that he'd be spotted when he returned to the States. Like Hell. We had spent too much time tailing the bastard just to lose him now. No way. There was something going down on Tonga. There had to be, to get Stroeker out there. Maybe it was out of our jurisdiction, but that didn't mean we still couldn't do some investigating. Of course, our superiors would never approve of it, and neither would David. I could just hear him now. "Jillian, procedure is there for a reason."

I booked a seat on the next flight out to Tonga.

I sent word to David that I was following Stroeker before I left, of course. Right before. I figured that by the time he got the message off of his voice mail, I'd be long gone. Oh, I was going to catch hell when I got back, but they couldn't really charge me with disobeying orders when I'd never received them in the first place. About the most I'd get would be a lecture on acting recklessly. I'd had those before.

I'd decided to use the Congress as my cover, and had managed to get myself listed as an attendee. I was carrying my badge, but even if I intended to report myself to the Tongan authorities upon my arrival, which I didn't, I still wouldn't be able to bring my gun into the country. Firearms were illegal in Tonga. I can't say I liked that fact. I suppose I could hope that Stroeker wouldn't be armed either, but I knew better. Thugs like him always managed to find guns.

I was supposed to arrive in Avua'tutu on Tuesday, in time for the start of the Congress, but my flight from Honolulu to Tonga's capitol of Nuku'alofa was delayed, and I arrived on Wednesday instead. A frustrating turn of events, since it meant a whole day lost in tracking Stroeker. At least I'd managed to book a secluded cabana on the beach, not far from the one Stroeker was reportedly using. Strangely, he'd also taken a room in the hotel itself. What could he possibly be doing with two rooms? Nothing good, I was sure.

When I reached my cabana, I found a schedule of events for the Congress waiting for me. It was an interesting read:

Tuesday, January 29th:
9:00 a.m.: Opening ceremonies and brunch. Lord Arthur Wilmington will give the commencement address and give an orientation to the history and archaeology of the Tongan islands.

1:00 p.m.: Mr. Kenneth van Veenan, who has recently been investigating native groups deep in the heart of Brazil, will give a presentation entitled "Primitive Medicines of the Amazon."

4:00 p.m.: Dr. Gary Moore speaks of his recent conflict with Chinese authorities during an excavation near Beijing.

Wednesday, January 30th:
9:00 a.m.: Dr. Ellen Rumik of the University of Alaska, Anchorage, has done ground-breaking work in social anthropology in polar regions. Her lecture will be "Ties Between Inupiaq Eskimo Myths and Those of the Lapp People."

1:00 p.m.: Dr. Po Lui-Yang presents "An Improved Understanding of the Egyptian Pyramids Using Theoretical Math to Elucidate New Meanings."

6:00 p.m.: A traditional 'umu puaka toho' or 'great feast' will be held outside. Sample local dishes prepared by villagers from the nearby village of Utulei and enjoy traditional Tongan music.

Thursday, January 31st:
9:00 a.m.: Dr. Jorge Orlando Munez from the University of California, Davis, tells the Congress about his recent find of unique Mayan ruins in the Yucatan peninsula.

1:00 p.m.: Mr. Hector Bromowitz gives a lively talk entitled "An Analysis of a Compilation of References to Atlantis: Could It be Real?"

4:00 p.m.: Dr. Shannon Langtree, formerly of NASA, brings her lecture "Satellite Photos of Antarctica Reveal Possible Signs of Previous Inhabitation."

Friday, February 1st:
9:00 a.m.: Dr. Igor Vaskushin tells of the adventures that he and his wife had while studying the indigenous people of Siberia and Mongolia.

1:00 p.m.: Ilyana Vaskushin, with translations by her husband, expounds on the more subtle artifacts uncovered during their previously mentioned trip.

6:00 p.m.: Formal dinner and ball. Bring your tuxedo.

Saturday, February 2nd:
9:00 a.m.: Mr. Harold Brown reveals evidence of strange Roman activities in England in the fifth century A.D., based on a series of heretofore unknown artifacts.

1:00 p.m.: Dr. Brian Rogers of Florida State University provides a controversial new look at translating Egyptian hieroglyphics, and his translations provide a startling new perspective on the land of the pharaohs.

4:00 p.m.: Dr. Tom Buchmeister compares astronomical analysis form various ancient cultures around the world.

Sunday, February 3rd:
11:00 a.m.: Dr. Adrian Keele of Columbia University will present the closing speech, titled "Ethical Considerations of Anthropological Exploration."

Each member of the Congress was also scheduled to go for a ride on the resort's popular submarine, to see the local fish and reef life. I was scheduled to ride at 9:00 a.m. on Thursday.

In reading the hotel's brochure, I learned that the island itself was quite small, containing only the resort on the east coast, and a native village, Utelei, on the south coast. Which didn't leave Stroeker much room to hide. In theory. I decided to start by checking out the current lecture by Dr. Rumik, more for the purpose of maintaining my cover than any real belief that I'd find Stroeker there. I lasted until noon. I found Dr. Rumik's lecture unbelievably boring, as did most of the attendees, for the room was only sparsely seated. No doubt the others were taking advantage of the perfect weather and sunshine. I studied the few remaining brave souls, looking at how they were dressed to make sure I didn't stand out. I needn't have worried. The dress style varied quite a bit, from the expected hippy clothing to natty British suits to blue jeans to native sarongs. My jeans and halter top were nothing unusual.

After giving up on Dr. Rumik, I strolled around the grounds for a while, pretending to be a bored Congress attendee out enjoying the sun. I had hopes that I might spot Stroeker in the process, but unfortunately, he was not in evidence. What was in evidence were the preparations for the evening's feast, which looked like it was going to be a huge affair. And, of course, there were plenty of people swimming, sunning, jet skiing, fishing, etc. But not Stroeker. Of course, he could have been in his room or bungalow. Among his other faults, the scumbag was a notorious womanizer.

I changed into a swimsuit and headed down to the beach for a while, figuring that Stroeker was bound to scope out the beach at some point, it having the highest concentration of scantily-clad women. I received many admiring looks as the afternoon drifted by, and three conversations with young men, but no Stroeker. Now I was beginning to get annoyed.

I strolled back to my cabana, intentionally passing by Stroeker's in the process. There was no sign of anyone inside. It was about 150 yards down the beach from mine, with three cabanas between us. Most of the cabanas appeared to be occupied by Congress-goers like myself, although the only one in evidence was a man sunbathing and reading in front of the cabana beyond Stroeker's. This gave me an idea. If I "sunbathed" in front of my place, I would be able to spot anyone going in or out of Stroeker's. I positioned a lounge chair to face in the appropriate direction, put on a pair of mirror shades, and grabbed one of the magazines I'd bought to read during the flight. While I slowly flipped through the pages, I studied the area around Stroeker's cabana, looking for cover thick enough that I could sneak close and take a peak inside. Unfortunately, there wasn't much foliage around. In front, there was just the beach - no good if anyone else was watching the cabana. In the back, there were thinly planted trees and more beach - better, but still not much.

Out of curiosity, I also watched the sunbathing man for a while. He could have been someone working for Stroeker, watching his cabin for him. Or just someone watching for Stroeker. He did appear to be avidly reading his stack of loose-leaf papers, though, and after an hour, he got up and went into his cabana.

By 4:00, Stroeker still had not made an appearance. God, I really hated waiting. Since I still had two hours until the uma-whatever feast would be starting, I decided to head over to the hotel store and buy a set of binoculars. They'd be overpriced, but at least I'd be able to get a better look at Stroeker's cabana. It was stupid of me not to remember to bring a set with me in the first place.

While I was in the shop, I was surprised to see the man I'd been studying not long before, the one with the cabana next to Stroeker's. He was speaking to an older, white-bearded man and a young woman with a drawn, pale face. He walked away supporting the young woman, and headed towards the elevators. The older man left the hotel. I studied the woman curiously, her pallor causing me to suspect that she was ill. She was walking under her own power, though, so whatever it was it didn't appear to be serious.

Rather than go back to my fruitless stakeout, I sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. I figured it couldn't hurt to see if the bartender knew anything about Stroeker. They tend to notice a lot, I've found. Obviously I couldn't open with "Have you seen this man?" though, so when the bartender returned with my drink, I nodded in the direction that the sick lady went, and commented, "Boy, I guess some people just can't take the heat down here."

He looked that way. "Didn't look like heat exhaustion. She'd have been red." His accent was that of New Zealand, his face open and friendly.

At that point, unexpectedly, he rolled his eyes and moved down the bar. Before I could turn and see what had caused such a reaction, a large hand came down on the bar next to me and a Louisiana accent asked, "Well now, what's a pretty little lady like you doing all alone in such a beautiful place as this?" I started slightly and felt a chill go through me. It was Leonard Stroeker.

Jillian's Page | Jillian's Journals

Last modified on May 19, 2002 by Kris Fazzari.