That would be Dawn if she wasn't careful.
She almost began doubting her conclusions when she witnessed what happened next. Police stormed the aircraft and retreated minutes later with a severely wounded man. The next time they went inside they had guns and riot gear.
They hauled out prisoners too numerous to count, but enough of them were recognizable on the security video feed to assure Dawn that these were, in fact, island government employees. All appeared violently insane.
Why were they given the bad stuff and Amelia given the good stuff?
Dawn's system could tap into video signals from around the island. Hotels and department stores. Emergency vehicles and street-pole cameras. She was able to watch the convoy sneak across town, without emergency lights or sirens, and pull into the lot of the small police station.
She opened a line to the station cameras and audio feeds and saw the lunatics herded into the basement lockup.
She clicked over to her feed from the presidential beach house, finding Greg Grom in his bedroom. Grom didn't know she had tapped into his home security system. She had watched him perform some very vile deeds in that bedroom-deeds he never admitted to her.
There he was now, performing one of his favorite and most revolting acts with a screeching, sobbing Amelia Powlik. Oh, yes, he loved it when they cried in pain and begged for more in the same breath. Amelia didn't disappoint.
"Did it hurt?" he asked her afterward.
"I thought you'd rip me apart," Amelia whimpered. "How soon until we do it again?"
"I don't know. Maybe never. I have tastier fish to fry." Amelia was clearly hurt by this, but she was an innovator. "I know what would get you interested again, Mr. President."
Dawn had no inclination to view another such display, but she was mesmerized when the plain, unattractive Amelia came out of the bathroom seconds later wearing one of Dawn's very own bikinis. She had to have left it there months ago.
"I am Union Island," Amelia said in a pouty imitation of a Dawn Summens commercial. "Come to me." It was an unflattering imitation.
Greg Grom had not proved to be strong when it came to instant replays in the bedroom, but all of a sudden he was bolt upright and ready for more.
"Dawn!" he barked at Amelia Powlik. "Time for you to get what's coming to you."
"Will it hurt?" Amelia asked in a falsetto voice as she scampered to kneel at Grom's bedside.
"You better believe it will. It's been a long time coming."
Grom was true to his word. He made it painful, and he made it humiliating, and he made the fake Dawn sob. All the while he was violating her he was rattling off an endless litany of petty crimes that had been committed against him by Dawn Summens, and how she would endure endless nights of suffering and degradation as punishment.
When he was done, Amelia Powlik collapsed on the woven rug. "That was magnificent," she gasped finally.
"Wait until I get the real thing," Grom said. "I went easy on you compared to what I'm gonna do to her."
"Ooh, can I watch?"
Grom considered that. "Sure. Why not? Maybe I'll let you have a go at her, too. I'm bound to need a break sometime."
"And what would you like me to do to her?" Amelia asked, raising her head, eyes glinting in the darkness. "Maybe you should demonstrate."
Incredibly, Greg Grom rose to the occasion. Soon he was taking out his anger once again on the Dawn Summens stand-in.
The real Dawn Summens could not tear her eyes away. She had never seen Grom so confident, or so cruel, and she had certainly underestimated his anger.
What if she ended up in that role? One dose of GUTX and Grom would have her, body and mind. She would accept whatever he dished out, and she wouldn't stand a chance of escaping. She wouldn't want to escape.
She watched the performance for hours. By sunrise Amelia was a mess of small wounds and bruises, and she finally passed out from exhaustion. Grom finished off with her anyway and then fell into a dead sleep.
But Dawn watched him still, her plans ripening in her brilliant, devious mind.
It was a desperate plan with no small risk, but she never even considered taking the safest approach-getting off Union Island and never coming back.
This bikini model was fated for greatness, and she would not back down in the face of danger-no matter how terrible the consequences of failure.
Chapter 30
Chiun stood outside the cab and slowly craned his ancient head to take in the entire facade of the faded pink Many Palms Resort. Clearly he wasn't pleased with what he saw.
"This," he said, turning to Remo, who was extracting chests from the overstuffed cab trunk, "is your fault."
"Huh? What?" Remo balanced the chests on his shoulders, "My fault? What is my fault and why is it my fault and why the hell can't it be some other guy's fault this one time?"
"This hotel," Chiun said evenly.
"Finest on the island," piped up the taxi driver.
"That's what you keep telling us," Remo muttered. "It's a frigging dump, but you know what, Chiun, it ain't my hotel."
"You brought us here," Chiun said reasonably.
"American Airlines brought us here."
"It was your investigation that led us to the Caribbean. Again."
"So you think I should have come up with different suspects or what?"
"It's a vacation paradise," the taxi driver enthused.
"Shut up," Remo told him. "You keep telling me to use my head and this time I used my head, and I'm getting nothing but grief for it. From you. From Smitty. From Junior. You think I'm any happier about coming back to the Caribbean? You think I want to spend time in this sleazy little junkyard with a beach?"
"Everybody says that at first," the taxi driver assured them. "I promise-by the time you leave, you'll love it!"
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Remo snarled. "You can't blame me for this, Chiun."
"I do."
"Stick it in your ear."
They passed through the front entrance into an open-air lobby with a stone floor and a freshly thatched roof. The walls were open to the beach.
"See?" Remo said. "Not so bad."