The River of Bones v5 (3 page)

He dropped the collective and pulled the cyclic, standing the helicopter on its tail and stopping its forward motion.  The Cessna blasted past, just overhead, climbing, banking, and losing speed, then its lift as its wings clawed their way up and around.  He had glimpsed the rangers’ shocked faces as they had shot past.  They had come close to hitting him.

He pulled the controls once more and started climbing, much faster than the Cessna and right on its tail.  Now the helicopter had greater power and speed.  In seconds, he’d duck over the other side of the mountains and disappear.  They wouldn’t see him escape, not with their backs turned and the midday sun in their eyes.  He nudged the cyclic forward and to the right, felt the McDonnell Douglas begin vibrating as he held its speed against the VNE red line (velocity never exceed).  Over the peaks and down the far side he flew, staying low, fast, and hidden in all the mountains.

Simon’s voice crackled over the headsets.  “What now?  We have less than two hours fuel and don’t dare land in Bettles.”

“I’ll hide in the high country until it falls into the Chandalar River, then we’ll fly downstream to Fort Yukon and buy fuel there.  Afterward, we can head home and get some rest.”  He turned and saw Molly sightseeing out the right side.  She seemed sad . . . but also mesmerized by the scenery.

He flew up, down, around, and over the mountains.  Finally, he descended into the lowland along the Chandalar and cruised down its winding course as it flowed east past the oldest town in Alaska.

An hour passed, and finally he let down on the long gravel runway of Fort Yukon and landed on the far end, away from the ramp area and its ever-present people.  He left the helicopter running, signaled Simon to watch the controls, and swung out the door to the ground.  He climbed each side of the ship and pulled off the black tape he’d stuck alongside the
actual
license numbers painted by the factory on the fairing of the main rotor mast.  He balled up the tape, threw it in the woods, then climbed back into his seat.  Lifting off, he hovered the rest of the way to the terminal of the airport and landed.

They had almost finished fueling the McDonnell Douglas when they saw a red and white Cessna land and roar along the taxiway leading to the ramp, blowing clouds of dust with its speed.  When it stopped, two uniformed rangers jumped out and ran toward them.

“Colter, I should have known it was you.  You thought I wouldn’t guess Fort Yukon, didn’t you?  Well, lean over and kiss your ass good-bye because this time you went way too far.”  The taller ranger stopped right in front of him.

“Hey, back off and leave us alone because we’ve done nothing wrong.”  He then saw the second ranger step in front of Molly Faircloth.  Their future rested in her hands . . .

“Lady, what’s your name and where are you from?  We need your statement, so let’s go inside the building.”  The ranger pulled a pencil and notebook out of his jacket pocket.

She stepped back and stared at both park rangers with a deadpan face.  Finally, she said, “Gentlemen, listen to me.  I’m not making any inculpatory or exculpatory statements, nor am I waving my rights under the constitution or my right to having an attorney present during any questioning by you.  So . . . do you have a warrant for my arrest or am I free to go?

“And besides, it’s clear to me that you’re threatening the wrong people with arrest.  You better think more carefully about what you’re doing.”

The ranger’s face turned red and he reached out.  “Why you dirty bitch—”

Jake jumped across and pushed him back.  “You touch her and I’ll knock you cold.”

The taller officer stepped across and shoved his partner farther away.  “Jerry, what in hell are you doing, and have you gone completely nuts?  Get back in the airplane.  Get back there now or I’ll arrest
you!
”  The second ranger, still glaring at Molly, angrily walked away.

The taller officer turned and stared at the helicopter, his hands resting on his hips.  Thirty seconds passed.  He pulled out his notebook, opened it, and stared again.  Finally, he turned once more.  “Colter, I owe you big and someday I’ll get even, that’s a promise.”  He stomped off, climbed into the Cessna, and roared off to the airport’s runway.

Simon’s face broke into a grin.  “Molly, I’ve never heard anything like that before.  Where on earth did you learn those words?”

She smiled.  “My husband was a fine attorney.”  Then she paused and her smile faded.  “Those men scare me, and you two better watch out.”

They finished their fueling and flew south toward Anchorage, climbing over the Yukon Flats and Crazy Mountains.  Afterward, they followed the Richardson Highway and the Trans-Alaska Pipeline through the Alaskan Range, let down at the Gulkana Airport, and fueled again with the help of an old friend.

Once more they flew off, this time with Mounts Drum, Sanford, and Wrangell filling the skyline.  Smoke trailed off their summits, showing all were live volcanoes.  The Trans-Alaska Pipeline still lay below, snaking its way toward Prince William Sound.  At last they burst out of the mountains and began their descent into Anchorage along Knik Arm, the long backwater of Cook Inlet, running north to Palmer.  Jake looked down, remembering all the unlucky pilots who had crash-landed in the saltwater below, never to be seen again.  The thirty-foot tides ripping back and forth along the city had claimed countless people since the gold rush days.  Next, he saw the Lake Hood Seaplane Base beside the international airport.  It was time to call the tower.

“Lake Hood, helicopter eight-three-three-two Fox, with the numbers, landing.”

“Three-two Foxtrot cleared to land west.  Caution, there’s a DeHavilland Beaver leaving the water at this time.”

A few minutes later, he touched down on the tarmac beside the red hanger he owned on the west shore of the seaplane base.  Five hundred floatplanes were tied around the lake, making it the world’s largest seaplane base.

“Jake . . . Simon, will I ever see you two again.  This has been the longest, saddest, but the most exciting day of my life, all rolled into one.  You have shown me a world I never knew existed, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Well, you should come back and see us, and I promise we won’t get you into so much trouble next time.”  Jake knew that he liked her a lot, and saw Simon did as well.

“I actually didn’t mind, now that I think about it.  Once there were men like you in Texas, but not so much anymore.  Now everyone is so afraid of taking chances they’re nothing but big sissies.  Someday, I hope you will call me when you need help with something.  I’d love nothing better than go along on one of your trips.”

Afterward, they watched her drive away.  Tomorrow would be another long day for them.  Their days were numbered, because the park rangers would never forget.

“What are we going to do?” asked Simon.  “The Park Service will try getting even with us just as soon as they can.  They will claim we’re shooting wolves from the air and need to be thrown in jail, and I’ll bet they’re talking to the federal prosecutors in Fairbanks right now.”

“I don’t know, but our luck better change pretty soon.”   Jake watched the midnight sun roll along the horizon.  Finally he added, “At least we’ve met the nicest lady.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE ANCHORAGE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

Jake watched
the young woman, swinging her hands high, walk toward his hangar.  The winter gloom shadowed her clothing in the gray light, but her yellow hair and white scarf looked as if both were sunlit.  Then he wondered if he’d seen someone farther off, trying to stay out of sight.

“What do you make of this?”  He glanced at Simon sitting across the office reading a flying magazine.  There wasn’t much else to do in the wintertime, not until the Iditarod Sled Dog Race in March.

His friend walked to the window.  “She’s not from Anchorage and looks like trouble.”

“I think someone was following her . . . over by the control tower, near the terminal.”  Again, he searched the bleak background, but now no one was there.

The thunder of a Boeing 747 rattled the second-floor window in front of them, then a 737 and an old Douglas DC-6 did the same, each big airplane climbing off the long runway of the international side of the airport, about a mile south of the seaplane side of the huge facility.  Alaska Airlines, Federal Express, Japan Airlines, and United Parcel Service flew around the clock, each hauling their passengers and cargo around the world, returning later for another load.  Anchorage, although a small city, had become a global center in the past few years, busy with the traffic of countless foreign nations.  What better place to serve Asia and Europe than the top of North America?

And what a curious place Anchorage had become—it was cosmopolitan, yet wild moose wandered its streets, particularly in the wintertime when they were hungry and hiding from the wolves.  It was dangerous, but only because every psychopath from the “Lower-48” had found the
real
end of the road.  It was fascinating, but with its restaurants and shops busy with foreigners, rather than Alaskans.

When someone read the news in the morning, he or she never quite knew what might be in the headlines.  Sometimes a homeowner had been killed by a bear in his own backyard.  Gunfire might have filled the night, or a prostitute might have been beaten to death, or the cops might have busted another clip-joint casino at three a.m.  High rollers and lowlifes, city slickers and hokey-pokey people, crying and laughter, the city was always busy with the potluck of life.  The yellow-haired woman could very well be a bad omen as Simon had prophesied.  Jake heard her footsteps on the outside stairs and the door open.

Simon and he turned and faced her, and instantly he thought that she was beautiful.  He wondered what foreign country she had come from, since her wolf-fur coat and winter boots weren’t American.

“Are you gentlemen the ones who find wrecked aeroplanes?  The concierge at the hotel told me where to find you.”

“Yes we do.  Come in and sit down and tell us how can we help you?”

“My father is missing.”

Then he heard Simon say,
“Kuk vaz zavut?”

She smiled.  “Sasha Pavlov.”

Startled speechless, he heard Simon speak again. 
“Gde vi zhiyote?”

“I am from Akademgorodok, near Novosibirsk.”

He stared at Simon, momentarily forgetting about the woman.  “Where in hell did you learn to speak Russian?”

Simon frowned, then sat as well after the woman had taken a seat.  “I studied languages back when I was younger.”

Jake felt his face flush in surprise, and he hoped Sasha hadn’t noticed his embarrassment.  Simon and he hadn’t talked fully about their pasts.  Maybe because of the pain when they thought back.

Sitting down as well, he asked, “Where was your father last seen?”  He leaned back, already anticipating the answer.  The Russians had been coming over and climbing Denali, the highest mountain in North America and the tallest in the world above the timberline.  Incredibly, one had done it in a single day by using a technique called “alpine climbing.”

The peak had claimed yet another climber, he told himself.  Every year, three or four people met their deaths up high, generally on the west buttress, the backbone of precipitous rock and snow that ran up toward its summit.  One-hundred-twenty people had been blown off its steepness or frozen to death or slipped at the worst possible time since 1910, when, amazingly, four sourdoughs from Fairbanks had first climbed its heights, carrying a bag of Fig Newton cookies and a long spruce pole, which they had left on top, thinking their barroom friends would see it from town.  Simon and he had climbed Denali twice, and that had been enough for them.

Then he heard her soft voice answer, “My father disappeared last summer in Siberia.  He was searching for diamonds in the Sakha Republic, above Lake Baikal.”

He looked at Simon.  His friend’s eyes and mouth were wide open, and he wondered if his own face looked as shocked.  What in hell was the woman doing in Alaska?

“Why isn’t your country looking for him?  I don’t understand.”

“They did for a short time, but gave up.  The Yakutsk District Guard said he drowned in a river after a helicopter crash.”  Her lips quivered.  “There isn’t anyone I can turn to in my country, because I’m so afraid of everyone.”

He saw Simon narrow his eyes and felt his own face tense up as well.  Why should they even believe she was Russian, and what were the feds up to now?

“Why on earth have you come here?  I don’t get it—”  Walrus ivory?  Polar bear hides?  What was the dirty trick going to be?  The Fish and Wildlife Service was forever setting up stings to catch people . . . or were the state troopers up to something.  Everyone knew Simon and he were desperate for money.

“The concierge gave me several names of businesses that rescue people and recover wrecked aeroplanes, and your advertisement said that you fly helicopters when I looked online.  My father was riding in a Mil Mi-8 when he went down, the one your military calls the Hip.  I thought it would be easier for you to understand what might have happened to him.”

Bingo, she had answered the first question right!
 
The sign out front read—
Whirlwind Aviation
,
Helicopters & Fixed Wing
,
Flightseeing
,
Expeditions
,
Searches
& Salvage
.  Trouble was he couldn’t afford airplanes and helicopters anymore.  Simon and he were living hand-to-mouth, begging aircraft and money from friends around town.  They had sunk really low in life.

Still . . . her answer was understandable.  None of the other air taxi operators around Lake Hood flew helicopters.  Maybe she was for real, but her story didn’t make any sense.  Why would she be afraid of her own countrymen?

“Tell me why you’re afraid of your own people and decided to come to Anchorage.  You speak English really well and that makes me wonder about you.  My friend and I are just bush pilots and no one has ever asked us to go to Siberia before.”  He leaned back once more.  Sometimes a sting operation could be turned against the government and you could make a few bucks, which they desperately needed.  You simply let them pay and pay with their hundred dollar bills, meanwhile letting them
think
you meant to break the law . . . someday soon.  You simply made sure that you never did.  Instead, you gave them excuses.  “Oh, my plane broke down last week—that’s why I couldn’t come.  Maybe if I had enough money . . .”  Eventually, they caught on, but what good did it do them?  They couldn’t arrest you for obeying the law or sue for breach of contract, and fat chance they wanted to tell the Department of Justice they’d just been screwed out of a few thousand dollars.