Wisdom Spring (21 page)

“Do we have to?” asked Jess.

“Jon’s right,” said Scott. “If we’re going to stay ahead of them, we have to know what they’re doing. Or at least, what they are telling the media.”

“Any word from your father?” I asked. It seemed natural to now give The Voice an identity.

“No, I think he’s giving me a break.”

“It could also be that he didn’t get much further than discovering Hillstrom in the photo,” suggested Scott. “He brought you here. Maybe there isn’t a lot more he can do.”

Jess thought about that. “It’s possible, I suppose. Although I hope not. Even if he didn’t go any further in the physical, maybe he can still guide us somehow … or warn us … or something. Remember he warned me a lot in DC—which train to take; which way to turn; things like that.”

My phone rang. It was Joe.

“I’ve got a ride. I’ll be flying in tomorrow. I have no idea where, but my contact says he knows a good out-of-the-way place.”

“Good. Call me when you arrive. Depending on where it is, you may have to wait a while.”

“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Scott said he had to run to the airport for a few minutes to make sure his plane was ready, so we went with him. Scott was a popular figure at the Homer airport, so the few minutes became two hours.

He proudly showed us his plane, an old four-seater, twin-engine Piper Apache. After giving his baby the appropriate oohs and aahs, I said, “I hesitate to mention this, but it looks kind of old and a little beat-up.”

“It is old,” replied Scott, “but it runs great. I keep this thing in perfect condition. Besides,” he added with a wink, “hunters and fishermen going into the bush expect their transportation to look the part.”

After the airport, we stopped for some groceries, then went home, where Scott created a feast for dinner that included halibut, homemade bread, and a delicious vegetable casserole, followed by hand-cranked ice cream.

“Another month of this,” I said to him, so full I couldn’t move, “And I’ll look like you.”

We checked the news, but there was nothing about Jess—she was no longer a high priority—and the only news about Hillstrom was his surge in the polls. A lot was being made of the fact that he was a third-party candidate who was actually polling higher than the Republican and Democratic nominees.

We had just fallen asleep when my phone rang. I reached for it saying, “It must be Joe.”

It wasn’t. The reception was terrible and the voice was hard to hear, but it definitely wasn’t Joe. I could barely make it out, but the voice was saying, “Jon? That you, Jon?” And then the line went dead. I had goose bumps all over my body, and my heart was pounding.

“Was that Joe?” Jess said sleepily. Then she looked at me and sat up. “Jon, what’s wrong?”

“You’re not the only one hearing dead people,” I said. “I know I’m not imagining this. I’d know that voice anywhere. That was Mill Colson!”

Chapter 23

Scott looked down at the mountainous terrain slipping by beneath his Apache. Joe had called early in the morning to say he was in a remote place called Rocky Hole. Scott was familiar with Rocky Hole, having flown there about a dozen times. It was a privately-owned airstrip in the middle of nowhere that catered to hunters and fishermen. How in the world did Joe get there? It was good, though. He would be hard to locate. Rocky Hole consisted of one runway and a bar/general store. It sat at the edge of a large lake, and most of the traffic consisted of seaplanes. He was close now. It had taken him about three hours to get there, but he knew Joe would be fine waiting.

What he was worried about was Jon. His brother, he felt, had no skills for this. Going up against some shadowy, but obviously powerful organization was way beyond Jon’s experience. He was a salesman, for God’s sake. He couldn’t blame Jess for it though. As screwed up as this whole situation was, he recognized that Jess was Jon’s savior, of sorts. He knew that Jon had decided to come up and spend some time with him, but what he hadn’t been convinced of was whether Jon would actually make it. He knew his brother was devastated by the loss of his daughter and that he blamed himself. He also knew that Jon owned a gun. Was he capable of using it on himself? Until Jon met Jess, Scott thought the answer was yes.

He had to admit though, Jess was something special. He wasn’t feeding them both a line; Jess had a spark. She had life, and there was truly a connection between them that Scott had rarely seen between two people. They just had to make it through alive. A tall order, from the sound of things.

He wasn’t concerned about his own life. Jon and Jess had both apologized numerous times for getting him involved, and he had assured them that he was glad to be involved. And he was. Life was fleeting as it was. If he was meant to die, so be it. But he would go fighting. He was angry that someone was trying to kill his brother. And like Elmer, he had little use for the goings-on in Washington, so if he could help expose some of its scummier aspects, he was happy to help.

Jon had described Joe in detail, and he sounded like a capable guy. He had no idea how Joe could help, if at all, but here was another person who was about to fall victim to Hillstrom’s machine, and Scott wasn’t going to let that happen.

Approaching Rocky Hole, he radioed in to let them know he was starting his approach. He pictured the radio sitting on the bar, between the clean glasses and the draft beer. A high-tech operation, it wasn’t. Everything went through Fister, the bar owner. Nobody knew if Fister was his first name or last; he was only ever known as Fister, or Fist. Fister informed him that he had a package that would be waiting outside for him. Scott okayed that, asked Fister to make him a burger and fries to go, and began his descent. Although he often took Max flying with him, this time he left Max at home, not knowing what he was going to encounter and figuring Jon could feed him.

After landing, he taxied up to the gas pumps, where Butch, Fister’s son, stood ready to fill the tank. Scott could see a smallish, nondescript man standing off to the side. Had to be Joe. Scott slid his .45 into his belt. You just never knew.…

Scott climbed out and was approached by the stranger, who held out his hand. “I’m Joe,” he said.

“Scott.”

“I appreciate you coming to get me.”

“My pleasure. As soon as I’m filled up, we can get out of here. Let me pick up my food. Have you eaten?”

“Constantly. Had nothing else to do here.”

“Looks like you went through the wringer,” said Scott. Joe was covered in yellowed bruises and scabs. He was missing a lower tooth on his left side and had some tape across the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, it wasn’t pleasant. Can’t believe I’m alive to see this.” He swept his hand around to the surrounding mountains.

“Stupid question, but I assume you weren’t followed.”

“God, no.”

“How’d your contact know about this place?”

“He said he’s flown in here twice before. I don’t think your friend Fister likes him very much. And knowing this guy, I’m sure he wasn’t transporting hunters when he came.”

“Fist is pretty picky about the type of lowlife that is acceptable. Okay, give me a minute to pick up my food and say hi to Fist.”

Scott went into the building. It was just what the average tourist would expect a remote hunting outpost to look like. Bearskins and moose heads lined the walls. There were three rows of camping and fishing supplies, and a glass counter filled with knives of all sizes. Behind the counter was a small selection of rifles and rods and reels. On the other side of the store was the bar. The smell of Scott’s burger hung in the air.

“Hey, Fist,” said Scott.

“Hey. Didn’t expect to see you this early in the season.”

“Special trip. Had to pick up your guest of the last few hours.”

“He’s not up here to hunt or fish, I can tell you that.”

“Nah,” answered Scott. “Kind of a special situation.”

Fister said no more. He had seen enough in his years to know when to stop with the questions.

Scott picked up his food and a bottle of water and made his way back out to the plane. Butch had finished fueling it and Scott paid him, got in, then helped Joe into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Gets pretty loud with the engines on, so you’ll need to wear the headphones in front of you. They will dampen the noise and allow us to talk.”

Joe nodded his agreement and slipped the headset on. Scott tested it out to make sure they could communicate, then started the engines. Within minutes they were in the air. They circled Rocky Hole once, then headed south toward Homer. Scott ate while he flew, and in no time the cockpit smelled like a burger joint. If it bothered Joe, he didn’t let on. He let Scott finish his meal before talking.

“One of the questions I was going to ask you was how you knew Jon and Jess, but having met you, it’s pretty obvious. Is Jon your older brother?”

“By three years. But I’m better looking, so that evens things out.”

Suddenly, from the headset Scott heard,
“Apache 214, Apache 214, you out there?”

“Apache 214 here. What’s up Fist?”

“Five minutes after you left, a chopper set down. New and fast. Two slick operators on board. Wanted to know if your package was on the plane that just left. Butch, well, he’s my son and all, but he’s dumb as a stump, and told them he was. They wanted to know where you were heading. Butch doesn’t know where you’re from, but he told them he saw you heading south. Anyway, I’d suggest putting down somewhere real soon, ‘cuz they’re going to catch up to you in no time.”

Scott made a sharp turn to the northwest.

“Fist, can you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Can you call Pete and Ollie over at Piney Lake and let them know I’m on my way? Ask them to round up any of the boys who might be there. I might need some help. I’ll call in to them when I’m closer.”

“Roger. I’ll get back to you.”

The two things Scott knew he could count on were the help locals gave their own up in the wilderness, and the disdain they held for slick strangers. Even though Scott had only lived in Alaska for eight years, and had been flying for only half of that, he had been fully accepted as “one of them.”

“Thought you weren’t followed.”

“I wasn’t. They’re probably coming in from somewhere else. Unfortunately, the people I get to help me are usually swayed by the almighty buck. Word is probably out about me, and I’m sure it’s made its way to all the people who have reputations for transporting “packages.” In fact, he probably heard the word even before he agreed to take me here. I bet he double-crossed me even before I was in his plane. Gave them the coordinates of where he was going to drop me off. I tried to use the least sleazy of the sleazebags. The joke’s on him though. I know these guys. He’ll never get his payment from them. He’ll be dead soon after he lands. I’m sorry though. I didn’t mean to bring trouble with me.”

“Trouble seems to be the word of the week, so don’t worry about it. Let’s just hope we can make it. Piney Lake is a good ten minutes from here, and I’ve just spotted the chopper in back of us.”

Joe turned to look.

“It’s still a ways back,” said Scott, “But Fister was right. it’s fast.”

“Apache 214, you still out there?”

“Talk to me.”

“Talked to Pete. Besides him and Ollie, they’ve got two other boys there. They’ll be concealed in the woods. This better be good. They’re so excited, I think they’ve all got hard-ons. They haven’t done any flatlander hunting in a while. Don’t disappoint them.”

“Thanks, Fist, I owe you.”

“You sure do. Out.”

The chopper was gaining. Scott knew it was going to be close. There was going to be no leisurely landing this time.

“You armed?” he asked Joe.

“Stole one from one of the guys who did this.” He pointed to his face.

“Well, then, let’s do it.” They were still five minutes out and the chopper was getting closer. Scott banked slowly to his right, then a sharp turn to his left. His intention wasn’t to outrun the chopper, but to put himself in the best spot possible for landing. He was now in position to come right into the Piney Lake runway without any more major course adjustments.

Many of the backwoods lake guide posts didn’t have runways. They relied on the seaplane business. But like Rocky Hole, Piney Lake was an exception.

“Joe, take a look at them. Anything about the chopper I should know?”

Joe had been gazing back almost constantly, trying to gauge how close they could come to landing before the helicopter was on top of them.

“Well, it’s not a gunship, if that’s what you were worried about, so I don’t think they’re going to blow us out of the sky. Even if one of them has a high-powered rifle, the chances of him hitting us are slim. That only works in the movies. My guess is that they want to force you down so that you crash in the woods. I don’t know if they’ve figured out yet that you have a plan to land.”

“And if we make it?” asked Scott.

“You can bet they’ll come in heavily armed.”

“Well, besides being a hunting camp, Piney Lake a survivalist community. They’ll take out anyone in their way.”

Scott keyed the radio. “Piney lake, this is Apache 214, over.”

“Yo Scott, this is Ollie. We’re all set for you here. I can see you in the distance. You’ve got a big bad bird following you. A little too close.”

“Thanks Ollie. I can feel his breath. I’m coming in fast. These guys mean business and are going to have some impressive hardware.”

“Roger that. My boys are safe. Any instructions?”

Scott looked at Joe. “Questioning them will be worthless,” Joe said. “Nobody seems to know much of anything. At best, they might know who hired them, but even that person is too low on the totem pole.”

Scott keyed the mic again. “You do whatever you need to. You’ve got free rein.”

“The boys will be happy to hear that. You get in here quick.”

“They’re here,” said Joe. “Right over us and coming lower.”

“Got it,” Scott answered. He could see the runway. “I’m going in.” It was one of the shorter runways around, and not one that Scott liked to land on even in the best of times. It was not going to be fun.