by Karen Black
I checked my ticket. “Okay, I’m on Flight 1821 leaving at 3:35 p.m., so Corky, change your ticket to that flight. I’ll be there watching to see if anyone seems overly interested in you. Hennie, leave your message for that flight.”
Charley’s funeral was elegant. That might not be a good word to describe a funeral, but his was. Fitting for the last of the Farnsworth dynasty. The church was filled with mourners and one could have started a flower shop with all the arrangements, despite the request for no flowers. Perhaps it was because Charley was very well-liked, or because of the notoriety of his murder, or perhaps a little of both. I preferred to think it was the former.
Hinting it was about time I should be returning to St. Paul, I declined the offer of Leonard and the other TINMAN executives to join them for drinks after the funeral. I also declined their offer to have one of the drivers drop me off at the airport, explaining I still had a few loose ends to tie up, and I hadn’t checked out of my motel.
I returned to the motel, asked the cabbie to wait while I paid the bill, picked up my meager luggage, and then asked him to take me to the Northwest Airlines departure area. If anyone was following me, Northwest would be the likely carrier I would use to return to St. Paul.
My choice of Northwest left me at quite a distance from the Alaska departure gates, but fortunately, I’d allowed myself plenty of time. I still took a couple of minor detours, doubling back a couple of times to see if I was being tailed. Unless it was my little white-tee-shirted Oriental friend, Black Dude or Wispy Whiskers, I probably wouldn’t know. When, or if…that was a sobering thought…I made it back to St. Paul, I planned to enroll in spook school to take a self-defense class, some shooting classes and a counter surveillance class, all activities in which I wished I already possessed more skills.
Arriving at the departure gate for my flight, I pulled my floppy hat down and walked over to the soda counter to purchase a Dr. Pepper and a newspaper. I leaned up against the wall, hopefully looking like a normal traveler waiting for his flight and seemingly absorbed in the latest news of the recent discovery of a huge stash of drugs in the L.A. area. Authorities were investigating how the drugs, estimated to have a street value of more than $50 million, were brought across the border and were seeking the identity and arrest of an as-yet unidentified drug cartel kingpin, and his accomplices, believed to be from South America. Actually, it was interesting and I did become absorbed. I continued to read the entire article, checking frequently for Corky. The article did not reveal how the DEA got wind of the drugs in the first place.
I saw Corky as soon as she passed through security. In her tight-fitting blue jeans, tennis shoes and blue Alaska tee shirt, she blended in nicely with hundreds of other travelers. She carried her suitcase and a large purse. We had agreed each would carry his or her own luggage so there would be no delay when we arrived in Anchorage.
She started toward the gate, saw something that disturbed her and made a quick detour into the women’s rest room, a look of concern on her previously smiling face. After several minutes, she had not returned.
The perky young lady in the sharp airline uniform announced “Flight 1821 is ready for boarding. This is first call for First Class passengers, parents traveling with small children and anyone needing additional time.”
After dumping my empty can in the nearest trash receptacle, I headed toward the side-by-side rest rooms, entering the door marked “Men” and darting out almost immediately. As I passed “Ladies,” I caught a glimpse of Corky coming out. She stayed behind me.
“Please check the number of your boarding pass. We’re now boarding Group 1. If you have Group 1 on your boarding pass, please come to the gate now.”
Corky checked her boarding pass. “I have Group 2,” she said to the lady standing next to her, just loud enough for me to hear. “We’re next,” she bubbled. The target of her enthusiasm scowled and tried hard to ignore her. They called Group 2. She moved into the boarding line, grinned broadly at her victim, who stepped out of line to let Corky go in front, the scowl seemingly imprinted on her otherwise pretty face. Still, no one jumped out. I watched as she disappeared into the walkway.
The group remaining diminished. I noticed two men in expensive-looking dark business suits who seemed to be paying close attention to everyone who was boarding. They had not shown any exceptional interest in Corky. I was watching them so intently that when one turned toward me, I froze, blinked, but didn’t dare turn away. He looked me over carefully, making no attempt to disguise his interest, whispered something to his equally broad-shouldered expensively-dressed companion, who glanced furtively in my direction, then they both turned their backs to me. Were they just feigning a lack of interest to throw me off my guard? My first reaction was, unless they were law enforcement, they didn’t have guns, in that they would have had to come through security too. But then, just to make sure I didn’t get overconfident, I remembered reading a recent review that had revealed several weapons made it through security checkpoints every week.
I waited uncomfortably for my number to be called. It was a puzzle how they assigned those group numbers. My ticket had been purchased before Corky’s, but she ended up boarding before me. My group was finally called, and I quickly moved into the line. Before the agent took my ticket, I turned to see the two men leaving the boarding area, talking excitedly on their expensive-looking cell phones.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered under my breath, thinking. Well, it’s too late to get off this plane, so we’ll just have to deal with whatever is coming when we land.
As soon as the Captain turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, I headed to the lavatory past Corky, who was seated several rows behind me; caught her eye and nodded my head ever so slightly for her to follow.
As we stood waiting for the restroom to become vacant, I smiled, hoping anyone watching would think we were just two passengers chatting as they waited in line to pee. I spoke quietly. “Two guys at the gate may have recognized me. They were in the boarding area, but they didn’t get on the plane. I saw them talking on their cell phones and they seemed very excited, like they had found who they were looking for.”
“I saw them when I arrived. That’s why I ducked into the restroom. I didn’t know who, but it was clear they were looking for someone,” Corky whispered, just before slipping into the first available toilet.
After I returned to my seat, my anxiety level increased with every passing minute. As the plane started its descent three hours later, I still hadn’t a clue what I could do. I couldn’t hide in the bathroom and there was no back door exit. I’d seen movies where terrorists were able to drop down into the cargo area of a plane, but I certainly didn’t see any entry. Perhaps it would be best to be one of the last to exit, so as not to put others in danger.
Shortly before the plane landed, the senior stewardess spoke over the public address system. “We have been asked to make the following announcement. Please remain seated when the plane comes to a stop. We are being directed to another area in the airport, and some law enforcement officers will be boarding, so please remain seated.”
I noted the words, “law enforcement.” I doubted that I had done anything bad enough to cause law enforcement to board an airplane to haul me off, even if Captain What’s-his-name had put out an arrest warrant for me. But the killers could easily have disguised themselves. Or, the thought just occurred to me that maybe Corky was wanted for questioning related to Charley’s death. The newspaper article said authorities were trying to locate her. But the men in L.A. hadn’t paid her any attention and really appeared to be checking out only the men.
The plane’s door was opened. Two men, looking like they may have been cut from the same mold as those two in L.A., boarded the plane. One stopped right next to me; the other stayed in the front of the plane by the door.
“What the Hell?” I asked, looking up. I wasn’t going to go willingly until I knew what was going on.
The man looked at me stoically and motio
ned, “Will you please get up?” He was very polite. That certainly didn’t make me feel any better! By now my knees were shaking. But I did as I was told. How do I get out of this mess? Should I make a scene, accuse these guys of being killers? If I did that, at least the crew would have to do some checking–wouldn’t they?
Before I could engage in any attention-getting actions, the polite broad-shouldered man moved aside slightly and pointed toward the back. “Please move behind me,” the man directed. What the hell?
He then leaned over and spoke to the man who had been sitting next to me. “Mr. Joslin, please come with me.”
The man’s head dropped but he stood up. As he moved out into the aisle, he made a run for it, only to be cold-cocked by the officer who had remained up by the door. The officer standing in front of me quickly ran forward. Together they roughly lifted Mr. Joslin to his feet, placed him in handcuffs and led him down the stairs. Oddly, a few passengers clapped, as if it had been an entertaining show.
My legs were too weak and shaky to hold me up any longer. I collapsed back into my seat, audibly exhaling a tension-filled lung of air.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience. We have now been cleared to move to the arrival gate. This should take only a few minutes. We appreciate your patience. Welcome to Anchorage, where the outside temperature is a mild 58 degrees.”
CHAPTER XX
Saturday, Anchorage
As I deplaned, I looked around for anyone or anything suspicious. When Corky came off the plane, I joined her. “Other than needing to change my pants over that little incident on the plane, I don’t think anybody found us the slightest bit interesting or worth following. Let’s go see if Hennie left us a message.”
We went to the counter at the arrival gate. “Do you have a message for Dr. Malcolm Gregory?” I asked the perky attendant. Perky was obviously a job requirement.
“Let me check, Dr. Gregory,” she smiled, displaying a perfect set of very white teeth, another common trait shared with the stewardesses on our flight. “We actually do have a note for you.”
“Thanks.” I returned her friendly greeting as I accepted the note she handed me. Hennie’s message was brief. “Sheraton Anchorage, 401 E. 6th. Rm 801. You’re already registered. Grab a cab.” We did.
Hennie opened the door when we knocked on Room 801. He greeted us cheerfully, but his message was brief. “Here’s your keys, I’m next door. I have dinner reservations in the hotel dining room for 7:30, so settle in. I’ll give you a knock about twenty after. And I already have some interesting information to share, but it can wait until dinner.”
We settled into the nicest hotel we had stayed in since starting out on this little adventure. “That little episode with those two lawmen almost did me in,” I admitted, still feeling a tad wobbly. “I really thought they were the thugs who were after us and I couldn’t figure out how I was going to stop them. They had us surrounded. I felt like General Custer must have, wondering where all those damn Indians came from.”
Corky snickered at my lame attempt at humor and, recognizing my ongoing distress, wrapped her arms around me. It helped. “Honey, I know. I was about to rush up the aisle and tackle the guy myself. That would have at least got the attention of the crew, whether or not we could have talked our way out of it since they seemed to have valid credentials. I wasn’t going to just let them kidnap you off that plane.”
I couldn’t help laughing at the image of this little pint-sized woman jumping up on the back of a six-foot 200-plus pound purported law official. I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed. “I need something to relax me.”
“And I have just the remedy,” she cooed, removing my shirt. Then, instead of what I was expecting, she started rubbing my neck and upper back muscles. Oh, well, that worked too; actually, given how tense I had been, it worked exceedingly well.
*
We were dressed in our best when Hennie knocked on the door. I wore my last clean shirt. I’d need to use the laundry facilities at this hotel. Corky had added a colorful shawl over her very versatile black dress. We silently rode the elevator down to the main floor and continued our same quiet but still-on-alert demeanor as we walked past several shops displaying fancy, and no doubt expensive, goods, until we arrived at the entrance to the main dining room.
“Reservations for three in the name of Sandusky,” Hennie announced to the maître d’. Both Corky and I did a double take. Hennie winked, “Charley wasn’t the only one who could come up with fake identities.” He chuckled. “I’d like to remain dead to whoever is chasing us as long as possible.”
We were seated toward the back, in a dark, secluded alcove. Hennie, who seemed to be running the show at this point, suggested, “Let’s order and then I’ll bring you up-to-date on what I found out.” He turned even more serious. “I know I’ve said this before, but it really bothers me that someone wants me dead and I haven’t a clue who or why! I’m not sure what to do to protect myself from a ghost.”
“Ditto.” I nodded my head in agreement. “I don’t like looking over my shoulder all the time either.”
Corky picked up the menu, “Come on, guys. Don’t be grumps. Not tonight. I’ve never been to Alaska. How about throwing in a little vacation time with the work.”
“You’re absolutely right, Corky. We might as well make this a fun trip. Even if it’s the last thing we do,” I added facetiously. She kicked my shin with the pointy toe of her shoe. I checked out the menu, “I’m going to splurge. The Alaskan Cod sounds great. Corky, what looks good to you?”
“I was thinking about the Seafood Salad,” she furrowed her brow, “but I think you’ve got a good idea; I’ll have the same thing.” I must have looked a little startled. “I’m not a total vegetarian,” she explained. “I’ll try other things once in a while. But it helps me keep my school-girl figure!” She wiggled her perfectly lovely body and winked at me provocatively. I had to admit, it–or something–sure did.
Once the server brought the bottle of wine Hennie had ordered, he became talkative. “Okay, here’s some of the things I learned. First it looks like TINMAN has the inside track on the dam at Susitna when they get their final approvals. The company has apparently brought in some guy from somewhere down in South America to run the bidding and then the construction phase. Right now, they have an office in a little town up the road, Talkeetna…or something like that. We can go up there and nose around if you want to.”
A troublesome thought popped up and planted itself in the back of my fertile conspiracy-theory mind. “Do you know the name of the guy from South America?”
“No, that’s all I got. Then, there’s this environmental group. I think they’re called the Ecofreaks.”
Corky grabbed my hand under the table.
Hennie continued, “I understand the manager of that combo is one of the militant leaders of the environmental opposition to the dam, and despite most of the government agencies supporting it, the environmentalists are still vigorously fighting the construction.”
Corky, wide-eyed with excitement, asked, “Are the Ecofreaks appearing here? I saw their very first show, and I’d love to see them again.”
“Well, they’re performing tomorrow night at the Palladium. It’s a small music hall about five miles from here. I rented a car, and you’re welcome to use it to get around. I find out more sitting on a bar stool in certain areas and just listening.”
Hennie was more of a spy spook than I would have suspected, and it gave me a new perspective on him. And a new respect. I was beginning to understand why Charley valued him so. He recognized the talent hiding under that mild-mannered, unpretentious exterior. But I’d been dying to ask him about that stuff he wrote on the wall.
““Hennie,” I plowed in, “when you were being escorted out of the restaurant, I picked up on your comments about interesting things being found on shit-house walls. And I found that “map” you drew in McCafferty’s john. What in the hell were you trying t
o pass along?”
Hennie uttered an almost inaudible snort, and I could see what I would best describe as a self-satisfied grin. “I hoped you’d see through my little charade and get the message.”
“You mean you weren’t drunk as a skunk?” He shook his head. “Well, dammit to hell, that was an Oscar-winning performance if I ever saw one. But why all the subterfuge? Even with Leonard?”
“I’m not sure how much I trust Leonard, and that goon driver of his scares the shit out of me. I simply wasn’t sure I was going to make it to another day, and I wanted to pass that along in case anything happened to me.”
“Pass along what exactly?”
“Damned if I know. I saw that one day on Charley’s desk when I was waiting for him to meet with me on a project. I studied it, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what it was. When Charley came into the room, he quickly closed the file and seemed almost angry with me. He said ‘Forget you saw that, and don’t ask any questions.’ So I didn’t ask any questions, but I didn’t forget it. After he was murdered, I figured that drawing might have had something to do with it””
He paused, pursed his lips together, and took another sip from his wine glass, “I just wish I had probed a little harder before. Best I could figure was that the curved line must have been a river, the two horizontal lines were the outer boundaries of the area, and the ‘no dam’ notation probably was intended to convey that this wasn’t where the dam was going. That’s the best I’ve been able to come up with, but I haven’t the slightest clue where it is, or if that’s even what it depicts.” He lowered his head, then shook it sadly.
Corky broke the uncomfortable silence. “Greg, I want to go to the Ecofreaks concert. Hennie, do you know where can I get tickets?”
“Front desk of the hotel. Concierge. They can get them for you, just tell them how many and when.”
“Okay, I’m not into that kind of music, but I’ve got to see if this dame looks like the one I saw walking away from my porch…the one that killed Darwin. So I’ll go too. But, just to be safe, I don’t think we should go together. Let’s buy our tickets separately, so we aren’t sitting next to each other. Corky, you take the car, and I’ll take a cab, and we’ll just see how it plays out.”
