by Tom Hron
“Have you figured out what happened? I see you found a pack.”
His partner had exceptional eyesight and was an old hand at picking up the pieces of disaster. Working together, they’d recovered wrecked airplanes and helicopters, found lost hikers, and gathered the scattered bones of unlucky adventurers for years. It had become a way of life for them, but at times not a very pleasant one. Alaska was an unforgiving place.
“They made the usual mistake. A couple weeks ago a grizzly killed a cow moose and her calf, then covered what it couldn’t eat at first. A few days later the Faircloths came along, but instead of staying up high where they could see ahead, they walked right through this brush. I found a police whistle they were using, but all that did was piss off the bear and let him get ready. When in hell will people ever learn?” Shaking his head, Simon continued drifting left and right, gazing steadily at the ground.
“Is there much left of the two moose? Looks like more than one bear has been here.”
“No, just some bones and guts, which is why it still stinks so much around here. The bear you chased off is only one of a half dozen that might have killed them. There are at least—”
Suddenly, Simon stopped, picked up something bright still fastened to a little yellow bone, and let out a low whistle. “God . . . what an awful sight, but amazing as well. Look at the size of the diamond in this ring.”
“For crying out loud, clean it up and don’t tell Molly what it looked like if she asks.” Jake stepped up to Simon’s side and watched him wiggle the bone and blackened bits of human flesh out of the band. Finally, the wedding ring was clean.
“Keep looking,” he added, “and I’ll walk over and give this to her. She looks so sad right now it breaks my heart, but we need to get this over with. Follow me if you find anything else.” Jake walked toward their client, who looked a little better now. When he reached her side, he sat on the same boulder and gave her the ring.
“Simon found this . . . must have fallen out of a pocket.”
She clutched the wedding band in her hands and stared at Foggytop Mountain, tears running down her sunlit cheeks. She moaned and bit her lip. “Thank—thank you,” she said. “I’ll give this to my grandson when he gets older. It will mean a lot—”
“Is there something else you want us to find? I’ll go back and help.”
“No, and please stay here because I want to keep my mind off how awful I feel. My son’s backpack is the only thing missing now. I hope Simon finds it. He seems so strong in the worst of times.”
“He’s lived in Alaska a long time,” said Jake. “I suspect he was in the Special Forces and flew secret missions by what he has told me, but he never says much about his past. I think he was in Afghanistan after the Russians bailed out of there, but who knows.
“There’s not many like him. He’s the last true wanderer I know, and the only nonperson I know as well. He doesn’t have a driver’s license or social security number that I know of, won’t work unless he’s paid in cash, and usually rides a racing bike around town. He’s a great pilot and fully trustworthy whenever I need him, and I love him like a brother.”
“Where are you from? You look younger than him, and have you lived in Alaska as long?”
“No, I came up from Minnesota after flying in the Iraq War.” He remembered his own past and the horror of seeing friends shot down, some never coming back, or they were crippled for life if they had. He had searched for a new home, and Alaska had seemed like heaven.
Molly’s voice stirred him from his bad memories. “You’ve done well since moving here. Your helicopter must be worth a half-million dollars.”
“It’s not mine, and I rented it from a friend so I could come up here. Years ago I had a little money, but not now. Simon and I struggle to make ends meet, and we haven’t had any money for a long time. Alaskans have an old saying, ‘Please God, one more oil spill, and this time we won’t piss it away.’ I suppose the old shoe fits . . .” Once more, he felt anxiety creeping around inside. His luck hadn’t been good for a long time, despite his hard work, and maybe he should try flying for the airlines.
“Jake, I have more money than you can imagine, and what good has it done me? All I have left in the world is my grandson. My husband, bless him, died years ago because he wouldn’t stop working day and night. Now I’ve lost my only child and his wife as well. Give me back my family and I’ll give you everything I have. Money means nothing without—” She starting sobbing again.
He reached over and held her, rocking her like a child. Suddenly, he felt the weight of her sorrow and the humiliation of wasting time feeling sorry for himself. Simon and he had full lives and were living in the best place in the world. They had great lives and good health, so what more could they want.
He gazed at the clear blue sky, snowcapped peaks, and red tundra, colored by the first frosts of fall. His own eyes grew moist, mostly because of Molly’s deep sorrow, but also because the Brooks Range was almost too beautiful to believe. Godlike beams brightened the mountaintops in every direction.
Finally, he felt her stop crying, and then he saw Simon walking toward them, carrying the last backpack. It looked weather-beaten and bloodstained as well . . . and now he wished his friend wasn’t so good at finding things, but at least it was time to go.
They had almost gotten back to the helicopter when he heard a single-engine Cessna coming over the horizon from the south, the direction of the frontier village of Bettles. He had worked around airplanes all his life—Beechcrafts, Cessnas, Pipers—and knew their noisy sounds by heart. The National Park Service was looking for them, apparently because someone had complained about their mercy trip and turned them in.
“Molly, we need to run,” he said. “We got to get out of here.”
Instantly, her face whitened. “What’s wrong—is a bear coming back?” She started running.
“No, but the Park Service will arrest us if they find us. We weren’t supposed to come here and get back your things. This is national park and private helicopters are illegal.”
“How was I to recover my family’s personal things, let alone see where they were killed? Didn’t you ask permission?”
“I begged them, but it didn’t do any good.”
“What will they do if they catch us? I can’t believe we’ve broken any laws.”
“They’ll confiscate my friend’s helicopter and keep it for themselves, then try bankrupting us with fines, court costs, and high-priced lawyers. They’ve done that to lots of people before.”
He climbed into the pilot’s door the moment he reached the McDonnell Douglas, hit the battery and start switches, and watched Simon and Molly jump in as well. The turbine engine and main rotor blades started spinning fast enough for takeoff. He raised the collective and the helicopter lifted off.
Zoom! He felt the helicopter shudder as an airplane shot past a few feet away. Christ, was the pilot trying to kill everybody?
He lowered the nose of the helicopter and watched it accelerate to top speed. He glimpsed a red and white Cessna banking around to chase them. He kept the 500E low, fast, and heading north in a narrow valley. Although he knew the Cessna was fifteen knots faster in level flight, the McDonnell Douglas had an advantage of its own. It could climb 2,000 feet a minute, twice as fast as any single-engine airplane.
He clicked the intercom bottom on the cyclic control. “Molly, can you stand a little excitement? I want to lose the pilot who’s chasing us. You can’t see him but he’s right on our tail.”
“This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life. Do whatever you want— ” Her voice cut away.
He glanced at the copilot side and saw Simon grinning. His friend knew what was coming after the mountains got higher and the valley narrowed even more.
After taking a deep breath, he thumbed the intercom again. “Simon, dig out the FM scanner and listen to what they’re saying. I bet they have the Fairbanks’ office all excited by now.”
He watched his friend sort through the knapsack they always carried and pull out a small black radio and a set of headphones. They loved electronics . . . any new gadget that helped them get an edge. Sometimes their very lives depended on those high-tech devices, like GPS, the global satellite system that had changed the world of flying. Now a pilot always knew his exact position, speed, and distance.
At last Simon answered on the intercom, “They have our N-number and are checking with the FAA Registry in Oklahoma City. There are two on board and they don’t understand why we’re heading north.”
Moments later, Jake saw the mountains get closer on each side of him and soar toward the sun. The time had come! He hit the intercom button again. “Hang on and don’t panic, because I’m stopping this thing midair. The Cessna pilot will turn left and climb when he goes by, trying to keep us in sight, but he’ll scare himself silly in these mountains. By the time he gets leveled off and gets over nearly committing suicide, we’ll be long gone.”
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.
