by Levi, Steve;
Because the population was so concentrated, Anchorage had the feel of a small town. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. The best stories never made it into the newspaper but everything else did. Whether it is a cotillion at the high school, a murder on the military base or what’s being served for lunch at each elementary school, the Anchorage newspapers covered it all. Unicorn 739 moved everything out of the papers, thin as they were, until they were running nothing but passenger relative profiles and the comics.
The extortion of Unicorn Airlines wasn’t just big news for a city like Anchorage. It was big news worldwide and it stopped the city cold. One concourse of the airport was completely shut down and the other three were staggering flights around the clock. There were quarter-hour updates on radio stations across the country and minute-by-minute in Anchorage. Freelance journalists and every lookie-loo within 50 miles were at the airport or on their way. Both military bases were on alert and Kulis National Guard Base, just off the runway of the Anchorage Airport was set up as a command post for the Anchorage Police.
For the moment there was not much Noonan could do. He had no trouble dodging the press because they – individually and collectively – did not know who he was – or knew he didn’t know anything more than was being given out at the makeshift press conference. Or they didn’t care. Maneuvering himself away from the end of Concourse A he meandered down to the Mezzanine Plaza where the four concourse wings of the airport merged.
The upgraded airport was actually not very large. Compared to a Denver, Atlanta or Miami it was positively small. It was large enough for Anchorage which saw the bulk of its passengers from May 15th to September 15th and spent the rest of the year as a regional cargo hub. This was clear from the large cargo area, which was conveniently situated at the western end of the airport.
The airport itself was cleverly designed for the tourist traffic. The massive windows stretching the length of the structure faced due south to gather every ray of sunlight possible: during the summer to remind the tourists this was the Land of the Midnight Sun and during the winter to remind Alaskans there was a sun. Concourse A and B stretched in a straight line, from the cargo holding area to the frontage road with offices of the air carriers on the east. Concourse C, dedicated to bush travel and cargo operations, ran at an oblique angle to the north northwest. It had a western exposure, looking across a runway toward the sewage treatment plant barely visible through the trees and set against the stunning landscape of Mt. Susitna just across Cook Inlet. The last concourse was the international wing, which was isolated from the rest of the airport by a quarter mile of roadway and parking lot asphalt. Noonan knew the international wing was by far the largest of the concourses because Anchorage was an international hub for FedEx, among others cargo transport services. Anchorage landed more cargo daily than LAX and Kennedy combined. He knew because his wife kept telling him whenever he said Anchorage had a “small town feel.”
With the exception of the international wing, the concourses were on the second floor. The ground floor was dedicated to baggage handling and operations. This made sense as it put the tourists a good dozen feet off the level of the runway and gave them a better view of the Chugach Mountains to the east of the airport. Once again, the design of the airport was to impress travelers that Alaska was a beautiful land – at least during the summer – and well worthy of another trip north sometime soon.
Tourism was one of the largest industries in the state. Alaskans, however, were schizophrenic when it came to tourists. On one hand they appreciated the dollars which cycled through their community from the incoming hordes. On the other hand, they were appalled at the absolute ignorance of the travelers. Some tourists actually believed Alaska had six months of unbroken sunshine followed instantaneously by another six months of pitch darkness. It was not unusual for people from the Lower 48 to ask where they could see a penguin, why Alaskans did not live in igloos and if Eskimos really did buy refrigerators. Alaskans generally and Anchorage-ites in particular usually welcomed the tourists in the early weeks of the summer with open arms. By September the attitude was “Welcome to Alaska; now go home.”
Noonan had nothing better to do than wander the airport, which was a better option than returning to the conversational desert of his mother-in-law. So he wandered. Even though there was a strong contingent of Alaska State Troopers in the terminals, no one bothered him. At least not until he headed downstairs to the cargo area. There he was stopped.
“Sorry, this is a restricted area,” a squat trooper said. “You’ll have to go back upstairs.” Noonan handed the guard the pass Ayanna had given him. The trooper kind of scoffed at it. “This isn’t any good today. You’ll have to go back upstairs.”
Back upstairs Noonan got clearance and then it was back downstairs.
“Can I get in now?”
The trooper kind of grunted but insisted he have an escort. So there went about ten minutes of his life. Then the trooper checked his credentials again. Then he called upstairs for confirmation. When Noonan showed him his Sandersonville Chief of Detectives’ badge the trooper just smiled. “My ex-wife is back in North Carolina. One very big reason I’m in Alaska. Best way to have it.”
After another good half-an-hour of waiting, a young man in a poorly fitting uniform showed up. It was an Anchorage International Airport uniform, one used by service personnel, not law enforcement. He was young enough to be Noonan’s son and sauntered more than walked. He had the look of a man who was saying to himself what am I doing here and why? He checked in with the trooper who checked his credentials as well.
“This is your escort,” said the trooper curtly to Noonan. “Don’t touch anything.”
Noonan wasn’t sure what it was he was going to touch. The cargo floor of an airport is not like a china shop where you could pick up and examine merchandise. The irony of the remark did not seem to bother the trooper. He didn’t smile; he just turned away.
“Noonan,” said Heinz as he extended his hand toward the young man in the ill-fitting uniform. “Heinz Noonan. Call me Heinz.”
The young man took his hand. “Dabney the Dogman.
“Dabney the Dogman? Not your real name, right?”
“Nope. I’m the dog man around here. So I’m Dabney the Dog Man. Doesn’t bother me. I’m employed.”
“Good for you,” Noonan chuckled. “Not a lot of call for a drug sniffing dog today, eh?”
Dabney kind of shook his head. “You got it right. Half the airport’s closed down. No incoming flights to this concourse and I don’t scan outgoing. So I’m your escort.” He smiled. “What would you like to see, Mr. Noonan?” Dabney took a close look at Noonan’s pass. Noonan hated the term “Mr. Noonan.” “Mr. Noonan” was his father; he was Heinz.
“Well, why don’t we take a walk around the area, son.” The “son” was said with a jab. If he was going to be “Mr. Noonan” even after he told this whippersnapper to call him Heinz, Dabney might as well be “Son.”
“Whatever you want, sir.” The “sir” grated too.
“Why don’t you just call me, Heinz? OK?”
“Sure thing, sir.”
Noonan shook his head sadly. “Do you work for the Anchorage International Airport, the Anchorage Police or are you a private contractor?”
“I work for everyone – including the federal government and the State of Alaska. Just depends what I’m doing at the moment. I’m assigned to the airport to work with its security force. Since I have to go into the international wing a lot, I need clearance there. So I’d guess you’d say I work for everyone. I don’t handle the paperwork; just the dogs.”
“Good for you,” Noonan said. “As long as everyone pays you. I’d like to see the underside of Unicorn 739.”
“It’s a quite a walk from here. Are you up to it, sir?” Noonan glared at the young man who instantly got the message. “I see your point,” he said quickly as he pointed to the east. “Right this way, sir.”
Far from being a
labyrinth of belts, storage bins and luggage channels, the ground floor was more of a long garage. Baggage wagons were driven into the building and up to any one of the six belt systems. The luggage was then lifted out of the wagons by hand and placed onto the moving belts. When the wagons were empty, they were parked in a holding area to the rear of the belt system. If the gate was not in use, the sliding doors were closed. There wasn’t a lot of activity on this day but Noonan was sure when the concourse was open for business it was like a beehive.
“How soon before a plane lands do you open the gateway doors,” Noonan asked.
“Depends,” Dabney said. “During the winter when it’s cold the gate is only opened at the last possible moment. This time of year the gates stay open pretty much around the clock. No real reason to keep the doors closed.”
“Doesn’t that make it headache for security?”
“Not so far. In addition to the people on the ground we also have security cameras inside the building, on the outer wall and overlooking the entrances,” he said as he pointed up onto the wall. “No one’s slipped through our system yet.”
“As far as you know.”
“The only person who may have eluded the cameras,” the young man said as he emphasized the word may, “was the pilot of Unicorn 739.” He gave a pause and then said “if he came through the baggage area.”
“You think he didn’t?”
Dabney looked at Noonan with a look of skepticism. He was silent for a moment and then said, “I don’t know. Everyone in security has looked over all of the camera footage and we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in those critical five or six minutes. I mean nothing. No one. Nothing. We accounted for everybody, and I mean every body. . .”
“What do you mean by every body?”
“There were two corpses in coffins and we even checked those out too. Popped the coffins open to make sure the bodies inside were dead and the paperwork matched.”
“Did it?”
“Absolutely. Just because we’re Alaskans doesn’t mean we do slipshod work. Everyone here went over those tapes. And over them again. No one saw anything unusual. No cargo or luggage came off the plane so there was no way to smuggle anyone into the building with the offload.”
“Maybe the pilot didn’t get off.”
“Then he’s really well hidden. I went through with a dog twice and didn’t find diddly. No bodies, not drugs.”
“Does the dog know to look for live bodies? I mean, I thought dogs were only sniffing for drugs. Cadaver dogs only look for cadavers. How do you get a dog to look for real people,” Noonan asked. “I mean live people.”
Dabney smiled. “Dogs aren’t like machines, sir.” (There was sir again.) “They are attuned to everything. Yes, drugs are the Number One item of interest. If the dogs find something suspicious, like a human hiding in a box, they will sit next to the box to indicate something is not right. They’d sit and wait for me to say it’s OK to go on.” Dabney shook his finger at Noonan in friendly admonition. “Dogs did not find anything suspicious so I’m willing to say no one was onboard, living or dead.”
“Well, if the pilot’s not on the plane and you didn’t see her get off, where is she?”
“Didn’t know it was a she. You sure?”
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason. Just most of the pilots are men.”
“This one wasn’t. If the pilot’s not on the plane and you didn’t see her get off, where is she?”
“That’s not what you originally implied, sir. You originally implied our security arrangements are less than standard and somehow the pilot slipped through our security net unobserved.”
“Well, I didn’t mean. . .”
“It’s OK. Everyone’s taking heat on this one so I can understand how you feel. Cop to cop, there’s not a single shred of evidence a woman came through the baggage area. She’s not on the plane either.”
“Then where do you think she is?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Dabney said “Well, there are a lot of theories.”
“Give me one or two.”
Dabney looked in the direction of the 737, as if he could see it through the wall of the cargo bay. “Getting out of the plane would not have been hard. There are a whole bunch of ways depending on how small you are and how much squeezing you want to do. Once on the ground there’s the question of avoiding the cameras. Now there’s where the pilot’s got a problem. The instant she steps out from under the plane in any direction, the cameras are going to spot her – and we didn’t see so much as a shadow under the plane.”
“So she didn’t go out from under the plane.”
“It’s one of the theories. The best bet we have is she just waited until the hubbub started and then walked out dressed as airport security. There were enough people running in and out of the plane she could have easily slipped into the crowd. It’s easy to keep track of people on the cameras in the baggage loading areas but out there when the plane was being mobbed by our people, well, there were just too many people. At best she would only have been on the camera for two or three seconds. If she had on a uniform, we’d never have spotted her.”
“Two or three seconds? That’s not very long.”
“Right. The entrance to the security area is right across from the gateway. There were security people scrambling back and forth the whole time. If the pilot kept her head down and walked from the plane to the security door, she’d of been in and out of the camera’s eye in a half dozen steps. Then, poof, she’s gone.”
“Did you actually look over the footage?”
“Yup. We all did. And we saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sure there were a lot of people and security people running around but we didn’t see anyone we couldn’t identify. Then again, the pictures on those security cameras are not very good.”
“Where do you think the pilot is?”
“If I knew, I’d be the Chief of Detectives. That’s your title, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know where the pilot is either so I guess neither of us should have the job.”
They both laughed.
Noonan and Dabney spent a few more minutes poking around the cargo bay. To Noonan it looked just like a storage area except all of the material to be stored was out in the open. There was not any luggage because all of it had been dispensed to the passengers. What was left was cargo stacked for flights yet to leave. It was orderly but still out in the open.
Noonan wandered about the piles of crates occasionally looking at a label or packing slip. When he was finished looking around he indicated with a point of his index finger he wanted to go outside of the cargo bay. Dabney, who had been leaning against a pile of crates, nodded his assent and the two of them stepped out of the cargo bay into the sunshine. Then they proceeded down the apron to the 737. Dabney waved the security men aside before they got out of their cars.
Arriving at the parked aircraft, Noonan walked under the plane where he did an intensive examination of the belly of Unicorn 739. He knew next to nothing about airplanes and didn’t really know what he was supposed to see–or if what he saw was suspicious. What he saw was pretty much the same thing anyone else would see whether they were an aviation specialist or a bagel maker. It just like the belly of any other plane of similar size and even after the three possible exit routes were pointed out, Noonan couldn’t see how the pilot could have used any of them. To have stayed out of the camera’s view the woman had to have been a magician.
Maybe she was, Noonan mused aloud.
“Nope,” replied the guide. “She landed the plane and she got off the plane. She was just a little cleverer than we are. All she needed were a few seconds and she got ‘em. It may take us a day or two but we’ll figure it out.”
“I like your attitude,” Noonan said as he pointed at the sliding doors of the gateway entrance to the cargo garage and then down the length of the building. “When Unicorn 739 landed, were all of these gateway doors were open?”
<
br /> “Probably. I can check if you want.”
“Please. I notice the airliner is situated immediately underneath the camera.” Noonan pointed up to the security camera. “Actually there are two cameras, both pointed in opposite directions. Is there a blind spot immediately beneath the camera? Maybe our pilot didn’t exit the plane from beneath it but went over the top.”
“Good guess.” Dabney scratched his head. “I don’t recall there being a blind spot there but I’ll check with security. Even if there was a blind spot immediately under the camera, where could our pilot go? If she tried to scale the building she’d of been picked up by one of the other cameras. She couldn’t stay there or we would have spotted him. Her.”
Noonan nodded his head. Then he walked out from beneath the airliner and onto the landing apron.
“Don’t go too far out there,” the guide warned. “Got lots of activity and I’d hate to see you get run over.”
“Oh, I’m as far out as I’m going to be,” Noonan responded as he looked down the length of the building. “It looks like there’s a lot of repair work going on.” He pointed to several of the window frames covered with plastic sheeting rather than glass. There were ramps beneath the frames with the logo and name of the Anchorage Glass Replacement Company boldly emblazoned on the side. Further up the building, strategically placed so it would not block any tourists view of the Chugach Range was a construction chute which ended in a dumpster at ground level.
“There’s always repair work going on,” said Dabney. “We have to do the outside repair work during the summer because, well, winters get real cold up here.”
“Really,” Noonan said in mock surprise. “I hear a lot of people say so (a slight pause) up here.” He turned around and then looked across the runway, south. “What’s over there?” He pointed to the far side of the runway where trees could be seen edging up against the cyclone fence dividing the airport from the forest. A line of tents was going up.
Dabney shaded his eyes as he looked south. “Other than those reporters setting up, not much. The airport shares the end of a peninsula with a large park, Kincaid Park. There’s a cyclone fence dividing the two but once you get to the other side there’s nothing between you and Cook Inlet but about two miles of wilderness.”
