by Bill Bernico
From the corner of his eye, Clay caught some movement through the broken cockpit window and quickly looked up. Whatever had been moving out there was gone. He quickly returned to the coach compartment and stepped outside to grab another handful of wood for the fire. There was the movement again. Clay ducked back inside, threw the wood on the fire and pulled his .38 out from under his arm just as the gray and black head entered the plane. Clay fired twice and the wolf dropped at his feet. Clay had managed to hit the beast once in the chest and once between the eyes. It was most certainly dead.
The blankets parted and Bonnie looked out onto the scene and gasped. “Oh gees,” she said. “Do you think there are any more of them out there?”
“They don’t live alone,” Clay said, stepping over the wolf’s carcass to the outside. He grabbed the animal by its tail and dragged it away from the plane. “We’re going to have to get that snow piled back up in front of the opening again and quickly.”
“Won’t it just melt again from the fire?” Bonnie said.
Clay paused and thought for a moment. “Well then let’s just hope that those six bodies out there will keep any other wolves occupied and they won’t come in here looking for us,” Clay said.
“Oh, Clay,” Bonnie whimpered, “I’m really scared now.”
“Try to stay calm,” Clay told her. “We have to keep our heads if we want to get through this in one piece. Let me think for a minute.”
Clay turned and held his hands out toward the fire. The warmth felt good and he turned away from the fire, warming his backside as well. The two of them remained silent for more than twenty minutes. Clay was all out of ideas. “I’m getting hungry,” Clay told Bonnie. “How about you break out some more of those chocolates?” They each had two more pieces and sat enjoying the fire for the next hour, occasionally checking outside for any more wolves and finding none.
Clay’s eyes lit up and he turned to Bonnie. “What if we…” His words were cut short by another sound coming from outside. He couldn’t see anything out either side of the plane and turned toward the cockpit. There was definitely something moving out there. He waited and kept watching. After a moment he smiled and turned to Bonnie.
“What is it?” she said.
“It’s a man on horseback,” Clay said and he’s coming this way. “They found us.” He looked again at the figure on horseback, trying to make out any details. Bonnie took a step toward the opening before Clay stopped her. “Wait a minute, Bonnie. What if it’s not one of the rescuers but someone looking for their cocaine? We have to be careful about what we say. Let me feel him out first.”
Bonnie nodded. “Don’t take any chances, Clay,” she said.
A few minutes later the man and the horse stopped outside the wrecked plane. The man stepped down off the horse and began walking toward the opening in the plane’s body. Clay exited the plane and met him next to the row of dead bodies laid out next to the plane. The man looked up in surprise when he saw Clay.
“You startled me,” the man said. “I didn’t know there were any survivors.”
“Are you with the rescue team?” Clay said.
“Paul Mansfield,” the man said, extending his hand.
“Clay Cooper,” Clay said and shook Mansfield’s hand. He looked behind Mansfield’s horse and then turned back to the man. “Where are the other searchers?”
“They’re coming from all different directions,” Mansfield said and then looked down at the row of dead bodies. “Is this everyone?”
Clay nodded. “We skidded into that large pine tree,” he said, pointing to the tree that the plane’s nose was wrapped around. Clay pointed to the last body in the row. “This one’s the pilot. The branch that came through the windshield took his head off, poor devil.”
Mansfield counted the six bodies and then looked at Clay. “So there were six passengers, counting you?”
“Seven,” Clay said and turned toward the plane. “Bonnie would you come out here?”
Bonnie emerged from the plane and looked at Mansfield and then at Clay.
“Bonnie,” Clay said, gesturing toward Mansfield with his chin. “This is Paul Mansfield. He’s part of the search party.”
Bonnie let out a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Mansfield,” Bonnie said. “We weren’t sure we’d ever be found. How did you find us?”
“The transponder in the plane led me right to you,” Mansfield said. He pulled a small electronic device from his pocket and looked at the display screen. It was still beeping and from the look on his face he was a bit puzzled. He looked at Clay. “Is the instrument panel still intact?”
An alarm went off in Clay’s head. He knew that the transponder had been smashed upon impact and wasn’t working. Then it dawned on him that there must have been some sort of homing device in with the cocaine and that’s what Mansfield was tracking. Clay turned to Mansfield. “Come on in here and check your device against the transponder. It’s still in the dash.”
Paul Mansfield stepped past Clay and into the plane. Clay shot a glance at Bonnie and motioned for her to stay outside while he followed Mansfield inside. Once inside the plane, Clay pulled the .38 from under his arm and stuck it in Mansfield’s back. “Freeze right there,” Clay said, “and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”
Mansfield stood still but said over his shoulder, “Are you crazy?” he said. “I’m here to rescue you.”
“Turn around, slowly,” Clay told him and then backed up a step.
Mansfield slowly turned and faced Clay. “What is this?” he said.
“Drop that,” Clay said, gesturing toward the electronic device in Mansfield’s hand.
Mansfield complied.
“Now carefully peel off your coat and drop it on the floor,” Clay told him.
Mansfield unbuttoned the four large buttons on the front of his coat and pulled it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
“Now the jacket,” Clay said, pointing with his .38.
Mansfield unbuttoned the single button and pulled his jacket open. Under his left armpit was a brown leather shoulder holster with a .45 nestled in it. Clay pointed to Mansfield’s gun with his.
“With your thumb and index finger I want you to carefully pull that out and drop it,” Clay said.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Mansfield said.
“Do it,” Clay almost screamed and then pointed his gun in Mansfield’s face.
Mansfield slowly slid the .45 out of the holster and dropped it on the floor.
“Now step back three steps,” Clay said, still pointing his gun.
Mansfield stepped back and stood still. Clay called out to Bonnie to come inside. “Get his gun,” he told Bonnie. “I’ve got him covered.”
Bonnie bent down, picked up the .45 and handed it to Clay, who stuffed it into his beltline. She quickly stepped behind Clay. Clay gestured toward the seat that he had occupied during the flight.
“Sit,” he told Mansfield.
Mansfield sat.
Clay turned to Bonnie. “Get two of those shirts you found in the luggage and bring them here, would you, please?” he said.
Bonnie stepped behind the blankets and returned with two white, long sleeved dress shirts and held them out to Clay.
“Tie one sleeve around his left wrist,” Clay told Bonnie. “Make sure it’s tight and then tie the other sleeve around his other wrist behind the seat back.”
Bonnie secured the shirt sleeves around both of Mansfield’s wrists and stepped back.
“Now tie his legs to the legs of the seat,” Clay said, still holding his prisoner at bay with the .38.
Once Bonnie had finished securing Mansfield to the seat, Clay holstered his revolver and sat across the aisle from him. He turned to the man. “Amateur,” he said to Mansfield.
“What are you talking about?” Mansfield said.
“First of all,” Clay said. “Rescuers would always search in pairs, at least. It would be foolhardy for anyone to venture out in t
hese woods alone. “Second, you tipped your hand when you said you followed the transponder signal to us. Impossible. It’s broken. The only signal you followed probably came from the leather bag full of cocaine.”
Mansfield’s eyes got wide and he stared defiantly at Clay. “You’ll never get away with it,” Mansfield told Clay. “They’ll find you.”
Clay looked down at the electronic device that Mansfield had dropped. Clay stood and brought his foot down hard on the black box. It stopped beeping and the display went dead. “Now you’ll never find it, either,” Clay said. “And we’re not waiting around for any more of your friends to show up.”
Clay turned to Bonnie. “You feel up to riding horseback?”
Bonnie smiled and nodded. “What about him?” she said.
Clay gestured toward the makeshift restraints on Mansfield’s arms and legs. “Those won’t hold him for long,” Clay said. “But by the time he works himself free, we’ll be miles away from here. We may even find a road or the real rescuers. Either way, Paul here is going to have himself a long walk or a long wait. Let’s go.
“That’s it?” Mansfield said. “You’re just going to leave me here?”
“You have five people just outside to keep you company,” Clay told him. “I have to admit, though, they’re not much for holding up their end of the conversation.” He took Bonnie’s hand and led her out to where the hose was standing. Clay stuck his foot in the stirrup and threw his other leg over the saddle. He reached down and grabbed Bonnie’s hand, hoisting her up behind him.
“Which way do we go?” Bonnie said.
“I think we can just follow the horse’s tracks back from where he came,” Clay said, pulling on the reins and walking the horse back along the tracks it had left on the way here. They had walked for nearly three-quarters of an hour when Clay stopped and looked down the hill. There was a gravel road winding through the trees. Beyond the road he could see another road intersecting with it. Clay kicked his heels inward and the horse began walking toward the road.
When the horse finally set foot on the gravel, Clay stopped and helped Bonnie off of its back. He stepped down onto the road himself and stretched his legs. “I wonder which way,” he said. He and Bonnie scanned the road in both directions. “I think that intersection we saw is just over that rise,” he said, pointing to the right.
Before he could mount the horse again a distant noise caught Clay’s attention. He stopped and held up one finger to keep Bonnie quiet. He listened for a few seconds and then recognized the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s rotors spinning through the air. He looked up and scanned the skies. There it was, coming toward them, almost directly overhead now. He and Bonnie waved their arms and shouted and a few seconds later the helicopter circled the area and descended. It landed on the gravel road and two uniformed rangers stepped out holding walkie-talkies. One of them held the device to his ear and said something into it that Clay couldn’t hear. The two rangers approached Clay and Bonnie.
“Have you two seen anything of a plane wreck out in these woods?” one of the rangers said.
Clay exhaled deeply and nodded. “We were on it,” he told the ranger. “Everyone else is dead.”
The ranger looked at Clay and Bonnie. “What are your names?” he said.
Clay smiled, relieved that his ordeal was almost over. “I’m Clay Cooper and this is Bonnie Damrow,” he said.
The ranger lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth and relayed this new information to the dispatcher at the ranger station. The dispatcher acknowledged the ranger’s broadcast and told him that she’d relay the message to the state police.
“You two had better come with us,” he told Clay.
“What about the horse?” Bonnie said. “You can’t just leave him here.”
The second ranger took the reins from Clay’s hand. “You two ride with Bob there and I’ll ride the horse to the ranger station. We’ll look after him.”
Clay and Bonnie followed Bob back to the helicopter and climbed in, securing their seatbelts and closing the sliding door. The chopper lifted off of the gravel road and turned in a northeasterly direction. Below Bonnie could see the second ranger trotting off down the road and she was able to breathe easier.
Bob turned his head a bit and spoke to Clay. “Can you direct me to the crash site?”
I looked out the window and then turned to the pilot. “Which way is north?” I said.
Bob pointed out the window. “That way,” he said.
“Then just turn to a heading a little southwest of there,” I said. “It’s maybe four or five miles further. Oh, and one more thing. There’s a man inside the plane. He was tied up when we left him, but he may not be tied up any more. Be sure to tell whoever goes there to be careful with him. I had to take this away from him.” I laid the .45 on the seat next to Bob. “And once I can get back there, I can show you where I stashed one passenger’s leather bag.”
“Why would you stash anyone’s luggage away from the crash site?” Bob said.
“This bag’s loaded with a million dollars worth of cocaine,” I explained. “That’s what the guy who I tied up was after.”
“You won’t need to go back,” Bob said. The DEA will comb the site with their drug-sniffing dogs. They’ll find it.”
“Well, just tell them to look several hundred feet to the southeast,” Clay said. “There’s enough cocaine in there that the dogs could probably sniff it out from Denver.”
*****
The phone in my pocket rang and I scrambled to grab it and flip it open. “This is Elliott Cooper,” I said.
“Mr. Cooper,” the woman’s voice said, “this is the Colorado State Police.”
“Have you found my father?” I said, excitedly.
“Mr. Cooper,” the woman said. “The forest rangers found your father and another woman and they’re all right. They’ll be bringing them to the hospital merely for precautionary checkups. But from what they tell me, they’re both in excellent condition.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I said, nearly breaking down. I composed myself and said, “When can I talk to him?”
“Stay by your phone,” the woman said. “As soon as they get here, I’ll put the call through myself.”
“Thank you so much,” I said and closed my phone. Only then could I allow myself the luxury of crying like a baby. When I thought I could keep it together, I phoned Gloria at home.
*****
The helicopter touched down on the giant red X on the hospital roof. Bonnie and I stepped out and were directed to the roof door, which led down to the fifth floor. From there we were met by two attendants pushing wheel chairs.
I waved them off. “We don’t need these,” I assured them.
“Sorry,” one of the attendants said, “hospital regulations.”
We were both too exhausted to argue and just sat with our feet on the tiny platforms while they wheeled us to an examination room. Aside from both of us being very hungry, we were each given a clean bill of health and released to the State Police. They led us to their black and white cruiser and told us to climb in the back seat. Within ten minutes the cruiser had pulled into the police station parking lot. The officer who was driving walked us into the station house and then into a smaller room where we were met by two detectives.
We relayed our story to the two detectives. One of them, a man named Stewart, was holding Mansfield’s .45 casually in his hand. “You say you took this off a man who came looking for the plane?” Stewart said. “How’d you manage that?”
I pulled my jacket open, revealing my .38 in the shoulder holster. Stewart exchanged alarmed looks with the other detective, a man named Brigham. Stewart straightened visibly. “Let’s have it,” he said, gesturing with the .45 at my shoulder holster.
I complied and handed it over to him, along with my I.D., badge and carry permit. Stewart looked it all over and exchanged glances with Brigham, who nodded. I got my gun and I.D. back and returned them to their proper places.
“Tell me about the guy who came looking for the cocaine,” Stewart said.
“He called himself Paul Mansfield,” I told the detectives. “He said he had found us by tracking the plane’s transponder signal. I knew the transponder had gotten smashed, so whatever he was tracking with that thing he had must have been sending a signal, and that probably meant the bag of cocaine had a tracking device in it. I guess those guys don’t trust each other.”
“When that much money is involved, they don’t even trust themselves,” Brigham said. He looked at Stewart and then at me. “I guess you two are free to go,” he said. “Mansfield can’t get far on foot out there. We’ll pick him up.”
Stewart walked Bonnie and me out of the interrogation room and out to the front desk. Then I remembered my cell phone. I looked at Stewart. “Can I get cell reception in here?” I said.
Stewart nodded. “Should be fine,” he said. “Thanks again for your help.”
I turned to Bonnie. “If you have someone to call, now would be a good time,” I said, flipping my own phone open and punching in Elliott’s cell phone number.
By the time Bonnie and I finished making our calls our stomachs began grumbling in unison. We both laughed turned to the desk sergeant. “Can you tell us where the nearest restaurant is?” I said.
The sergeant pointed to the front door and curved his hand around to the right. “Go right when you leave here,” he said. “Two blocks up on the left side of the street. Can’t miss it. It’s a place called The Friendly Skies. I guess they called it that after pilots from Denver International started going there. The place just caught on after that.”
