by Ron Walden
“One of the things security checks, when it makes pad checks or pipeline checks, is the RGVs (Remote Gate Valves). The pig is propelled through the pipeline by the movement of the oil. It would be possible to close one of the RGVs on each side of the pig and trap it in a given place. At least we would be able to stop it in a remote area where no one would be injured when it’s detonated.” Gwen was sure this plan was the most prudent, considering the amount of verified information available to them. The problem then became, who could they trust with the authority to shut down the pipeline.
Dan drove directly to the main terminal parking lot of the Deadhorse Air- port. He stopped the truck and pulled the keys from the ignition, opened the ashtray and dropped them in. He looked around the parking lot. There was no one.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They left the parking lot and walked along the airport fence behind the few buildings on the west side of the terminal area. It took only about 2 minutes to walk to the last building in the row, a large Quonset-shaped hangar. Then, through the open vehicle gate, they opened the office door in the hangar. There was no one in the office. Dan opened the door leading to the hangar bay. As he opened the door, he felt cool fresh air and smelled the familiar aroma of avgas. A man was standing by the engine cowling of the PA-14 parked in front of the main hangar door. It was quiet at the airport this morning and the man heard the office door closing. He turned to see who was there.
“Hi, are you Williams?” Dan inquired.
“Yup, are you the one taking Steve’s Family Cruiser?”
“Yes, is she ready?”
“She’s ready to go, but I need to have you sign that you took the plane. You know, your name and badge number. I hate to ask, but if something happens, I don’t want to be the one they blame.” Williams thought this precaution would make everything legal.
Dan wrote the information on a piece of note pad. He was leaving the office again when he turned and asked Williams for a map. He probably wouldn’t need it, but just in case.
He met Gwen at the airplane. It was a quick but thorough preflight check. Walking counterclockwise around the perimeter of the aircraft, he checked hinge pins and strut bolts. He opened the gas caps to visually inspect the fuel level. He checked the tailwheel and flying control wires. He checked the brakes and the propeller. He snapped open the small door on top of the cowling, unscrewed the oil dipstick to read the level. He replaced it and re-latched the small cowl door. All seemed to be in order.
It was quite a trick to get into the small airplane. Dan entered first, through the single door on the right side of the airplane. He fastened the seatbelt and pulled it tight. He then picked up the end of the passenger seatbelt, placed it in his lap and motioned for Gwen to climb aboard: right foot on the step, left foot stepping over the seat, right hand grasping the tube above the instrument panel. This being a taildragger, it was like pulling herself up a hill by the strength of her arms—the front of the aircraft is 3 feet higher than the tail. Once in the seat, she fastened her seatbelt and Dan reached behind her to close the door.
He reached for the headset hanging on the compass. As he slipped the earphones over his ears, he began his cockpit check: fuel to left tank, magneto to left mag, master switch on, mixture full rich, throttle open 1 inch. Clear the prop and press the starter. The 150 horsepower Lycoming engine sprang to life on the second revolution of the propeller. Magneto to both and set the throttle to idle the engine at 800 RPM. Oil pressure is in the green. Everything was running smoothly.
Dan turned the communication radio on and dialed it to 119.2, the Automated Traffic Information Service (ATIS). He listened carefully to the entire recording which gave weather information and advisories important when flying in the area. The information was the same as he had received in his earlier briefing. He then changed the radio frequency to 134.4 for departure.
“Piper 4259 Hotel on 134.4 with Quebec (the code for the ATIS message being broadcast this hour),” Dan said as he pressed the mike switch attached to the stick.
“59 Hotel, Deadhorse departure.”
“Yes sir, request information and permission to taxi for departure to the south.”
“Taxi to runway 22, wind from the north at 6, altimeter 29.93,” the voice on the radio gave Dan the current conditions.
Dan eased the throttle ahead, and the plane began to move.
“Request midfield departure.”
“Approved, take off at pilot’s discretion; no other traffic reported in the area. Have a nice flight.”
“Thank you, Deadhorse.” Dan checked his mags while taxiing. They would have to be quitting before he would turn around now. He did not slow when he reached the runway, but turned so the little airplane straddled the line in the center of runway 22. He added power smoothly and watched the airspeed build. The indicator read 40 mph when he reached between the seats to pull the flap handle up one notch. One instant a creature of the earth and the next a free and soaring eagle, out of the grasp of man and his earthbound limitations.
The airspeed climbed to 70 miles per hour, and Dan slowly raised the flaps. He rolled into a left bank, making a turn to a course 45° away from the runway heading. At 500 feet he eased the nose to level and pulled the throttle back to 2350 rpm. This would give an indicated 110 miles per hour, but with the wind forecast to be on their nose later, they should average about 100 mph to Bettles, and on to Fairbanks. Dan cranked the trim handle ahead to put the craft on step, which meant the most efficient flying attitude.
Piper November 4259 Hotel had been in the air for only 3 minutes when Dan made his turn to the south. He could see the pipeline and the Dalton Highway stretching south across the tundra. He gave a courtesy call to Flight Service.
“Deadhorse, Piper 59 Hotel is leaving your area at this time. Thank you.”
“Roger, have a good flight. Yesterday the muskox herd was seen just west of the pipeline about 10 miles south of Pump Station Two. Wish I were flying today myself.”
Dan reached to the instrument panel and turned off the radio. He disconnected the headset from the jack-plugs on the panel and took the earphones from his head and placed them on the rear seat.
He turned to Gwen. “Warm enough?”
She had not spoken since entering the aircraft. “I’m fine,” she said, “but little airplanes scare me.”
“Just relax, sleep if you can. We’ll be flying just west of the pipeline corridor. It would be easier to fly through Atigun Pass, but since we don’t want to tell people where we are, we will stay west and fly into Bettles for fuel. I’m going to stay low and cross the mountains at about 5,000 feet. The peaks in that area are about 8,000 feet so we’ll be flying between some big rocks. It’ll be about 3 hours to Bettles, so you might as well enjoy the trip.” Dan felt good when he was flying. He had always told Beth it was his stress reliever. Dan’s PA-14 allowed him to fish streams and lakes on the Alaska Peninsula not regularly reached by other anglers. He was fascinated by flying to remote areas and observing wildlife, plants, and flowers.
Gwen was becoming more relaxed and began to enjoy the sight of the caribou herds below. She was the first to spot the musk ox herd a few miles south of Pump Station Two. From this small insulated vantage point, where the world seemed at peace, it was difficult to believe her life had become so complicated.
Both occupants of the tiny plane needed to stretch their legs and take a break by the time the Bettles landing strip appeared over the nose. Dan had turned the radio to 122.2 and replaced the headset.
“Bettles Flight Service, Piper November 4259 Hotel.”
“59 Hotel, go ahead.”
“Yes sir; we are 5 miles north for landing, request information.”
“59 Hotel, estimating 10,000 scattered, wind calm, altimeter 29.95. No other traffic reported.” The voice had an Alaska native accent.
“Please report entering the pattern.”
“Thank you, Bettles. I will be straight in on 19.” The little Piper was approaching the fie
ld now, slowing to 70 mph. He could see that the services were all at the north end of the runway, so he made a plan to land short: full flaps, nose down to three degrees below the horizon, slow to 50 mph, threshold lights just ahead, pull off the power, ease the stick back a little to obtain the proper landing attitude, let the wheels kiss the gravel runway at 40 miles per hour. He had made it look easy.
Dan parked near the only visible fuel tank. He reached behind Gwen opened the door. The air was cool. She pulled her left knee onto the seat and found the step with her right foot. Getting out was easier than getting in. Out of the airplane, Dan stretched and shook himself to ease the stiffness in his muscles. A cute native girl about 15 years old approached.
“You’re not Steve.” She said. “You fly Steve’s plane? I thought you Steve.”
“Steve let me use his plane. Can I get some gas?” The girl was grinning now and Dan returned the smile.
“Steve think this plane his baby. He must like you a lot. I gas the plane; if you want to eat, you go to there. Mom has fresh cinnamon rolls and good coffee.” She pointed to the cabin behind the fuel tanks.
Gwen’s appetite for fresh cinnamon roll was amazing. The roll was at least 6 inches across and 3 inches high. It was covered with melting butter and the aroma of heaven. She ate it all. Dan had only coffee. They each finished off their second cup of coffee when the girl came into the cabin. Gwen smiled at the girl and asked,
“Does Steve like you or the cinnamon rolls best?”
“He like cinnamon roll but I like him.” She laughed and hid her smile behind her shoulder. She then turned to Dan, “The gas, it’s $41. I charge Steve?”
The girl’s mother, behind the counter (which was really just a kitchen table), added the total for food and gas.
“That’s $45.50 total,” she said.
Dan left a $50 bill on the table and the two walked out of the cabin restaurant. There was only one outhouse and Dan took first turn, then walked to the plane to check the oil and to make a quick preflight check. He had just finished checking the fuel tanks for signs of water when Gwen returned. It was now just after one o’clock.
“Bettles, Piper 59 Hotel,” he called.
“59 Hotel, go ahead.”
“I’ll be departing south, runway 19; any changes since I landed?”
“No. It’s still the same, wind calm, altimeter 29.95. You headed to Fairbanks?”
“Yes, how is it down that way?” Dan asked.
“It is going to be hot south of the Yukon River, maybe 80°, that will cause some moderate turbulence below 1,500 feet. Other than that it should be great. Have a nice trip.”
“59 Hotel departing runway 19 at this time. By the way, you folks have the best looking gas attendant and the best cook north of the Yukon, right here in Bettles. I’ll have to come back when I can stay a few days. Thanks again.” Dan liked the people in the bush and wished he had more time to spend with them.
They would be leaving the Brooks Range soon and the country would become flat again. Dan checked the time. Unless something unforeseen happens, they should be on the ground in Fairbanks before 1630 hours. He was thankful for the GPS (global position system) Ortmann had installed in the airplane. It took all the guesswork out of navigation here in the north where a compass may not tell the truth. The cabin of the small craft was hot as they flew across the Yukon River Valley, the Tanana Valley, and into Fairbanks.
Because of the engine noise of the small aircraft, it is difficult to carry on a conversation while flying. Consequently, the problem at hand had been reviewed, mentally, many times during the past several hours. There just wasn’t enough information. Neither Dan nor Gwen could decide who was behind, what had to be, an enormous conspiracy.
Dan had given much thought to the purpose of the bomb. It was probably a low yield warhead from a Soviet missile. The detonator had not been installed when it was placed in the pipeline at Pump Station One. If the purpose was to destroy a pump station, why not Pump Station One? The pipeline is routed several miles to the east of Fairbanks; therefore, detonating it near there would have little effect on the city and it’s residents. It would not take a nuclear device to simply blow up a pipeline section. So what’s the purpose of the device?
The destination of the pig and, coincidentally, its contents, was the Valdez Marine Terminal. But the device seemed too small to destroy the terminal, which is spread over a 1000 acre hillside area. What is the target?
Suddenly, it was like a flash of light in his mind; the purpose was not to destroy the pipeline but to disable it—to shut it down. Some terrorist or extortionist wanted the pipeline shut down. Probably a terrorist, an extortionist’s motives would be to threaten, and he could do that with conventional explosives. That was it. A nuclear device would destroy the terminal end of the pipeline and the Operations Control Center. This would stop operation of the pipeline for an extended period of time without destroying the entire terminal.
Dan was very tired. He had received clearance to land on runway 19 Left. His reactions were getting slow, and he did not make a smooth landing. He had recovered from the first big bounce, but was having trouble keeping the nose pointed down the center of the runway. As the speed bled off and more weight settled on the tailwheel, the craft became more manageable. He switched to ground control frequency and asked for directions to transient parking.
He found an empty tiedown spot and pulled the mixture to stop the engine. The heat was stifling. He opened the door and held Gwen’s arm for support while she performed the gymnastics necessary to exit the little plane.
“I’ll tie down the plane and then check in at the terminal and pay the tiedown fees. You take my credit card and rent us a car. I’ll meet you in front car rental counter.” He climbed from the plane and dug a credit card from his wallet. “I won’t be long.”
“It’ll be good to walk around and shake out some kinks,” she said, as she reached into the airplane for her jacket. “See you inside.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dan finished tying down the airplane. Inside, he filled out the form for a tiedown. He put money inside the envelope and dropped it into the slot provided. He met Gwen at the car rental desk and signed for the auto. The two walked to the parking lot and found the car. Dan tossed her the keys and said, “Here, take the keys, you drive.”
She started the sedan.
“Where are we going?”
“Take a left at the street and head into town. We have to stop at a store and get a toothbrush and comb.” Dan was tired, but he realized she must be even more exhausted.
She found a small filling station with a grocery store and stopped in the parking lot. They purchased personal toilet articles.
“Do you want a newspaper?” She pointed to the newsstand.
“No. Get one if you want, but I’m too tired to read.”
They carried the bags to the car and drove toward the city center. Dan was not very familiar with Fairbanks and told Gwen to turn left at an intersection with the Steese Highway. There would be motels on this street.
The big yellow sign read Captain Barratt Motel; they pulled into the lot and walked to the desk. The dining room was just off the lobby and the aroma of food stimulated their senses. Dan asked for two rooms. The desk clerk was sorry, but it was the tourist season and all the rooms were reserved. Perhaps if they waited until six o’clock there would be a cancellation.
Dan leaned over the counter and whispered to the clerk, “I’m with Pipeline Security. I’m here on official business. Surely you have a room with two beds for the Trans Alaska Pipeline Corporation,” Dan bluffed.
The clerk didn’t know how much weight TAPS had with the hotel management, but this man had the look of official business and there would surely be a no-show anyway.
“Of course, Sir,” the clerk apologized, “Will you be paying for the room or will you be charging it to the company.”
“Charge it to the Company.” What the hell, they could take it out of his
termination check if he got fired.
The two found the room and went inside. Gwen searched the two sacks for a comb and lipstick—then went to the bathroom to wash up. She was shaking when she looked into the mirror. Fatigue, stress, and fear had taken their toll. A shower would help a lot she thought.
Dan found the FBI man’s card in his wallet and dialed the number. He looked at his watch, “Come on Roger, be there.”
The phone rang several times before a stern voice came on the line, “FBI.” It was Roger Dorfmann’s voice. The sound of that voice was like sun breaking through a Prudhoe winter day.
“Roger, this is Dan Webster.”
“Dan, good to hear from you. How are Beth and the boys?”
“They’re fine, Roger. But I need your help. I can’t talk on the phone. Can you come to Fairbanks? I need your help, right away.”
Roger had known Dan for over 20 years and in all that time he had never heard fear in his voice—until now.
“Alaska Airlines has a flight in the morning, pick me up at the airport at 9:30 in the morning. Do you want me to bring anything?”
Dan reached into the small of his back and pulled the heavy Smith and Wesson from his belt. “No, I have everything I need. Thanks, Roger, see you in the morning.” He hung up the phone.
Dan heard the shower running.
“I’ll have time,” he thought. He picked up the phone and dialed his home number. A voice came on the line after only two rings. Hearing her voice made him feel good.
“Hi honey. How are you?”
“Oh! Dan. I thought you might call tonight. How’s it going?”
“That’s what I called to tell you. I am not at the pump station. I’m in Fairbanks. There’s a problem on the line that I can’t discuss on the phone, but I wanted you to know I’m okay. I am here with that female tech I told you about, Gwen Stevens. I called Roger and he is meeting us here in the morning. I don’t know where I’ll be for the next few days, so you won’t be able to call me. I’ll call you. Promise.”
“What’s wrong Dan; is it dangerous?”
