Cinch Knot

by Ron Walden

  It was 5 PM when the two men called it a day and left the office. They took a detour and circled the Bergstrom building down town. It was a bronzed glass and steel structure with immaculately manicured grounds. A large parking lot sat at the west side and a circle drive curved in front. Security was tight.

  Along with Sonja and Beth, John gave Dan the guided tour of “El Rancho Sutter” before going inside. Sonja had cold beer waiting inside a spacious living room done in stucco and Indian artifacts.

  John left to change clothes while the women gave Dan a running account of the afternoon of visiting and shopping.

  The two couples caught up on the years of separation letters couldn’t fill; stories of the kids; Webster boys were now flying and working at Lake Clark; Sutters were happy about the Governor’s award to their daughter; the new house, and how Sonja’s family loved John for not moving her away from them. John and Sonja Maria Costa-Ruiz met shortly after he moved to Phoenix. She worked in a jewelry store near his office and they met one day during lunch. She was second generation American. Her father worked for the highway department and struggled to earn a living for his wife and eight children. Sonja quit high school and went to work to help support the family. She studied nights and finished high school. Her dark complexion and black, shining eyes drew every man’s attention, John was no exception. Their’s was a proper and traditional courtship with a beautiful wedding, and John promised to never to take her far away from her family. He kept his promise. John spent a great deal of time with troubled kids from his children’s school. John and Sonja liked their life. It was an evening of old friends watching the setting sun turn the sky a Navajo red and turning the blue sky to a black sea of twinkling stars. A soft breeze filled the night with the cooing doves and the gossip of crickets.

  John stretched, “Okay ladies, we have an early start in the morning. I think we should pack it in. Back to the motel, a good night’s sleep and I’ll be there to pick you up bright and early.” It’s been a very pleasant evening.

  Dan hated to leave Beth’s warm soft body, but he eased himself out knowing later she would meet Sonja again. He was outside, looking at the cactus garden, when John arrived. It was still cool for an Arizona morning in July. Only 89 degrees. John described the area surrounding Bergstrom’s ranch as they drove to Sky Harbor Airport. John stopped the car at a large hangar with a sign near the office door which simply stated, U.S. Government.

  Their pilot, Art Smokey Stover, met them in the office. “John. Where you been hiding?”

  “Hello Smokey. Good to see you again. Staying out of trouble?”

  “You know me, John. Low profile all the way.”

  John laughed. “Dan Webster, meet Smokey Stover. Contrary to what you might think, he didn’t get his nickname from the cartoon character. In an operation out in the desert, one time, the suspects were holed up in an old cabin and there wasn’t any way to get them into the open. Every time we tried to get close enough to get a tear gas grenade into the cabin, they sprayed the area with bullets. Smokey here, got some smoke grenades and flew them, in a Piper Super Cub, right to the cabin. A couple got through the window. The bad guys came rolling out of that cabin just a bawling. The airplane looked like Swiss cheese. So, now we call him Smokey.”

  The men laughed and shook hands,

  “Hope you like flying; it’s going to be one hell of a beautiful trip this morning. That area along the Salt River is really pretty. Bergstrom’s ranch takes in the prettiest of it all.”

  “Dan is a pilot, too,” John said.

  “Oh yeah? What do you fly?” Always the first question from one pilot to another.

  “I own a Piper PA-14.”

  “Good reputation.” Smokey replied.

  “ Piper only made 237 of them back in 1948 and 49. There are only about 40 of them left flying. It’s a 100 mile an hour plane, too slow for cross country, but for flying the bush in Alaska, it can’t be beat.”

  “If you two are done hangar flying, we should go,” John prodded.

  The elevation at Sky Harbor airport is only 1,132 feet but the heat made the air thin. The Cessna 185 seemed to roll forever before gaining enough speed to lift the tail. Once in the air, the pilot made an easy climb out. The heat caused thermal turbulence close to the ground, so Smokey climbed to 5,000 feet and headed to Apache Lake. On the way to the ranch, John pointed out roads, trails and general points of interest.

  Closer to the ranch, Smokey descended to 2,000 feet and circled the ranch. He then maintained about 700 feet above the ground. Dan could see that the river and Apache Lake provided water for the ranch. The foothills to the north were a low but formidable barrier. The house sat on a small ridge and commanded a view of the river valley. It would be almost impossible to approach from the ground without being seen.

  Smokey circled again and made a pass over the private airstrip. A Cessna Citation II was parked outside the hangar; a crewman in a white shirt was walking around the plane—doing a takeoff, pre flight Dan thought.

  They flew north and left the ranch along the low hills. Small canyons, or washes, appeared dry and hot. Heavy rains washed sand and dirt out of the canyons to form large flat sandbars at the mouth of several canyons. Some of these were close to a 1,000 feet long and flat. “Good place to land a cub,” Dan thought.

  Back on the ground at Sky Harbor, Dan thanked Smokey for the ride. He looked at his watch, 0755 hours. “Com’on, Smokey; John’s buying breakfast.”

  “Thanks but I’ll have to pass. I’ve another flight in a few minutes.”

  Back in the office, John read the morning reports and signed a pile of reports and requests for Judy, who would forward them to the home office. She brought the two men fresh coffee and the morning papers.

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. Sutter?”

  “No, thank you, Judy. Let me know if Dave or Larry call.”

  Dan was deep in thought as Judy left the office. He sipped his coffee while John worked. Then suddenly he remembered.

  “John, remember seeing the Cessna jet on the runway at the ranch?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “The guy in the white shirt was the pilot, I’ll bet. He was making a preflight check. I wonder if he’s taking Bergstrom somewhere?”

  “Check with the FAA to see if he filed a flight plan,” John said, still going through papers on his desk. “He throws some wild parties out at the ranch and sometimes brings his guest in by jet”.

  John looked in his Roladex for the telephone number of the Phoenix Flight Service Station. He found the number and dialed and handed the phone to Dan.

  “Phoenix Flight Service, your aircraft number please.”

  “This is the DEA.” Dan winked. “There’s a Cessna Citation departing from the private strip at Apache Lake. Can you read his flight plan to me?”

  “I’ll check with my supervisor.” Dan was put on hold.

  “This is Ben Riley; I’m the supervisor here. What is it you need?”

  Dan handed John the receiver and just shook his head.

  “This is agent Sutter with the DEA.” John stood and stretched. “I need the flight plan of the Citation at Apache Lake read to me. Is there a problem with that, Mr. Riley?”

  “No problem. Always willing to cooperate with another agency. The flight plan’s right here. It reads as follows.

  Filing VFR/IFR flight plan. Aircraft number, N111NB. Cessna Citation II/U. Beige with brown trim. TAS(True Air Speed) 350 Kts. Departing Apache Lake at 0230 Zulu.

  Flight level 330, Direct, DCA (Washington National Airport, Washington, D.C.). ETE, Five hours. Six hours fuel on board. Alternate field, Dulles International. Pilot, Rigby, copilot, Wells. Two souls on board.

  If you’re not a pilot, then what all this means is he is flying to Washington, D.C. and will be leaving Apache Lake at 8:30 this morning. He will be 5 hours getting there and the pilot and copilot are the only ones on board the aircraft. Is that all, sir?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Riley. Exact
ly what we need to know. I’d appreciate it if our inquiry was kept private. Thanks.”

  John turned to Dan. “It looks like Mister Bergstrom is calling a meeting and has sent his jet to Washington to pick up some of his friends. We’ll pass this on to Dave when he calls and maybe his surveillance team can tell us who comes in on the plane tonight.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be much we can do until we get some return on the information we have coming in. I don’t like all this waiting, but I can’t think of anything else to do right now. Let’s call Roger and see if he has anything new.” Dan knew it was too early for evidence to be arriving, but he wanted to make something happen.

  “Good idea, He probably won’t be in his office for another hour.” John could see Dan’s anxiety. “Take it easy. We can’t force it. We’ll have to take things as they come. We don’t want to blow this case because we got in a hurry.”

  Dan picked up the newspaper and began to scan the front page. The entire page consisted of two stories. The U.N. had not yet determined who was responsible for the abduction of the two Arab families. And the nuclear detonation in the Gulf of Alaska. No casualties and no one was claiming responsibility. Environmental factions were lobbying Washington to investigate the damage to the ecosystem. The paper also noted the Trans Alaska Pipeline Service Company had contacted the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration, requesting a study of Bligh Reef and surrounding waters. Six suspects had been arrested, the paper bragged, in connection with the bombing but gave few details.

  The phone rang, John answered, “Just a second, Larry, let me put this on the speaker phone.”

  “Dan, Larry has something. Go ahead, Larry.”

  “My office received some interesting information this morning. First, there’s been a flurry of activity among the OPEC ministers. They’re making plans to go to Brussels this weekend. We also have word that Yamamata is traveling. And, word is Bergstrom has just bought tickets to Brussels for tomorrow evening.”

  “Something is in the wind. ”John whispered to Dan.

  Larry again. “It looks like Dan was right. A conspiracy to manipulate the price of crude oil, is in the works. Mexico and most of South America have stopped shipping oil. Yamamata’s tankers are loading crude today but none have entered any port to unload. Europe has been notified that the Russian pipeline will be out of service for several days. They can’t last more than three or four days without fresh supplies. Importers into the U.S. are slowed. Alaska oil is still being shipped without interruption. The DOT (Department of Transportation) has approved shipments as long as there’s no danger from radiation in the Gulf of Alaska. It’s been a busy morning, boys.”

  “Have you given this information to Dave?” John asked.

  “He’s in my office now. We’re on speaker phone, too.”

  “Good morning, interesting morning, isn’t it?” Dave said.

  “Yes it is. In fact, let me add to it. Bergstrom is sending his jet to Washington. We think he is now in a meeting at the ranch with some of his political contacts. Can you check who gets on that plane?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Dave replied. “What about Bergstrom? Should we detain him.”

  “We don’t have enough evidence to arrest him yet. Since we know where he’s going; why don’t we let him go? Larry, does your office have the personnel to follow him once he’s in Brussels?”

  “The top brass is interested in the case now, so we’ll get what we need. I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”

  John hung up the receiver, thought for a moment and then picked it up again and dialed Anchorage to Roger Dorfmann’s office. Miss Dill transferred the call.

  “John, good to hear from you. How are you and the new agent getting along?” “We’re doing fine. We’ve been worried about you; are you okay?”

  “Yes, we’re fine. We had a few anxious hours, but we came out of the deal without any personal damage. You heard, of course, that we disposed of the device on Bligh Reef?”

  “Yeah. I understand you and your crew escaped without a scratch. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with atomic bombs?” John said, laughing.

  “That’s not exactly true, John. Our deckhand got knocked off his feet during the shock wave and hit his head. One of his ear drums ruptured in the blast and he fractured his skull in the fall. He’s recovering. The kid’s a real hero.”

  “I’m glad he’s all right,” Dan said into the speaker phone. “Are Gwen and DeGrosso okay.”

  “Dan. How’s Arizona? Yes, they’re fine. Gwen’s staying in town for a few days until we find out who’s involved in this thing. I have her working in the office here. By the way, we checked with the troopers, and they found none of Bates prints. Can’t link him to the murders. But the two guards, at the gate positively identified him. Do you know where he is now?” Roger asked.

  John spoke. “He’s out at Bergstrom’s ranch. It would be a real chore to arrest him there. One more thing, Roger. Bergstrom is going ahead with his plan. I don’t think he knows we’re on to him. He knows something went wrong, but I don’t think he knows what it was. You can bet he has TAPS people on his payroll. You have managed to keep this quiet until now, but, with the arrest of the Japanese technicians, it’s going to go public. I don’t suppose those technicians have talked.”

  “Naw. Not a word, and their lawyers are swarming all over. High priced ones from Los Angeles, I suspect. It looks like a long weekend of waiting. I’ll issue an arrest warrant for Bates. It’ll be Monday before we can move on it though.”

  “Bergstrom is going to Brussels tomorrow, Roger. We’ve decided to let him go. There appears to be a meeting of OPEC and other big-time oil producers there this weekend. We probably won’t have anything before Monday either. We’ll put all we have together and send you a coded copy. Call you Monday, sooner, if we have anything new.” John hung up the phone.

  It was 11:25 AM when the two left to office, met their wives for lunch and spent the afternoon sightseeing and shopping. It would, without a doubt, be a long, slow, weekend.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was 8:30 PM when the Cessna Citation circled to land at Apache Lake. The 6-hour flight from Washington had been uneventful and the four passengers had wiled away the time sipping champagne. Senators Tillman, Wayman, and Frost were accompanied on the flight by Undersecretary of Commerce, Belafont. Each of the men had been entertained at the ranch in the past and enjoyed being there. This time it would be to explain what happened in Alaska. Each of the four knew explaining to Bergstrom would not be a pleasant experience. He had his way and did not like it when his plans went awry.

  The helicopter ferried guests to the ranch all evening. The party became boisterous before the jet landed. There was food of every description. A bar was set up on the west side of the patio, near the pool. There were drugs available: cocaine and marijuana. Bergstrom knew how to entertain his friends. Girls in bikinis served drinks and food. A small dance band, set up on the east end of the patio, kept up a rhumba beat. Watchful eyes took careful note of which guest indulged in self gratification outside an accepted social norm.

  The four new arrivals were greeted by Bergstrom. In Bergstrom’s office, they each took a seat while Bergstrom sat in the large leather chair behind the desk. A pitcher of iced tea and a plate of sliced pineapple and sugar cookies were on the desk.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Bergstrom began. “I hope you had a pleasant flight. I have called this meeting to verify information in the oil industry. It’s very distressing to hear someone may have actually attempted to destroy the south terminal of the Alaska pipeline. Secretary Belafont, any ideas?”

  “I will give you what I have, Mr. Bergstrom, but it isn’t very much, I’m afraid. Somehow the ultrasonic corrosion detection pig, which had been shipped from Japan to Alaska by TMC, was substituted with another. The TMC technicians have disappeared and they were replaced by six others. The plot was discovered by a TAPS technician and a security
guard. They followed the substitute pig to Valdez where the FBI and state troopers arrested the Japanese. The warhead inside the pig was armed before anyone could find the arming device. An FBI agent, the TAPS technician, and a technician from Elmendorf Air Force base took the pig out to Bligh Reef and dumped it. It exploded there.

  “NOAA reported the preliminary soundings indicate Bligh Reef has changed considerably. The full report is not in yet, but it appears the reef may no longer be a threat to normal navigation. In other words, the explosion blew the hell out of the reef. The tide is still moving debris, but new soundings indicate a minimum depth of 8 fathoms over the reef. There is 51 feet of water over a reef that used to be exposed at extreme low tide. No damage or injury is reported at the Valdez terminal. It’ll take several weeks to assess the total damage and to file the report.”

  Belafont felt confident he had covered everything.

  “Your report is full of holes,” Bergstrom sat forward. “Two people were killed at the Valdez terminal. Who was the TAPS technician? Who was the technician from Elmendorf? How was the bomb detected? I want answers, Belafont, a full report when I return from Brussels.”

  At that moment, Russ Talbert entered the office. He had a note pad in his hand. He stepped behind the desk and whispered to Bergstrom. He laid the pad on the desk and stepped back. Bergstrom was stunned.

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what the informant in Anchorage said. I don’t know if it’s the same Dan Webster and Roger Dorfmann, but it seems too remote a possibility to be a coincidence.”

  Nels Bergstrom turned ashen. “Get Bates. I want to see him when I’m finished here.”

  His thoughts and attention came back to those present.

  “Gentlemen, I’ll be as brief as possible. The flow of crude oil has been reduced worldwide by more than 70%. I’m leaving for Brussels to attend a conference with Arab and other oil interests. We will discuss the price of oil and its distribution. I want you to stop any governmental intervention until after the conference. You go back to Washington and tell our friends to keep this issue confused as long as possible. Do you understand?”