by Donna Fasano
She looked at him uncertainly. She couldn’t believe she was about to see where her grandfather had died. This was what she’d come to Sweden to do, not all that other stuff. But now that the moment had arrived, she was nervous as hell.
Leif seemed to understand. He held out a hand to her. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there with you.”
She took a deep breath and climbed up behind him. He took off, and she wound her arms tightly around his waist, relaxing with a sigh when she felt his body settle back against hers.
It took them fifteen minutes of bone-jarring riding to reach the place where the plane was supposed to be, on a hillside overlooking a rushing creek that tumbled down toward the big river.
Leif pulled out the map and they checked it again. Jarmo had marked three tall pines just above the crash site.
A little way up the hill, Joanne spotted three trees towering over the others.
“There.” She pointed them out, and Leif carefully urged the bike upward between the rocks and bushes to reach the spot.
All at once, it was right there in front of them—the rusted-out hull of an old plane. It lay nestled in a natural hollow in the hillside.
Joanne slid off the ATV and gazed reverently down at the wreckage.
It had been a small plane. The main fuselage was badly damaged and gaped open, rusted and overgrown by vegetation. One severed wing rested at an acute angle. The other was missing.
The nose had separated from the main body, the propeller snapped and bent. Soil had encased the wreckage nearly halfway up the sides. Inside the gaping hull, the leather of the cockpit seats had long ago disappeared, leaving two piles of rusty metal springs surrounded by bent frames.
Looking at the forsaken wreckage, tears welled up in her eyes. The finality of the crash, and the surprising twists of fate it had caused through the years, swamped over her, engulfing her in a slow shudder of sadness.
"This was where he died,” she whispered.
Leif was watching her tenderly. He slipped his arms around her and just stood holding her quietly.
"I didn't know him,” she said softly, “but I know how much my grandmother loved him. I really would have liked having a grandfather.”
After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes and squeezed Leif's hand. "Come on, let's take a closer look.”
They made their way into the hollow, careful not to disturb anything, and searched the area for footprints, cleared debris, or other indications of human interest.
"No sign of recent activity," Leif said.
“No.”
She looked at the ragged metal shell, and felt thoroughly depressed. She'd never really thought they would find her grandfather’s body, or anything else of real importance—though back at the picnic table she’d felt a real glimmer of hope. But she had honestly not imagined the plane would be quite so empty and devoid of any trace whatsoever of the people who had flown and died in it.
She stepped closer, gazing down into the remains of the cockpit. Without really making a conscious decision, she climbed down into the hollow, peering over the side of the dirty fuselage.
She glanced up at Leif, seeking reassurance, and saw empathy in his eyes. He nodded, and she scrambled into the wreckage, braved the lethal-looking metal springs, and slipped into the pilot's seat behind the rusting, useless controls.
"I think I'll take a look around," Leif said quietly. With his boot, he prodded a corroded sheet of metal balancing on the lip of the hollow. "I'll see if I can find the other wing. Will you be okay?”
She nodded. "I'm just going to sit here for a few minutes. I'll be fine.”
Five minutes later, he returned and climbed on the ATV. "I can't locate that wing. I'm going to drive up the hill and see if I can catch a glimpse of it from up top.”
She nodded absently, and waved as he drove off, vaguely wondering why he was so interested in the missing wing. Looking around the cockpit with a sigh, she picked up a broken branch and poked around in the dirt and foliage covering the floor. She fingered the sticks and knobs, and tapped the instruments on the control panel in front of her. One of the dials had turned slightly in its seat. Idly, she adjusted it back to its correct position as she took in with amazement the array of things a pilot had to use to fly a plane, even one as primitive as this.
At length, she emerged from her trance, shook off her melancholy, and climbed up out of the hollow. She glanced around at the surrounding woods.
Maybe Leif had the right idea. Obviously, there was nothing to be found inside the plane. But what if something important had broken off or fallen during the crash, and had been lying on the ground undiscovered all this time?
She peered up the hill, trying to catch a glimpse of him. He was nowhere in sight. She looked down toward the large stream that rushed along the bottom of the hill. From the present orientation of the plane, she could tell that it had come flying in from the other side of the tumbling water, gliding over it just before crashing into the hillside.
After a final glance up the hill, she turned and headed down toward the steep bank bordering the stream. She kept her eyes on the forest floor, examining it closely for anything that might have been ripped from the plane as it went down.
She searched carefully, crossing back and forth across the flight path until she was standing on top of the embankment at the swift river's edge. But she’d found nothing.
Discouraged, she scanned the bank across the water. She should probably search the other side, too. But how to get across?
A footstep crackled behind her, and she smiled. Leif, trying to sneak up on her. He must be up to mischief. After all, it had been at least three hours since he'd kissed her—not counting the chaste pecks in front of Pelle and the others. An absolute eternity. Her body tingled in anticipation.
But as soon as she felt the hands on her shoulders, she knew they weren’t Leif’s. They grabbed her roughly, with a steel-like grip.
She tried to scream, and twist around. Pain stabbed through her arms as she was jerked back, and the scream choked off.
“Where is it?" a man's heavily disguised voice hissed in her ear.
"Where's what? You're hurting me!" she yelled, praying Leif would hear.
"Shut up!" the man snapped, grabbing her hair and pulling it mercilessly. An instant later, the muzzle of a gun pressed into the back of her neck. "One more stunt like that and you're dead. Now, tell me where it is.”
She fought to keep from collapsing in panic. "The plane is up the hill, in a hollow."
"Don't be clever. Out with it!”
She knew she should try to memorize the voice under the fake accent. But she was too terrified to think. "I really don't know what you're talking about,” she said in a rush. “Believe me, if I knew I'd tell you. Whatever it is, it's not worth dying over. Please. Let me go.”
She felt him hesitate. Clearly, not the answer he’d anticipated.
Suddenly, she was pushed, hard, and went flying. With a terrified scream, she spread her hands to break her fall. But it was fruitless. Her stomach lurched as she sailed through the air and landed with a huge splash in the middle of the swift, icy river.
Swallowing and choking, she struggled to break the surface, gasping for air and shivering with cold. She screamed for Leif. But he couldn't possibly hear her.
Swept downstream, pulled under, she tumbled over and over in the frigid water, her body scraping on rocks and branches as she went. Frantically, she flung her arms out, trying to find a way to pull herself ashore, or at least slow her hurtling progress.
Panic clutched her in its terrifying grip. Her head bobbed above water and she gasped air into her starving lungs. A huge boulder loomed directly in her path. She fought to swim to one side of it, but the current dragged her back to the center. The undertow sucked her down, and in that instant, she was certain she was dead. Then, in a great thrust, she was spewed up and sideways, surfacing several yards short of the rocky bank. Oh, thank God.
Pulling in a
huge breath and stretching to the last limit of her strength, she managed to plunge upward and grab a thick branch overhanging the water. She clung to it for dear life, choking and gulping down air.
The ragged wood lashed and tore at her hands. Her arms burned from fighting to hold on. Her lungs screamed from the pain of the water lodged in them. If she let go, she knew she didn't have the strength to fight the rapids for even the short distance to shore. She was just as sure she wouldn’t last much longer clinging to the branch.
She sensed rather than heard Leif plummeting down the hill, running and sliding to reach the river.
“Joanne!”
"Leif! I'm here!" she screamed. "Please hurry," she added in a pleading whisper.
He hit the bank and plunged into the churning water. In two swift strokes he caught her up in his arms. She let go and allowed herself to be towed to shore, going limp in his strong grip. Coughing and sputtering, they both collapsed on the river bank, holding each other tight, her tearful explanation lost in the wet folds of his shirt.
"Shhh," he urged. "You're okay now. I’m here. You’re going to be all right.”
Held the circle of his arms, her tears fell and fell, until she was finally able to pull herself together. She wiped her eyes, and he scraped the wet hair from her face, tilting it up to give her a tender kiss.
"Oh, Leif. If you hadn't come when you did—" Her voice splintered.
He held her face in his hands and kissed her again. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. "For a minute there, I thought I'd lost you." He searched her eyes, his own filled with distress. "What the hell happened? Did you slip?”
She blinked up at him. "You didn't see him?”
His face clouded. "Who?”
"There was a man. He grabbed me. Then he said, 'Where is it?'”
"Where is what?”
"That's just what I asked. He didn't answer. He pushed me in the river.”
He held her at arm's length and she could see his fury building. "Deliberately?"
She nodded.
“Who, Joanne?”
“I... I don’t know. He stayed behind me the whole time. And disguised his voice.”
He glanced around angrily, and spit out a few sharp words in Swedish. “Come on. We need to tell Pelle.”
After they’d hiked back to the crash site, he briefly searched the bank where she’d been pushed, but only found a few indistinct footprints, nothing more.
Twenty minutes later, they were back at Kauti's cottage.
Leif was now pacing up and down, relating the incident to Pelle. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, and Pelle was listening to him with deadly intensity.
Joanne watched them through the cottage window as she changed out of her wet clothes into a large yellow Customs jumpsuit Leif had fished out of a locker in the Landcruiser, and short-topped Lapp boots borrowed from Kauti’s closet. Leif had a dark blue jumpsuit slung over his bare shoulder, having been too agitated to do more than peel off his wet shirt before launching into a tirade to Pelle.
She leaned over and shook out her hair before going out to join them. She quietly took a seat at the picnic table where Leif had put the first aid kit, and applied some disinfectant to her cuts while the men continued talking in Swedish.
Finally, Pelle turned to her. "Tell me exactly what happened.”
As she did, Leif stepped behind her and finished changing into the dry jumpsuit.
“Was it Bill McAndrew?” Pelle asked.
She’d asked herself the same question a dozen times over the past few minutes. She shook her head. “It’s possible. I just don’t know.”
Pelle pursed his lips. "Well, whoever it was must have been watching you, and followed you to the plane.”
She rubbed the goose bumps that suddenly appeared on her arms. "But we didn't hear another ATV, and we were going too fast to follow on foot.”
"Our trail would have been easy enough to follow,” Leif said as he zipped up the jumpsuit and came to sit next to her. “Someone in reasonably good shape could have tracked us pretty quickly.”
Like Bill. Leif didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.
She glanced around nervously. "You think it was the same person who shot Kauti?"
Pelle nodded. "That would be the obvious conclusion." He shrugged. "But someone else may have followed you from Karesuomi.”
Like the Hungarians. Or had it been the other way around?
Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to believe Bill could actually have tried to kill her. Or an old man. He seemed too...nice.
But either way, there was little doubt they were still in danger.
She turned to Leif. "Does anyone other than Kauti’s family know what happened to him?" She shifted her gaze to Pelle. "Or where he is? Because if I were seriously looking for whatever top-secret documents that defector was carrying, I'd try to take another crack at the one person in Sweden who seems to know what really went down back in 1956.”
Leif and Pelle stared at her for several seconds. Then, as one, they both jumped up and ran for the police radio in Pelle's car.
Chapter 54
"You ever think about becoming a cop?" Leif asked Joanne, giving her an admiring smile.
He was back behind the wheel of the Landcruiser, speeding towards Kiruna. The state capital was closer than Karesuomi, and he needed to get to a secure land line where he could make a few phone calls.
"Don’t be silly," she said, though he sensed she was pleased with his indirect compliment. "You and Pelle would have had the same idea in another five seconds.”
"Still, I think he was pretty damned impressed,” Leif said.
"Well, the police probably don’t get a lot of attempted murder way up here, and I see it every day on the news at home." She chuckled wryly. "Besides, I've had the benefit of endless episodes of NCIS.”
He grinned over at her, giving up following her logic. He would never understand the woman.
Not that that was a bad thing...
Kauti was out of surgery when they finally got a few bars of cell phone reception and were able to check in with the hospital. He was doing well, all things considered, the doctor told Leif. Kauti was an old man, so the healing process would be slow, but Leif knew he was still strong and active, and had a streak of stubbornness that would carry him through the worst of it.
The doctor had been very positive in her prognosis, and just as positive they could not see him anytime soon. He'd been given a large dose of painkiller, as well as something to make him sleep at least eight hours. Pelle had arranged for a twenty-four hour guard, with no visitors allowed except the police, the doctor, and immediate family.
So, asking him about the plane, and the defector’s top-secret cargo, would have to wait.
Meanwhile, Leif would try calling his father again in China as soon as they got to a land line, but doubted he'd have any more luck than he’d had so far. His parents were still out in the middle of nowhere.
Thinking about it all on the drive to Kiruna, he decided to pursue a slightly different angle.
There had been four men at the plane crash that night in 1956. One, the defector, was dead and his remains donated to science. That had been confirmed by the files Joanne had with her. The second man was in the hospital unconscious, the third—Leif’s father—was inaccessible. That left the fourth. Robert Grant. And he was supposed to be dead, too. But there were no papers in the files confirming that.
More and more, Leif had begun to wonder about the marriage certificate Reverend Sigurdsson had discovered. The idea sounded impossible. And yet...
Robert Grant was not a common name in Sweden. Could Joanne’s grandfather somehow have survived, and gotten married ten years after his supposed demise? Either way, it was the only lead they hadn’t pursued. If only for the sake of due diligence, he should get to the bottom of that particular mystery, one way or another. No doubt another wild goose chase, but it certainly couldn’t hurt anything.
Hopefully,
he could track down this other Robert Grant without too much trouble through the marriage license application. Assuming he was still alive, a man his age would be receiving a pension and regular health care, so he’d make a couple of calls to the National Health Service and the Social Security Bureau. With any luck, they would be talking to the man himself in a short time. Then, they would only have to ask him whether or not he was, miraculously, the same Robert Grant who crashed over fifty years ago.
Or not.
Mystery solved.
He squeezed Joanne's hand. “I have an idea.”
She lowered her eyes when he laid it out for her. "I suppose I felt all along that marriage certificate was too much of a coincidence," she said quietly. "I guess I just really didn't want it to be him.”
Leif was genuinely surprised by her reaction. "Why? I thought you wanted a grandfather.”
"That's just the point." There was a catch in her voice when she said, "If he survived the crash, that means he deliberately chose not to be with us. It means he didn't love my grandmother, or care about their child—my mother.” She shuddered out a sigh. “It's much easier to accept that he died than that he'd be so cruel as to throw us away.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, and Leif felt like a heartless brute for having suggested the whole thing in the first place.
“Look, it’s probably not him. Let’s just forget all about—”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I have to face the possibility. I need to know the truth, as painful as it might be for me and my family. Make those phone calls. Okay?”
Chapter 55
To Joanne’s dismay, Leif’s prediction was correct. Within half an hour of reaching the Customs office in Kiruna, he’d gotten an address and a phone number. There was a Robert Grant residing in a retirement home north of Umeå, a city located on the shores of the Baltic, about one third down the length of Sweden from Karesuomi.
This was much too sudden.
She sat at the conference room table where Leif was using the phone, vainly trying to keep her hands still. She attempted a weak smile as he punched in the number of the retirement home, but there was no way to disguise the conflict and anguish storming through her mind.
