Track Down Alaska (A Brad Jacobs Thriller Book 2)

by Scott Conrad

  They’re saying there’s a passel of men out there in the Valley. Armed men, men that don’t like anybody poking around in their business. Amos Flagg, that old degenerate, says there’s a bunch of the old poachers have come up missing. He’s hinted that they ain’t ever coming back… and that old man winter didn’t get them, these men did.

  I haven’t found any proof, but I’m afraid old Amos is right. The Air Force says they’ve had instances where their communications were jammed, and that takes some serious electronic equipment and knowhow. I wish they could have pinpointed it, but they couldn’t. Yep, there’s something going on up the Valley, but I don’t have the time or the resources to take care of the responsibilities I already have. I didn’t have the heart to tell old Tex that there are three other groups of hunters that have been reported missing, and I’ve got to hunt all three of them.

  Fortunately for Tex, none of those other groups have the training, the experience or the equipment that he has. I can keep an ear open for his ‘updates’, but I’m afraid that, Marine or not, Tex is going to be pretty much on his own. I hope he’s as good as he thinks he is. That was one fine looking woman he had with him. Wish she was going to be keeping me warm tonight!

  Ben smiled ruefully. He lived at home with his mother, a full blood Inuit. He had taken her in when his father died, and she would raise holy hell if he brought home a fancy blonde from the lower forty-eight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GREEN LIGHT

  There was a crate beside the chopper bearing a stencil identifying it as property of the U.S. Government with the return address of the N.W.T.C. Annex at Black Rapids. As Ving approached the chopper, he could see the pilot performing a preflight check.

  “Your partner is in the office, taking care of the paperwork,” the pilot called out without taking his eyes off the bird.

  “Are we ready to go?” Ving asked smiling, though he wasn’t happy about this mission. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, something he ordinarily paid a great deal of attention to. Ben Robinson had been so friendly on the phone after he’d identified himself and Brad as former members of Force Recon, but there was something definitely off-kilter about the man in person. He wished Brad hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot with the big Lieutenant. Ving was willing to bet there were important facts the man’s not telling them.

  Shit! It wasn’t bad enough Mama Ving’s little boy Mason had to be running around in the ice and snow freezing his ass off looking for Pete… nope, the big State Trooper, a half-assed Eskimo himself by the look of him, had to go piling mystery on top of it all. Ving shook his head. He had to do this, Pete was in trouble. In the end, that was all that mattered. Semper Fidelis!

  “I doubt it,” the pilot said laconically. “Weather’s still dicey and it doesn’t appear as if it’s getting better anytime soon. Even if we get a break it ain’t likely to last.”

  “Come on man, I know Hank told you guys this was an emergency. We’ve got friends down out there!”

  “You can’t help ‘em none if we get ourselves killed tryin’ to get there!”

  “I know damned well this bird can fly in this crap! I’ve ridden through worse than this…”

  “In a 212 Twin?” the pilot asked skeptically.

  “A UH-1N, and that’s the same damned thing!”

  The pilot’s eyes clouded over. “Where’d you ride a UH-1N?” he asked quietly.

  “Nuristan province, Afghanistan,” Ving answered evenly. “They had to use the UH-1N because it has an operating ceiling of over seventeen thousand feet. We needed to get up fairly high with a full load to take it to the Taliban.”

  “Army?”

  “Nope, Force Recon.”

  The pilot worked his jaws almost as if he was chewing tobacco for a minute, and Ving could practically see the wheels spinning in the man’s head.

  “Fuck it, load your shit up brother. Never let it be said that Harvey Messer let down the Marines… but I’m tellin’ you now, if the weather takes a turn for the worse, I’m high-tailin’ my ass right back here. I ain’t no hero…” The man stepped forward and they shook hands. Ving walked over to the crate and started prying the top off, and Messer helped.

  They had the ahkio out and on the ground beside the chopper by the time Jared arrived riding on the baggage cart with their gear. Tom walked out of the office a moment later. The five of them got it all unloaded by the time Brad and Jessica walked into the hangar.

  Ving motioned Brad to one side for a quiet conference, and Jessica went straight to the weapons cases, lifting out the one Ving had marked with her name. As Ving explained the pilot’s reluctant acceptance of the charter to Brad, he kept an eye on the slender young blonde. She looked comfortable with the odd looking M4A1, her nimble fingers skimming gracefully over the weapon checking for dust or damage. Her movements were swift and sure, and when she inserted the loaded magazine in the well and tapped the bottom with the heel of her hand to ensure it was seated, she did it with the confidence and skill of an expert. It would be easy to mistake her for an empty-headed swimsuit model because of her appearance, but Ving knew her to be an expert marksman and a cool head in tight situations. She was one of the most positive, confident people he had ever known… a trait she inherited from her father Jack.

  Nevertheless, he knew the treacherous country they were about to venture into, and he realized the dangers that lurked there. He would have to keep an eye on the young adventuress.

  Ving’s focus returned to the conversation he was having with Brad. “What’s that?” he asked. “My mind was wandering Brad, and I didn’t catch that.”

  Brad grimaced. He had seen Ving watching Jessica and his temper had gotten the better of him. “I said, something’s going on up here and I don’t like the smell of it. That Trooper may be a former Marine, and I don’t think he’s lying to us… but I’m pretty damned sure he’s leaving something out, something important, something he doesn’t want us to know.”

  “I’m getting the same vibe from this pilot Brad.”

  Brad shook his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this buddy, but I’m not going to let it stop me from doing my damnedest to save Pete and Charlie. Don’t let the pilot notice, but make sure everyone is locked and loaded when we take off, and to be ready for anything… and make sure mine is locked and loaded too. I’m going to see if I can get anything more out of the guy at the ticket counter.”

  “You’re not going to like this worth a damn brother, but I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

  “We need more intel Ving…”

  “Yeah, but you ain’t gonna get it from that guy.”

  “So how do you propose we try to find out what we need to know smart guy?”

  “When you go fishing brother, you got to use the right bait.” Ving stared pointedly at Jessica, who was slipping into her cold weather parka and her vapor barrier (VB) boots. The VB boots were essential equipment in the Arctic. There were one-way vents inside the arch in each boot to let moisture out while keeping heat in, and there were lugs for ski and snowshoe bindings built onto the heels.

  Brad looked over at the makeshift ticket counter and noticed that the man was ogling Jessica for all he was worth. Brad nodded his acquiescence and walked over to talk with the pilot while Ving went over to whisper in Jessica’s ear.

  “What’s the terrain like up there where we’re headed?” he asked.

  “Robinson showed me the territory on the map…”

  “I’ve got one,” Brad said hurriedly, taking the acetate covered map from the cargo pocket of his baggy artic pants and laying it atop a nearby workbench. He weighted the edges down with two wrenches and a socket from the bench top and Messer pointed to the area Brad had already marked with a red grease pencil.

  “Rugged is too nice a word for this region right here,” Messer said, wiggling his index finger in a loose circle around the small “x”. “It’s a nightmare, a frozen hell up here.” The contour marker showed the elevation
to be nearly 5100 feet. “Depending on their altitude when the transponder started going off, they could have glided anywhere in this circle.” Messer spread his fingers wide and scribed a circle roughly a mile and a half in diameter.

  “That’s something else I don’t understand. I thought transponders went off automatically when an aircraft impacted the ground.”

  Messer gave him a scornful look. “That’s the way it works in the lower forty-eight my friend. Up here, the bush pilots know the transponder signal will be shielded by the mountain peaks. As soon as they have an indication that they’re in trouble, they thump the switch and set the transponder off. We’ll find out for sure when we get there. If they went down so fast that the ground impact set off the transponder, there’s not going to be much left of your friends.” Messer’s grim face told Brad that he had found wreckage from such a circumstance before.

  “What about people? Are there any people or hunting cabins we can reach up there?”

  Messer’s face simply closed, as if a curtain had been dropped across it. “Don’t know nothin’ about that…”

  Try as Brad might, he couldn’t get the pilot to say another word concerning the subject. Irritated, he folded the map and put it in his pocket. He turned to face his team. “Saddle up! I want to get up there before dark.” According to the times Robinson had given him, it shouldn’t be dark until 2130 hours, but the bad weather might make it come a little earlier. The temperature was already dropping, Jessica had been unsuccessful in getting any additional information and they had no more time to waste.

  OUTBOUND FROM TALKEETNA

  Day 2 1530 hours AKDT

  The Bell 212 Twin Huey was painted a bold red and white which stood out against the bright green background of the forest that surrounded the airport. With the gear and personnel loaded the chopper took off and headed east following the Susitna River. It measured seventy-eight miles from the Talkeetna Airport to the coordinates Robinson had given them.

  After approximately fifteen minutes Brad could see the majestic peaks of the Talkeetna Mountains poking through the top of the massive cloud layer that concealed the blackbird storm. He knew it was going to be a rough ride.

  Brad put his head close to Ving’s, keeping an eye on Jessica, who was sitting on the jump seat behind and between Messer and Tom, who was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.

  “What did you find out on the background check?” He didn’t have to mention Charlie by name; Ving knew who he was asking about.

  “I called from the terminal building Brad. He checks out clean, but there’s something about it that’s weird as hell.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s got a detailed history, archaeology professor at Florida State.”

  “What’s so weird about that?”

  “His history only goes back around five years. Before that, I can’t find a single mention of his existence.”

  "What do you make of that?" Brad knew damned well what it sounded like to him. It sounded like Charlie boy had been sent undercover in a hell of a hurry, and somebody in the department of obfuscation in whatever agency employed him dropped the ball.

  "I think he's either one of the really good guys or one of the really bad guys. He knows somebody with good enough connections to construct a fairly solid cover identity. My guess is he’s either a Fed or connected with organized crime," Ving said.

  "Either way I don't like it," Brad scowled. "He’s a liar. He’s lied to us and he’s lied to Jessica."

  “If he's a Fed, he might not have a choice.”

  "You think he could be on a mission that involves us?"

  "I'd say that's a high probability."

  Brad thought about that for a second. "What in the hell would the Feds want with us?"

  "Something tells me we will soon find out."

  "I think it's more likely he’s some kind of crook."

  "That doesn’t make much sense. What could he want from us?"

  "I'm not sure yet. Maybe he’s trying to get to Jack through Jessica? Did you find anything to connect him to Uncle Jack? That’s who introduced him to Jessica…"

  The chopper suddenly dropped almost thirty feet and was then crabbing sideways against a vicious headwind. Brad had been in worse conditions than this, and he had faith in the rugged chopper. He was less certain about Messer. They were getting damned close to Mount Watana, but the weather conditions were continuing to deteriorate.

  Brad glanced down at the map in his hands. The location they were headed for was way off the course between Talkeetna and Stephan Lake Lodge. What the hell were they doing way up here?

  Visibility started to drop even more rapidly and high winds began buffeting the chopper as they approached their destination. Despite the poor conditions, Messer began a standard search pattern around the coordinates last received from the downed plane’s transponder. The wind and the snow flurries made it difficult to see the ground. The transponder had broadcast a position that was at nearly 5100 feet in elevation towards the east side of the mountain.

  Messer dropped the bird down lower to try and get a better look at the ground. That meant they were flying well below the summit of Mount Watana, and visibility had gotten so poor they could no longer see the peak. Messer was a pretty damned good chopper jockey, but Brad knew they were at serious risk of crashing into the mountainside.

  Ving was starting to turn green, and Brad was beginning to understand why the Alaska State Troopers had not yet started their search. This was like flying blind.

  “I’m gonna give this another fifteen minutes and then I’ve gotta get back to Talkeetna. I’m havin’ a helluva time keepin’ her in the air…”

  Brad had no intentions of giving up… they were too damned close. He could see bits and pieces of the mountain through the snow and fog. He really wanted a visual confirmation of the crash site before putting his team on the ground but time was running out on them. Going back to Talkeetna empty handed was not an option.

  He made a command decision. “Put us down here!”

  “What the fuck…?” Messer screeched.

  “Right fucking here, right fucking now,” Brad repeated.

  There was a small hole in the clouds where they could see a fairly level area on the side of the mountain that was larger than the thirty-five meters required to set the chopper down. It was just about the right altitude within about a quarter mile of the intermittent signal that had last been broadcast.

  "Are you sure man?" Messer asked.

  "If you can do it without bending the bird, set us down here. We can handle the rest." Brad responded.

  “I can do it, but it's going to be a touch and go insertion. I don’t dare set her down, and you’re going to have to offload the way you did in combat. This wind catches my bird just right and we’re all dead. I’m only gonna be able to hold a hover for a couple of seconds and you’re gonna have to get out and get down. The rotors can flex about four feet either way in this shit.”

  “Good enough man, and thanks…” Brad replied.

  Jessica smiled at her cousin. She was scared, but exhilarated at the same time. She could see him enjoying the sensation of fear and adrenaline as much as she was... and she was just as determined as Brad to find Pete and Charlie. She could hardly wait to get on the ground.

  Messer swooped down and put the chopper into a tenuous ground hover and yelled “Go!” at the top of his lungs. The five of them leaped from the bird to the snow, covering the exposed area of their skins with their arms to keep the rotor wash from causing frostbite. Their equipment lay in the snow beside them. The chopper popped up and roared away, leaving only the howling of the wind in their ears.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON THE SITE

  Day 2 1720 hours AKDT

  A gust of wind cleared the air for a moment shortly after the team hit their LZ. It was eagle-eyed Jared who spotted the wrecked fuselage of the Piper far down below them on the frozen surface of the river, perhaps a hundred meters f
rom the lake that fed the river. The craft had managed to glide only a short distance from where the transponder had been able to send out its last signal, on the east side of Mount Watana.

  The snow was still blowing hard, and visibility was extremely limited. They couldn’t even shoot a compass bearing to the wreckage. This close to the North Pole a compass proved useless.

  Even so, they reached the wreckage in forty-five minutes of hard walking. The terrain was not conducive to walking, and there were patches of deep snow between cracks in the base rock of the mountain. It would have been a difficult walk even in summer conditions.

  “Spread out and do a three-sixty search,” Brad ordered, sending Jessica, Tom, and Jared out in a cloverleaf pattern.

  “I hope to hell they got out of this thing before it burned,” he muttered, more to himself than to Ving. That was the real reason he’d sent the team searching. If Charlie was in that mess he didn’t want Jessica to be the one that found him.

  Jessica, Tom, and Jared obediently spread out and commenced to execute the familiar cloverleaf pattern.

  Brad and Ving approached the blackened and half-melted struts that were all that was left of the fuselage, looking for any sign of life… or death, whichever the case might be.

  There was no sign of Pete or Charlie but there were empty cartridge cases scattered everywhere, evidence of a major firefight. “What the fuck happened here?” Brad grumbled. There was a body up close to the fuselage.

  "Ving, check his ID," Brad commanded.

  "Sam Henderson, definitely the pilot," Ving replied, kneeling by the frozen body. "Looks like he was badly injured in the crash, but he got out before it burned. No bullet wounds."