Wisdom Spring, page 17
“Yeah, it wasn’t pleasant. Can’t believe I’m alive to see this.” He swept his hand around to the surrounding mountains.
“Stupid question, but I assume you weren’t followed.”
“God, no.”
“How’d your contact know about this place?”
“He said he’s flown in here twice before. I don’t think your friend Fister likes him very much. And knowing this guy, I’m sure he wasn’t transporting hunters when he came.”
“Fist is pretty picky about the type of lowlife that is acceptable. Okay, give me a minute to pick up my food and say hi to Fist.”
Scott went into the building. It was just what the average tourist would expect a remote hunting outpost to look like. Bearskins and moose heads lined the walls. There were three rows of camping and fishing supplies, and a glass counter filled with knives of all sizes. Behind the counter was a small selection of rifles and rods and reels. On the other side of the store was the bar. The smell of Scott’s burger hung in the air.
“Hey, Fist,” said Scott.
“Hey. Didn’t expect to see you this early in the season.”
“Special trip. Had to pick up your guest of the last few hours.”
“He’s not up here to hunt or fish, I can tell you that.”
“Nah,” answered Scott. “Kind of a special situation.”
Fister said no more. He had seen enough in his years to know when to stop with the questions.
Scott picked up his food and a bottle of water and made his way back out to the plane. Butch had finished fueling it and Scott paid him, got in, then helped Joe into the co-pilot’s seat.
“Gets pretty loud with the engines on, so you’ll need to wear the headphones in front of you. They will dampen the noise and allow us to talk.”
Joe nodded his agreement and slipped the headset on. Scott tested it out to make sure they could communicate, then started the engines. Within minutes they were in the air. They circled Rocky Hole once, then headed south toward Homer. Scott ate while he flew, and in no time the cockpit smelled like a burger joint. If it bothered Joe, he didn’t let on. He let Scott finish his meal before talking.
“One of the questions I was going to ask you was how you knew Jon and Jess, but having met you, it’s pretty obvious. Is Jon your older brother?”
“By three years. But I’m better looking, so that evens things out.”
Suddenly, from the headset Scott heard, “Apache 214, Apache 214, you out there?”
“Apache 214 here. What’s up Fist?”
“Five minutes after you left, a chopper set down. New and fast. Two slick operators on board. Wanted to know if your package was on the plane that just left. Butch, well, he’s my son and all, but he’s dumb as a stump, and told them he was. They wanted to know where you were heading. Butch doesn’t know where you’re from, but he told them he saw you heading south. Anyway, I’d suggest putting down somewhere real soon, ‘cuz they’re going to catch up to you in no time.”
Scott made a sharp turn to the northwest.
“Fist, can you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Can you call Pete and Ollie over at Piney Lake and let them know I’m on my way? Ask them to round up any of the boys who might be there. I might need some help. I’ll call in to them when I’m closer.”
“Roger. I’ll get back to you.”
The two things Scott knew he could count on were the help locals gave their own up in the wilderness, and the disdain they held for slick strangers. Even though Scott had only lived in Alaska for eight years, and had been flying for only half of that, he had been fully accepted as “one of them.”
“Thought you weren’t followed.”
“I wasn’t. They’re probably coming in from somewhere else. Unfortunately, the people I get to help me are usually swayed by the almighty buck. Word is probably out about me, and I’m sure it’s made its way to all the people who have reputations for transporting “packages.” In fact, he probably heard the word even before he agreed to take me here. I bet he double-crossed me even before I was in his plane. Gave them the coordinates of where he was going to drop me off. I tried to use the least sleazy of the sleazebags. The joke’s on him though. I know these guys. He’ll never get his payment from them. He’ll be dead soon after he lands. I’m sorry though. I didn’t mean to bring trouble with me.”
“Trouble seems to be the word of the week, so don’t worry about it. Let’s just hope we can make it. Piney Lake is a good ten minutes from here, and I’ve just spotted the chopper in back of us.”
Joe turned to look.
“It’s still a ways back,” said Scott, “But Fister was right. It’s fast.”
“Apache 214, you still out there?”
“Talk to me.”
“Talked to Pete. Besides him and Ollie, they’ve got two other boys there. They’ll be concealed in the woods. This better be good. They’re so excited, I think they’ve all got hard-ons. They haven’t done any flatlander hunting in a while. Don’t disappoint them.”
“Thanks, Fist, I owe you.”
“You sure do. Out.”
The chopper was gaining. Scott knew it was going to be close. There was going to be no leisurely landing this time.
“You armed?” he asked Joe.
“Stole one from one of the guys who did this.” He pointed to his face.
“Well, then, let’s do it.” They were still five minutes out and the chopper was getting closer. Scott banked slowly to his right, then a sharp turn to his left. His intention wasn’t to outrun the chopper, but to put himself in the best spot possible for landing. He was now in position to come right into the Piney Lake runway without any more major course adjustments.
Many of the backwoods lake guide posts didn’t have runways. They relied on the seaplane business. But like Rocky Hole, Piney Lake was an exception.
“Joe, take a look at them. Anything about the chopper I should know?”
Joe had been gazing back almost constantly, trying to gauge how close they could come to landing before the helicopter was on top of them.
“Well, it’s not a gunship, if that’s what you were worried about, so I don’t think they’re going to blow us out of the sky. Even if one of them has a high-powered rifle, the chances of him hitting us are slim. That only works in the movies. My guess is that they want to force you down so that you crash in the woods. I don’t know if they’ve figured out yet that you have a plan to land.”
“And if we make it?” asked Scott.
“You can bet they’ll come in heavily armed.”
“Well, besides being a hunting camp, Piney Lake is a survivalist community. They’ll take out anyone in their way.”
Scott keyed the radio. “Piney Lake, this is Apache 214, over.”
“Yo Scott, this is Ollie. We’re all set for you here. I can see you in the distance. You’ve got a big bad bird following you. A little too close.”
“Thanks Ollie. I can feel his breath. I’m coming in fast. These guys mean business and are going to have some impressive hardware.”
“Roger that. My boys are safe. Any instructions?”
Scott looked at Joe. “Questioning them will be worthless,” Joe said. “Nobody seems to know much of anything. At best, they might know who hired them, but even that person is too low on the totem pole.”
Scott keyed the mic again. “You do whatever you need to. You’ve got free rein.”
“The boys will be happy to hear that. You get in here quick.”
“They’re here,” said Joe. “Right over us and coming lower.”
“Got it,” Scott answered. He could see the runway. “I’m going in.” It was one of the shorter runways around, and not one that Scott liked to land on even in the best of times. It was not going to be fun.
Meanwhile, the helicopter, whose crew probably thought they were bringing Scott’s plane down, suddenly pulled back, now that it was obvious to them Scott was going to land safely. Scott figured they were discussing their options.
Despite the chopper being less than a hundred feet behind him, and his plane coming in a little faster than was advised, his landing was surprisingly smooth. He applied the flaps and brakes and came to a stop with twenty feet to spare. He looked over at Joe, who was clutching the sides of his seat.
“Piece of cake,” said Scott, grinning.
“I think I wet your seat,” croaked Joe.
As Scott taxied the plane around, he saw the chopper at the top of the runway sitting on the ground. Two men with what looked like M-16s had stepped out of the chopper and were motioning for Scott to approach. The pilot was still at the controls, keeping the blades turning, ready for a quick getaway. Unbeknownst to the men from the chopper, but in plain sight to Scott and Joe, three men with rifles were sneaking up from the rear, taking care to stay behind cover the whole time.
Scott and Joe cocked their pistols at almost the same moment and Scott worked the throttle so they were slowly creeping back up the runway toward the chopper. He saw one of the men from the chopper quickly turn his head toward a shed. Then they both turned in the other direction. Scott could see one of Ollie’s men—it might have been Ollie himself—hiding behind a knoll at the edge of the runway, a shotgun pointed at the two men.
Scott stopped the plane. It was obvious a yelling match was going on, and the two from the chopper weren’t looking very confident. Suddenly, one raised his M-16, and got off one burst before dropping to the ground, his gun flying from his hands. The second man also raised his gun, but Scott wasn’t so sure it wasn't the beginning of putting his hands up to surrender. It didn’t matter. He, too, went down.
Scott gunned the motor and headed up the runway, stopping just short of the two bodies. He turned off the engines—thankful for the sudden quiet—and he and Joe got out, guns drawn.
The others had gathered around the two downed men. Both had leg wounds, but were very much alive.
Pete sidled up to Scott. “That was some flying.”
“I appreciate the help,” answered Scott.
“Mind telling us what this is all about?”
“A very large and complicated conspiracy of some major terrorists”—he used the word for effect—“to take over the government. A lot of people have died—some probably at the hands of these two—and a lot more will die unless we can stop it. You think you’ve got no freedoms now, wait ‘til these people take over.”
“Hey,” said Pete, “I may not like the assholes in Washington, but I served in Iraq, and I don’t take kindly to terrorists.”
Scott knew that as much as these backwoods guys derided the government, most had fought for it. They didn’t mind talking about taking over the government. They just wanted to be the ones to do it. A little terrorist talk would get their blood boiling.
Suddenly he heard a shout, followed by two gunshots, and felt a bullet whiz past his ear. He looked up to see the pilot, whom everyone had forgotten about, pointing a large handgun out his window. He pulled in the gun and revved the motor. At that moment though, two of Ollie’s men blasted the cockpit with buckshot and the pilot slumped forward, the engine cycling down. One of the men jumped into the cockpit and turned off the engine.
The two on the ground were crying out in pain. Both had major wounds and blood was pooling up on the runway around them.
“What’ll we do with them?” asked Ollie. “You’re a paramedic, right? Should you try to save them?”
“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much choice,” Scott said, and headed to his plane for his medical kit.
A lone shot rang out from behind him. He turned quickly to see Joe point his gun at the second man’s head and pull the trigger. A second shot reverberated off the surrounding mountains.
“Shit!” he exclaimed. Nobody else said anything.
Joe looked up at the shocked faces around him. “It was the only option,” he said. “If we had let these guys live, you’d all be dead by tomorrow, and we wouldn’t be far behind. You have no idea how powerful the people behind this are. They have tentacles everywhere. You call the Alaska State Police and within an hour these people know about it. The only way that seems to work—your brother discovered that,” he said to Scott—“is to make the hirelings disappear altogether. Make the ones at the top wonder what became of their men. I suggest what happened here stays here. You talk about it and somehow it’s going to get back to them. Scott can let you know when it’s all over and okay to talk about.”
“Jon pegged you as a mild-mannered type,” said Scott.
“Yeah, well, your brother isn’t aware of my past.” He left it at that.
Ollie said to his two men, “You guys okay hauling some trash?”
“Not a problem,” said one.
“Take my pickup down the old logging trail to bear hollow. Take ‘em as far in as you can. Watch out for the bears. Strip ‘em naked. Any cash in their wallets is yours. We’ll burn their clothes, credit cards, and I.D.’s when you get back.” He turned to Scott. “What’ll we do about their chopper?”
“You want to strip it and sell the parts?”
“Hell, yeah. I can make a fortune off this. I’ll tow it over to the big shed. It’ll fit. We can dismantle it in there. Pete, when they leave with the bodies, can you wash the blood off the runway?” He turned to Joe. “So these are some serious bad guys? Think they contacted anyone before they set down?”
“I doubt it,” responded Joe. “These are hired guns. As such, they want to get full credit for their kills. They’re not going to have told anyone where they are until they have proof that they’ve done their job. No, I think you’re all pretty safe.”
An hour later, after repeatedly thanking Pete, Ollie, and the other two for their help, Scott and Joe were back on their way.
Scott radioed Fister to let him know that “everything was taken care of” and to thank him again for his assistance. He promised to tell him the whole story at a later date.
“You think Ollie and his friends are going to be okay?” asked Joe.
“Yeah. Like I said, they’re survivalists. They all have military backgrounds—most with extensive combat experience—and they’re used to skirting the law. They don’t see something like this out here, so down the line when they can talk about it, they’ll go to town with it. I think your actions shocked them a little bit, but they’re not virgins. If they think something needs to be done, they’ll do it. Uh, but Joe, when we tell Jon and Jess about it, let’s leave out that last part.”
Joe smiled. “Yeah, no problem.”
Chapter 24
Scott had just left to pick up Joe, and Jess and I sat at the kitchen table trying to make sense of the phone call a few hours earlier. I mentioned it to Scott before he left, but asked him not to say anything to Joe until he got here.
It had taken us over an hour to get back to sleep, as we debated the odds that it was actually Mill. Here we were again, this time more awake, but coming to the same conclusion: we still had no idea.
“Okay,” began Jess. “Let’s assume for a moment that it was Mill, how did he get your number? If you remember, when you gave it to Joe, he said he was going to be the only person who had it, that we were to go through him for everything.”
“That’s why it’ll be good to talk to Joe about this. If Mill is in hiding,” I continued, “couldn’t he contact one of his press buddies and tell them about Hillstrom? At least get the word out?”
“He probably doesn’t know who to trust anymore. I’m sure he’s scared out of his mind. If he shows himself, they’ll find a way to kill him.”
“You’re right. I guess we really can’t do anything else until, or if, he calls again.”
“So where does that leave us?” asked Jess. “Scott won’t be back with Joe for hours.”
“Let’s look into the ghost town theory. If it’s true that he was brought up in a town now abandoned, is there some significance to it? I mean, did he leave because the town was going under, or was he somehow responsible for it becoming a ghost town?”
We cleaned up the breakfast dishes and were about to move to the computer when we heard a yelping outside. We rushed to the door, only to see Max and Slob wrestling in the dirt. They would roll over, then hop up and take turns chasing each other. They were having the time of their lives.
“Remember how Max looked at Slob with disdain when Slob greeted us?” I asked. “It was all an act.”
At that moment, Max caught sight of us standing in the doorway and suddenly stopped and looked at us as if to say, “You’re not going to tell Scott you saw me doing this, right?”
“Don’t worry, Max,” I said aloud. “Your secret is safe with us.”
Satisfied, Max nipped Slob, and the games continued.
We went back in and sat at the computer. We started the search just by typing “ghost towns Alaska” into Google. I figured we could narrow it down as needed.
The information was fascinating, and we found ourselves getting caught up in the romance of Alaska during the gold rush days and forgetting our real purpose. There were numerous websites that brought the history to life. While many of the towns were former gold camps or mining towns started in the late 1890s, some didn’t lose their last residents until the 1940s and 1950s. What kept the people there all that time?
As we read the accounts of the Klondike Gold Rush, and the 100,000 people who ventured there to make their fortune, we were both feeling a little embarrassed at our lack of knowledge about this part of America’s history. Neither of us had ever read The Call of the Wild, or anything by Jack London, and couldn’t remember learning anything about that fascinating era in history class. Were we just not interested when they taught it, or had it become a footnote, one that was no longer as important as our involvement in wars, and not worth teaching? I could somehow understand Alaskans’ disdain for the rest of the country. Other than the focus on its oil, what did we really know about the state?
Finally we began to focus in on the task at hand and were able to sort our way through the towns, eventually discarding the more famous ghost towns, and those on the official “ghost town tour map.” Even so, nothing seemed to fit our criteria. There were a few towns—not necessarily related to the gold rush—that lost their last residents as recently as the early seventies, but upon further investigation, just didn’t seem “right.” No, we were missing something.
