Skyhook (25 page)

“But these guys are supposed to be on our side, aren’t they?”

“Sure. We’re from the government. We’re here to help you.””

“I mean, just Wednesday I talked to a very helpful Coast Guard officer in Anchorage. Oh, God!”

“What?”

“Things have been moving so fast, I completely forgot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember I told you about the somewhat clandestine meeting with ieutenant Hobbs–Jim Hobbs of the Coast Guard in Anchorage?”

“Yes. At Starbucks. I figured he was hitting on you.”

“No, he was trying to warn me, and I didn’t take it to heart. He said there were other agencies interested in Dad’s situation. I asked him for the radar tapes, and he said he was told there was nothing there that would help. I handed him the exact coordinates from the onboard GPS, and then blundered into the area without ever thinking that they might be waiting and watching. That’s what Jim Hobbs was trying to warn me about.”

“Hey, I would have done the same thing, April.”

“It’s funny you’d mention submarines, Gracie. Scott McDermott

is an ex-Navy pilot, and he was saying exactly the same thing last night—that they may be protecting some Navy operation.”

“All the more reason to raise that aircraft as soon as possible.”

“That’s the other problem,” April sighed, relating Jim’s reluctance even to apply for permits, now that the area was supposedly restricted.

“April, push those two guys hard to help you. I’ll… Wait a minute. I know someone down here in the Coast Guard.

Let me see

if I can find out what claim of legality they’re using to rope off that area and confiscate tapes. In fact, I’ll recommend to Ted Greene that we just charge into this immediately and file for an emergency restraining order to locate and protect that tape.”

“My head is so fuzzed up right now, Gracie, I can’t think.”

“You need coffee.”

“Yeah. But more importantly, I need something encouraging to tell Dad.”

They ended the call, leaving April feeling overwhelmed.

There was no way she should be wide awake at five-thirty in the morning after less than five hours’ sleep, April thought, but she was. The burning desire to finish the mission she’d come to Alaska to accomplish drove her into the shower and out of the room around six, looking for a coffee shop open for breakfast at that hour.

“Totem Inn’s the only one, ma’am,” the desk clerk said, pointing the way. She zipped up her parka and trudged the relatively short distance through the quiet, darkened streets of the small town.

The temperature was in the mid-thirties, and while winter was officially over, the frigid air cascading down the mountain slopes from the surrounding glaciers kept the town in a constant state of refrigeration.

April snuggled into a booth and ordered. The coffee tasted far better than it actually was, but the eggs were perfect, and she finished the meal and sat quietly for a few minutes, her eyes on a distant light across the bay, her mind working through the central question of what to do next.

Scott McDermott was bunking, as he put it, with Jim, and they had agreed to meet in the morning with no clear idea of why. Grade was right, April thought. She needed their help.

Okay, she told herself. Focus. What do I want them to do? They can’t steal the tape back.

It had been a mild torture to lie in the hotel bed earlier with the knowledge that the state trooper who’d waylaid them wasn’t leaving Valdez with her tape until morning. That little cartridge might mean her father’s livelihood and happiness, and it was physically less than two hundred yards distant at the tiny state police office. The thought of breaking in had crossed her mind.

There were no steel doors or bars on the windows. It was little more than a portable building, and she could probably gain access with a screwdriver.

At 1 a.m. April had slipped from beneath the covers, shivering in the cold of the hotel room, and peeked out the window, staring at the nearby building as a Valdez police car motored by.

Am I crazy? I’m not going to burgle a police station.

ike they

wouldn’t know who took their tape.

She’d gone back to bed and fallen into a deep sleep replete with odd dreams of a beautiful mountain field and saddled horses that couldn’t be ridden. She’d chased the unattainable mounts for endless hours in the dream before Gracie’s phone call had shattered it.

April thanked the waitress for the latest coffee refill and refocused on the present. She couldn’t steal the tape, and she couldn’t even talk the officer into letting the other two guys see it, and Gracie obviously thought that was a fatal problem.

Yet the key to Arlie Rosen’s exoneration was sitting under 250

feet of water just sixty miles south, and even Gracie was afraid something might happen to the wreckage. Full, unopened bottles in the cabin of the Albatross would destroy Harrison’s theory.

We’ve got to go back out, regardless of the risk, April concluded. She had Jim’s address. She should probably walk there and knock on his door about seven. McDermott might be grumpy, but Jim would be

gracious, and she could plead with him shamelessly, the damsel in distress, as

ieutenant Hobbs had characterized her. She hated manipulating, but this was different.

April paid the check and studied the local map in the tiny Valdez phone book at the cafe before pushing through the door into the cold. The glow of dawn was already on the eastern horixon as she reached Jim Dobler’s door, surprised to find a light on in what must be the kitchen or dining area. She could see through the window by the front porch that it was Scott McDermott sitting alone over a cup of coffee. She tapped lightly on the glass, surprised when Scott jumped, startled, then smiled when he saw her face through the glass door. He got to his feet to let her in.

“April! You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Good morning. So are you.”

He closed the door quietly behind her. “Jim’s still snoring in his room, and I was just trying to get a handle on the day.”

“Me too.” She smiled.

“Would you like some coffee? It’s kind of cold out there.”

“

ove some,” she said, deciding there was no point in discussing her breakfast.

She sat at the small kitchen table as he handed her a fresh cup.

“Jim’s got good taste. Starbucks, Seattle’s Best, Millstone …

the good brands.”

“Scott, I need to go back out there and try again.”

He stopped rummaging through Jim’s pantry and turned toward her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the determination on her face. She saw him sigh and close the cabinet before sitting down, folding his hands, and looking her in the eye.

“April…”

“I have no choice. My dad’s career, his financial survival, maybe even his life, are on the line, and the proof that he wasn’t negligent—the proof that can partially end the problem—is right out there.” She pointed to the west and he corrected her, his finger roughly describing the magnetic course to the crash site.

“

ook, I really want to help you with this,” Scott began. “Hell, I could use the money, and so could Jim. But, April, you’ve got to be practical. The Coast Guard will more than likely give you that tape back, so you really don’t need us. I’d have to charge you a small fortune anyway for the risk.”

She nodded, her face hardening. “I see. We need to set a price, then.”

“A price?”

“You, know,” she said, a sharpness creeping into her voice. “How many pieces of silver will it take to get you to help me?”

“Pieces of silver? What, as in a biblical reference?”

“Of course. I mean, you’re obviously concerned with money.”

“Well, hell, lady, I’m not in this for love!” he snapped, instantly regretting it. “Sorry. I’m just trying to run a flying service, and the winters get pretty sparse.”

“I’m not asking for charity, you know. I’ll certainly pay your tab without fail.”

“I’m not worried about…

ook, I apologize if that seemed

mercenary.”

“It did.”

He glanced away for a few seconds before meeting her gaze again.

“

ook, April, if we try to bust through their prohibited zone, either or both of us could end up out of business. They could take Jim’s permits and financially strangle him! And they could cashier my pilot’s license like … like …” He was gesturing uselessly and unable to back out of the reference he now wanted to avoid.

“

ike what they’ve done with my dad’s license?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Who the heU is they,” Scott? Who am I fighting?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but—and I thought about this last night a lot—it really does have to be something to do with the Navy. I mean, it’s water, it’s military …”

“What do you mean, military? The Coast Guard is primarily government.”

“Yeah, but you remember that so-called fishing boat Jim said was faking fishing? Just before the cutter showed up?”

“I forgot.”

“I finally remembered where I’d seen that hull before. Adak. I’ve had a few contracts to run in and out of there, and I remember seeing him. That’s a Navy tender based at Adak Naval Air Station.

April, we’ve stumbled into a Navy operation and … and it probably is legitimately associated with national security. It’s just unfortunate your dad happened to go down in the wrong place.”

“I’ll be sure to warn him to do a better job of crashing the next time,” she said, her voice sharp and sarcastic.

Scott raised his hand, palm up. “I’m sorry—that wasn’t meant to be offensive.”

April nodded, her eyes on the window as she watched the growing light in the eastern sky, a backdrop glow over a glacier-encrusted mountain bordering the western end of the Valdez inlet. She turned back to him, her jaw set. “Scott, I need help. Name your price. I’m going back out there even if I have to buy the equipment and rent an outboard. If neither you nor Jim will help me, then I’ll go alone.”

He was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, April. Unless I can get clearance to legally go there, I’m out of this. I’m not nuts.”

“You’re quitting? Just like that? I said I’d meet your price.”

“So I get paid and lose my license. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“You’re the big macho ex-Navy go-get-‘em damn-the-torpedoes guy I was told could do almost anything, and you’re running from this?

Apparently they were wrong.”

He was getting agitated, his gestures becoming broader, his face darker.

“Who is they,” huh? Who the hell told you I was some sort of testosterone-soaked risk taker?”

“Synonymous with fighter jock, right? Or was that only the previous generations in Nam and Desert Storm?”

“Hey! I served in Afghanistan before hanging it up!”

“But this scares you?”

His voice rose another notch. “Damn, woman, what is it about professional suicide you don’t understand?”

“I understand that… that… I’m begging for your help, Scott.”

“Oh? What, now you’re the helpless female begging the macho male to go slay her dragon?” He snorted derisively as he got up from the table and paced to the end of the kitchen, turning, his voice raised. “I’ve been jerked around by some of the best manipulating bitches in the world, and you’re no match.”

“Fine.”

“How dare you try to goad me.”

“Forget it,” she said, looking away, genuinely trying not to cry.

She started pawing at her purse, trying to get the latch open to pull out her checkbook, anger mixing in a confusing melange with a wave of despair. “I’ll write you a check so you can get the hell out of Dodge.”

Jim Dobler had been leaning against the far entrance to the room in the shadows, listening. He moved toward the table, watching April flipping through her checkbook, pen in hand.

“Sit down, Scott,” Jim said.

“Hey, don’t—”

“Sit, son! For God’s sake, respect your elders.”

Scott snorted and sank back into his chair.

“And, April? May I have your attention, please?”

She stopped writing the check and looked up, then set the pen down. “Certainly, Jim.”

“Thank you.”

“How long were you standing there?” she asked.

“

ong enough,” he said, settling into a kitchen chair backward.

“

ong enough.”

ieutenant Colonel Jon Anderson placed the small laptop computer on the polished tabletop in front of Major General Mac MacAdams and opened the screen.

“I just downloaded the shots the Navy took for you, sir.”

“They got them this fast? Great.”

Anderson sat down in an adjacent seat. “According to the message, they had an unmanned remote submersible available, and they located the wreck quickly—thanks to having the coordinates transmitted by the Albatross itself right before it went in.”

“I heard about that onboard GPS system.”

“One more thing I need to tell you. When the Navy ship carrying the submersible was approaching the area yesterday, they found a small civilian amphibian aircraft sitting over the site and dangling a private submersible camera over the wreckage. In the aircraft was the daughter, April Rosen, and two men.”

“Did they succeed?”

“Yes, sir. Apparently she hired the pilot and his little Grumman

amphib—a Widgeon—out of Anchorage, and they got the video equipment from a company in Valdez.”

“So … they’ve now got footage of the wreck. That’s good if it ends her search for a way to get her father off the hook.”

“Well, we’ve kind of intervened. Through the Coast Guard.”

“Meaning?”

Anderson related the boarding and confiscation of the first tape.

“When they got the tape aboard the cutter, one of the crewmen had a camcorder with the same format and they played it, but the tape had only a few frames recorded, and they figured—correctly, it turned out—that Rosen had kept the real tape. They had the police catch up with her when her airplane landed in Valdez, and they confiscated the tape there.”

“Confiscated?” Mac sighed. “I’m not a lawyer, but that worries me. I’m not sure we have the legal right to snatch a civilian tape. Do we know what it showed?”