I sat on my duffel bag, while Morgan stood a few feet away, watching the bomb search. The blue-and-white two-oh-six was gone from its stall, taxiing for takeoff. I watched it break the plane of the water and soar lazily into the sky. I inhaled a deep breath of processed fish and rotting kelp and my brain instantly associated the aroma with the day I had waited for Craig. My mouth went dry and my stomach burned. I put my head between my knees.
“Are you okay?” Morgan moved closer and bent over to look at me.
I swallowed deeply a few times and wiped away the tears running down my cheeks. I didn’t look at him when I answered. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be such a bitch today. I guess I’m just tense.”
Morgan pulled his duffel up beside mine and sat down. He leaned forward, his head near mine. “I understand, Jane, and you haven’t been that terrible.”
I looked into his eyes, only a few inches away. They were iridescent in the sunlight, framed by small wrinkles at the corners. His mouth turned upward into a small grin. I could smell his aftershave.
“Thanks. I’ll be better after we get this trip over with.”
My attention was diverted by the sound of engines. Morgan and I looked toward the parking lot and saw two large pickup trucks pull up to the top of the ramp. Two men got out of one of the trucks and three out of the other. They began unloading the trucks and hauling gear down to a grey Beaver, the only other plane tied to the float we were on.
A grey van pulled into the parking lot and stopped near the ramp of the adjacent float. Five people climbed from that van, and the noise level of Trident Basin rose.
“We’re ready for the gear,” Steve called.
I stood and stretched my cramped legs. Morgan walked up to the other FBI agent, and they began talking in hushed tones. I picked up a box and walked to the plane, handing it to Steve, who was standing on the end of the float.
Morgan shook the bomb expert’s hand, and the man left. I handed Morgan a box, and he carried it to Steve. I returned for another load, regretting the coffee I’d had to drink that morning.
I handed a duffel bag to Morgan. “Mind if I run up there for a minute?” I pointed toward the portable toilets.
Morgan smiled. “By all means. Steve and I can load this stuff.”
I ran up the ramp and stepped into the small, white cubicle. It smelled just as I expected it would, and I held my breath as long as I could. When I exited the toilet, I looked down at the plane; the gear and Morgan were on board.
I began walking quickly toward the ramp. There were five vehicles and several people in the parking lot now, but I paid little attention to any of them as I hurried toward the plane. I had just reached the top of the ramp, when a large hand gripped my arm, jerking me to a stop.
I spun around and tried to yank my arm from his grasp, but he was too strong. My gaze jerked from the oil-encrusted fingernails to the wide, unshaven chin, the greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and the wild, slightly-crooked brown eyes. He breathed chewing tobacco into my face. “So, you’re the bitch causing all the trouble.”
I tried to pull my face away from his, but when I moved, he applied more pressure to my arm. I didn’t know who this man was, but I thought I was dead. He could drag me into a truck and drive away with me, and Morgan never would know what had happened.
“You leave me out of this, you hear?” The wild eyes looked capable of anything, and I didn’t doubt he could murder me right then. “I have enough problems, and I ain’t done nothin’ to you.” He put his mouth next to my ear, “But I will if you don’t back off.”
He shoved me and I fell, whacking my head on the gravel parking lot. I closed my eyes, waiting for the next blow, but when I opened them a few seconds later, he was gone.
I sat and rubbed the back of my head. I’d spent too much time lately on the gravel in this parking lot. I stood and shook my head, trying to clear the dancing black dots from my vision. I walked to the top of the ramp and looked down at the plane. Morgan stood on the float, cupping his hands over his eyes, looking for me. I waved, and he waved back.
I gripped the handrail on the ramp and then turned around to see if I could spot my attacker. I felt as if I were moving in slow motion. Why hadn’t I yelled to Morgan for help?
People moved in double-time around me, and I gripped the railing tighter as a man brushed past me and sent me reeling.
There he was. My new acquaintance was unloading gear from a black van. I couldn’t see his face, but there was no mistaking the hair and physique.
The side of the van faced toward me, and I should have been able to read the large, yellow lettering, but everything was blurred. I blinked my eyes and squinted. “Afognak Logging,” I muttered the words as I deciphered them.
I started slowly down the ramp. Morgan was on the dock walking toward me. I had no idea how long I had been standing at the top of the ramp, but apparently it had been long enough to worry Morgan.
“Are you okay? You’re not walking straight.” Morgan gripped my arm. I leaned against him and he put his arm around me.
“I just met George Wall,” I said.
“The guide on probation?” Morgan asked. “He hurt you? Is he still here?”
“Forget it,” I said. “He’s a bully. Let’s just get out of here.
Morgan helped me onto the float and steadied me while I climbed into the right rear passenger seat. He took the front seat next to Steve.
“Your headset is hanging on the back of the seat,” Steve yelled to me above the engine noise.
My brain slowly was beginning to clear. I put on the headset, leaned back, and closed my eyes. This day was not starting out well. How had George Wall known who I was, and how had he known I’d been asking questions about him?
The blow to the back of my head calmed my fear of flying better than any tranquilizer could. I’d have to remember to thank George Wall. We were half way to Uyak before I began to imagine all the places the bomb could be hidden, and the day was so beautiful that I couldn’t manage to work myself into a state of apprehension.
I listened to Morgan and Steve chatter in my headphones. Morgan had a map unfolded on his lap, and Steve pointed out geographical points to him. He told Morgan the story about Port Lions, the Alutiiq village named in honor of Lions Club International, the service group that helped build the village and relocate the survivors of Afognak village after the 1964 tsunami wiped out their homes. Morgan listened with interest and asked Steve several questions about the tsunami and about the history of the Alutiiq people.
The more I was around Morgan, the more the man impressed me. Nothing about the history of the people of Kodiak Island pertained to his case, but he was interested and seemed to want to learn as much as he could about this island while he was here. I wondered if he showed this amount of interest on every assignment or if Kodiak intrigued him. Perhaps he could be persuaded to relocate here.
I felt my lips curl. I must have a concussion; I was beginning to hallucinate.
“How are you doing, Jane?” Steve asked.
“Better. Nothing a handful of Excedrin won’t cure.”
“Jane, do you mind if Steve drops you off first?” Morgan asked.
“Of course not. The fewer landings and takeoffs, the better.”
“Can we do that, Steve? I want to get a better look at the area and follow the flight path Bill would have taken that day.”
“Sure,” Steve said. “I can only guess he made a straight path from Craig’s camping site to Uganik Pass.”
“Why does it matter?” I asked.
“It probably doesn’t,” Morgan said, “but it might give me a new perspective.”
I didn’t understand how it would help to know the flight path, but Morgan was the pro. I would just be happy to get out of the plane and sit on the beach.
I closed my eyes and leaned back when we flew over the crash site. Morgan and Steve were silent, and I knew they must be peering down at the ground.
“This is Spiridon Bay,�
�� Steve said a few minutes later.
I sat forward and watched out my window as we flew over one more point of land, and then Steve announced we were now over Uyak Bay. In the shade of the mountains, the water was a deep, murky green, but in the sunlight it was a silvery mirror, reflecting the blue sky.
“It must be hard to land when it’s this calm,” Morgan said.
“It’s no picnic,” Steve said. “I’ll circle to get a good look at it”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. The conditions looked perfect to me. I was finally beginning to relax, but now my stomach tightened again.
“It’s okay,” Steve said. “Just hard to tell where the water is when it’s so calm.” Steve turned and smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ve done this a couple of times before.”
I smiled at him but didn’t release my grip on the seat cushion. I bit my lip and stared out the window until we glided smoothly across the water and Steve turned off the engine.
“Got you here in one piece,” he said.
“Sorry, I’m just a little tense.”
We glided to the edge of the beach and stopped. Steve and Morgan climbed from the plane, and I saw that at some point, Morgan had pulled on shiny, new hip boots. I looked down at my hiking boots. My hip boots were somewhere in the jumble of gear in the rear of the plane.
Morgan held onto the plane, while Steve climbed back up onto the float. He opened the door and looked in at me.
“My boots,” I said.
“That’s okay. This is a steep beach,” Steve said. “You can jump from the float, and I’ll hand your gear to you.”
We unloaded my gear in a few minutes.
“You all set?” Steve asked.
“I think so.” I suddenly wasn’t so sure I wanted to be left alone, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.
“Let’s have a radio schedule at 6:00 tonight,” Morgan said.
I nodded. “I’ll have the radio antenna up by then.”
Steve leaned his head to one side, studying me. “Call Kodiak Flight Services at any time if you have a problem.”
I felt the threat of tears, which made me angry with myself. Why was I becoming such a marshmallow?
“Hey, I’ve got a present for you. I almost forgot.” He opened the pilot-side door and reached under the seat. He walked back to the front of the float, carrying a green hat. “One of our new hats. This will keep you from getting sunburned.”
I reached for the cap and turned it around in my hands, caressing the corduroy fabric. The white, embroidered logo depicted a floatplane gliding over a mountain, surrounded by the words, “Kodiak Flight Services.”
“This is nice,” I said. “I like the colors.”
Steve’s smile faded. “We got those in the mail the day of the accident. I’d just given Bill his before his last flight. After the crash, I didn’t want to look at them, but that’s stupid. I’ve got a thousand of them to get rid of.”
“Why aren’t you wearing one?”
“Nah. I’ll stick with my trusty grey one a while longer.”
Steve and Morgan turned the plane around, pushed it away from the beach, and then climbed up on the floats and into the cabin. I stood on the beach and watched the plane take off and fly out of sight. Then, I sat on the shale rocks and cried. I’d never felt so alone in my life.
Chapter Thirteen
I wrestled with the small tent for an hour before I got it secured the way I wanted it. I tied it to three trees and covered it with a waterproof tarp. The weather was beautiful now, but I knew how quickly a raging storm could appear.
I didn’t have much gear, and it didn’t take long to drag it inside the tent, but I fought with the radio antenna for twenty minutes before I could pick up the voice of the dispatcher at Kodiak Flight Services. Radio signals baffled me. Craig could figure out the proper direction to aim the antenna in a few minutes, but for me, it was trial and error to get it lined up right. I hoped if I could receive Kodiak, I would be able to hear Morgan, but he had a smaller antenna than the stations I was receiving from Kodiak, and radio waves do funny things. I’d have to wait until our schedule at six to know if I needed to make adjustments.
Some researchers carry satellite phones instead of sideband radios into the wilderness, and others take both. I preferred the sideband to the sat phone, because satellite signals are often tough if not impossible to pick up on the heavily wooded mountainous island where I live. Usually, you have to climb up to an open hill or rocky cliff to get a signal. Also, you only can make outgoing calls and not receive incoming messages. With the sideband radio, once the antenna is aligned properly, you have reliable two-way communication any time of the day or night with multiple sources in Kodiak and with other remote camps. I wished now, though, that I’d rented or borrowed a satellite phone as a backup, but things had been so hectic in town that I hadn’t thought about it.
I unrolled my rubber mattress and my bedroll on the tarp floor of the tent. The small tent was dome-shaped and was too small for me to stand up straight inside it, so I was left with the two options of kneeling or sitting on my sleeping bag. Neither choice was comfortable, but I didn’t plan to spend much time in my tent.
I looked at my watch – 3:00. The tide would be going out for another three hours. Mr. Cycek probably had seen the plane land and wondered why someone was camping here, and I didn’t know how much he had heard about the plane crash. It was difficult to believe that anyone on this island could miss that news, but Mr. Cycek kept to himself, and from what I’d heard, he didn’t welcome outside news. I hoped my visit wouldn’t upset him, but I couldn’t very well call ahead. I knew he had a sideband radio, because he’d called for help the night his wife got sick, but he apparently rarely turned it on. Before Craig’s collection trip, we tried unsuccessfully several times to contact Cycek by radio. In the end, Craig had to walk down the beach and talk to him, just as I planned to do now.
I pulled on my hip boots and slipped the strap of my camera around my neck. A northerly breeze ruffled the water now, and four puffy, white clouds huddled on the horizon. The sun beat down, but the breeze was cool, and I wrapped my jacket around me.
I wondered if I should have carried my shotgun for bear protection, but lugging the heavy gun only would have put a damper on my stroll. I felt safer in the wilderness than I had the past week in town. I’d take my chances with the bears today.
I played like a child on my way to Cycek’s cabin, stopping to inspect tide pool residents and peeking under rocks to see what lived there. I watched a noisy oystercatcher strut along the beach, his long orange bill outstretched. He watched a geyser of water squirt from a buried clam and then stuck his beak into the sand, withdrawing it a moment later with the clam attached. He pried open the clamshell and ate the animal.
I snapped a photo, even though I knew I was too far away for a good shot. I wondered what the PSP level was in the clam the bird had just eaten. Many marine birds have evolved aversions to PSP, either avoiding toxic shellfish or regurgitating the offensive bivalves soon after consumption. I watched the oystercatcher strut and squawk. He seemed to be complaining about something, but I couldn’t tell if it was his recent meal. I watched him eat two more clams and then fly away. Perhaps oystercatchers were not susceptible to PSP. I made a mental note to check the literature on this point.
I waded out into the water to edge around a pile of large boulders and surprised a fox that was digging in the beach around the corner. I don’t know which one of us was the most frightened. The fox ran into the woods, but I might have too if my reflexes had been faster.
I leaned against one of the rocks and laughed, shaking off the adrenaline rush. I pondered the difference between good and bad fear: the excitement of a roller coaster ride, the thrill of being near wild animals, the terror of having a gun pointed at you, or the dread of being told you have a terminal disease.
I kicked a rock and began walking again. Maybe the last example didn’t fit, but I could think
of nothing more terrifying than being told I had cancer or some other terminal disease. Once you’ve seen someone die from a terminal illness, other deaths pale in comparison. The final outcome may be the same, and we’ll all die, but I’d just as soon avoid the suffering if I could.
The piercing cry of an eagle brought me back from gloom. I looked up. The bird was perched high in a cottonwood on a cliff above me. I knew his mate and nest must be nearby. They probably had one or two eaglets in the nest by now. I hurried past so I wouldn’t disturb him. I thought about snapping a photo, but I resisted the urge to add to my photo collection of small white dots backlit by a bright sky.
I knew I was nearing Mr. Cycek’s cabin when I saw the small, wooden dinghy tied to a running line. I walked a few more steps and inhaled a deep breath of fragrant alder smoke. Mr. Cycek must be smoking salmon. I climbed the steep bank and looked down at the white cabin. The small house sat several feet above sea level, but it was blocked from the ocean by a hill. It was not visible from the beach and didn’t offer the occupant a view of the ocean, but it was well protected from winter storms, and apparently warmth was more important to Mr. Cycek than an ocean view.
I walked down to a stone path that curved up around the other side of the hill from the beach. I followed the flat stones to the cabin and knocked on the weather-beaten door. There was no answer. I knocked again and waited a few minutes. Then, I followed the smell of the alder smoke around the side of the house to the back. I came to the small smoke shed fifty feet behind the house, but Mr. Cycek was not there. He was behind the smokehouse on his hands and knees, pulling weeds from a garden plot.
“Mr. Cycek?” I hoped I wouldn’t give the poor man a heart attack, but he turned slowly and didn’t seem surprised to see me standing there.
“Hello.” He stood and faced me. “May I help you?”
From my one meeting with Mr. Cycek, I remembered him as a small man with big ears. I realized now that he was not that short. If he could stand straight, he would be at least five-feet-eight-inches tall. Time and a hard life had bent him permanently a few inches shorter. He was thin but not gaunt, more of a wiry leanness that suggested strength. His ears were large and their size was accentuated by the way he wore his tight blue baseball cap. He squinted at me in the bright sun, adding more and deeper furrows to the wrinkles around his eyes.
Murder over Kodiak Page 21