“Please,” she repeated. “I’ll take you out there myself.”
Gault released Moyle so quickly the man staggered back.
Nick set a quick pace, with Gault staying right with her. Since there were only a few minutes of good visibility left, she stopped at her tent long enough to retrieve a pair of battery-powered lanterns and her canteen.
“This time of evening,” she explained, “it will be pitch black by the time we’re deep into Sulphur Canyon.”
But she needn’t have worried about the light, because they got no farther than a barricade of yellow plastic tape that had been strung across the canyon’s narrow mouth. The flimsy deadline was enforced by two bulky sheriff’s deputies standing on either side of Walt Kohler, the NTSB investigator, and a short plump man whom Nick had never seen before.
“This is John Gault,” she told Kohler. “That’s his airplane out there.”
“And my grandson who was flying it,” Gault added.
Kohler offered his hand.
Gault accepted it warily.
“This is Mr. Odell,” Kohler said, indicating the plump man next to him. “Frank Odell. He’s a consultant on our accident response team.”
Odell nodded without looking up from his clipboard.
Gault said, “The man at the store tells me you’re already calling the crash pilot error.”
The two Feds exchanged glances, but it was Kohler who spoke. “I don’t know where he got that idea, Mr. Gault. We’re professionals. We don’t make judgments until our investigation is complete. Even then, as you know, there are times when causes are never fully understood.”
“The man also said you’ve airlifted my grandson’s body.”
“That, he got right. We wanted formal identification as quickly as possible, for your sake as much as anything else, Mr. Gault. In fact, it would help if you could supply the name of your grandson’s dentist.”
“Dr. Patrick Keeley. His office is in the old Walker Bank building in Salt Lake.”
“Thank you.”
Odell made a note on his clipboard.
“There’s something else,” Gault said. “Dr. Scott tells me that my grandson looked like he’d suffered from exposure before the gasoline caught fire.”
Kohler shook his head, frowning at Nick. “That doesn’t seem likely,” he said. “What do you say, Odell.”
“Out of the question,” he answered, not meeting their eyes.
Gault’s eyes narrowed as looked from one man to the other. “She also saw extra gas cans in the back seat.”
“I hope not,” Kohler said. “That would be a clear-cut safety violation.”
“I know that,” Gault said. “And so did Matt. He would never have done something that stupid.”
Kohler spread his hands. “There you have it, then. Ms. Scott must have misunderstood what she saw. Probably they were extra cans for water. Who knows?”
“I know what I saw and I could smell gasoline,” Nick insisted.
“From the plane’s fuel tanks,” Odell interjected.
Gault stepped forward so that he was face-to-face with Kohler. “I want to see the crash site for myself.”
“There’s nothing to be gained by that, Mr. Gault. You know that as well as I do. You’re a pilot, but we’re the professionals when it comes to a plane in pieces.”
“So am I,” Nick said. “I’ve excavated several crash sites, one of them for the government so that aviators listed as missing in action for more than fifty years could be identified.”
Kohler smiled condescendingly. “Stick to the past, Ms. Scott.”
“The longer dead the better,” Odell added.
Gault stepped away from Kohler to confront Odell, who was sweating profusely in the cool evening air. No doubt he was a desk jockey, Nick thought, not a field man.
“I’m going into that canyon,” Gault announced. “The only way you’re going to stop me is by having these deputies arrest me.”
To Nick’s surprise, Odell gave way.
“Suit yourself. We’ll even go with you so you’ll have some better light.” He signaled to the deputies, who fired up a pair of kerosene lanterns.
Once inside the narrow canyon, the temperature seemed to drop suddenly. Or maybe it was Nick’s imagination, or the dancing shadows that their lanterns cast on the sandstone walls that made her flesh crawl. Whatever the reason, she was shivering by the time they reached the wreckage. Very little was left of the airplane now, only small pieces of scattered debris.
“We’ll be doing a final sweep of the area tomorrow morning,” Kohler said.
Gault came to a stop at the edge of the charred area and began casting the beam from his lantern back and forth. As far as Nick could see, there was nothing left worth salvaging.
“Now that you’ve had your look, Mr. Gault,” Odell said, “don’t you think it’s time you left this to us?”
Gault looked up from the ground, staring at the man, but Nick had the feeling that he was seeing nothing but his own inner thoughts.
“There will be paperwork for you later on,” Odell added, “but that can be forwarded to you in Salt Lake.”
Gault gave a curt nod and walked out of the canyon. Nick followed him.
By the time they returned to Ophir it was dinnertime. Nick’s students had fended for themselves, coming up with cheese sandwiches and lukewarm Cokes. Nick invited Gault to join them for dinner. He insisted on providing dessert, Twinkies and Hostess cupcakes from the Emporium. She was touched by his consideration.
Between bites, Nick said, “Will you be flying back tomorrow?”
“Maybe. Matt was about to be married, you know. After the honeymoon, he was coming into business with me. A third generation of Gault Aviation.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Sorry enough to grant me a favor?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I’d like to borrow your truck.” He smiled crookedly. “To sleep in tonight, and then to take a trip into the desert.”
Nick took a deep breath. “Looking for what?”
“I’ve been thinking over what you said. Matt could have landed somewhere else and got himself sunburned. If so, maybe I can find out where. And where might lead me to why”
“This is hard country,” Nick said. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the desert, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“I can’t just walk away yet,” Gault insisted. “I have to see the ground for myself. You said you heard a chopper. Well, maybe there’s a base nearby. Maybe the chopper pilot saw something. Maybe he can tell me why Matt’s Cessna went down.”
She stared at him. When they first met in Mescalero, she’d thought he looked no more than sixty. Now he looked exhausted.
“All right, you can use the truck tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
By then she hoped he’d change his mind. Challenging the badlands around Ophir could kill you just as easily as an airplane, though probably not as quickly.
Chapter 8
Frank Odell hesitated to use his cell phone, despite assurances that it was secure. Still, he’d been told to keep in touch. And his cell phone was sure as hell safer than anything else in Ophir.
He’d had to drive halfway to Mescalero in order to get line-of-sight to the satellite. At that point, there was nothing but sand and a few scrubby-looking weeds. But it was a welcome change from the ramshackle buildings that clung to the sides of the played-out mines in Ophir.
Shaking his head, Odell scanned the landscape one more time to make certain he was alone, then hit the redial button.
A voice answered immediately. “Odell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No complications, I hope.”
“Just one, the archaeologist.”
“I thought everything burned.”
“She got a quick look first,” Odell said carefully.
“And?”
“She knows planes. She’s an expert.”
�
��For Christ’s sake, you just said she was an archaeologist.”
“Not the kind you think.”
“So what difference does it make?”
“She’s tenacious as hell.”
“How do you know that?”
“Just talking to her was enough. I did a quick search on the net and her name turned up. She has a reputation for sticking to these things like ticks on a dog.”
“You keep an eye on her, then,” the voice warned. “I don’t want any more mistakes.”
Odell grimaced. The mistake hadn’t been his, but he wasn’t about to say so.
The connection was cut. He felt a chill; his hands were ice-cold.
Chapter 9
Nick thought Gault looked worse the next morning. Sleeping in the truck had left him sore and tired. Gray stubble covered his cheeks. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken.
One look at him and Nick knew what she had to do.
“If you still insist on driving into the desert, I’m going with you,” she said.
“And your students?”
“This is their last day anyway. Most of it will be used for cleaning up the site and packing their supplies. They’ll be glad to be rid of me.”
He stared hard enough to make her blush.
“Matt would have liked you,” he said finally.
“I’m sure I would have liked him. I already like you.” She noticed that it was his turn to look embarrassed.
He turned his head away and said, “We’d better get going.”
“I wish you’d reconsider, Mr. Gault.”
“Call me John, and there’s no need for you to come along. It’s not going to be a picnic out there.”
“You’re on my ground now, John. I know how to survive out here. Do you?”
“I survived a war.”
“There, you could see your enemies. Here . . .” Nick nodded in the direction of her truck. “Take a look at the water cans belted to the side of my pickup. That’s twenty gallons’ worth. I’ve taken courses on desert survival. I could find my own water if I had to. But it’s always best to carry your own.”
He squinted at her for a moment, then looked out toward the desert. “Is there water out there?”
“Not much. Someone might survive for a day or two.”
“Christ. It must be a hundred degrees already. It feels like sunburn alone could kill you.”
“That’s possible.”
She knew what he was thinking, that maybe Matt had landed in this same relentless heat. But why would a pilot take such a risk? Nothing plausible occurred to her.
Gault rubbed his face. He was obviously shaken, but she remembered how he’d looked yesterday when he’d grabbed Moyle. He’d been determined and fearless.
With visible effort he set his shoulders and clenched his jaw. His determination was obvious.
“I don’t see how you can stop me from coming along,” she said. “I’ve got the keys. Now, how about some breakfast?”
Fifteen minutes later, keeping the pickup in four-wheel drive, Nick left the dirt road behind and headed west toward the mesa, following two ruts that looked narrow enough to have been made by pioneer wagons.
She drove slowly while Gault stood in the back of the truck, his elbows on the cab roof, the binoculars to his eyes. To communicate, they’d opened both side windows and the sliding vent directly behind the driver’s seat.
“Where does this trail lead?” he shouted.
“Nowhere, according to Moyle,” she shouted back.
“Slow down,” he instructed.
“Any slower and we’ll stall.”
“Stop then.”
Nick eased the truck to a stop and got out. She joined him in the back.
“You said you’ve seen choppers out here before, is that right?” He took his eyes from the binoculars long enough to point at Mesa d’Oro.
“In that general direction, yes.”
“It looks flat enough to land on top.”
“The last time I saw one was a week before your Cessna crashed, and it was a long way off.”
“Look for yourself.” He handed her the glasses. A quick scan showed the bright blue sky to be empty.
“For the last time,” she said, annoyed, “I don’t imagine things.”
Gault shrugged. “I spoke with one of the locals last night, a man named Dobbs. He’s seen them, too. He also told me he’s done some prospecting out by the mesa. Mesa d’Oro means mesa of gold, he told me.”
“Zeke Moyle claims Dobbs sees things when he’s drinking.” Sarcastically, she added, “Moyle probably says the same thing about me behind my back.”
“Dobbs claims he was chased out of there once by soldiers.”
Nick shook her head. “I haven’t seen anyone on the ground.”
Gault took back the binoculars. “Did he tell you the choppers he saw were black, like shadows?”
“No.”
“Mr. Dobbs is a regular fountain of information. He says there’s an abandoned army base out here somewhere. But it can’t be abandoned if that’s where the soldiers he saw came from.”
“So let’s see if we can find it.”
A base would explain a lot, Nick thought. It might even explain the NTSB investigators’ attitude toward her.
Nodding, Gault lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not a fool. I don’t expect to find all the answers out here. But Matt was no fool either. If he was here looking for a story, then I’d like to know what the hell it was.”
She started to respond, but he spoke first. “And no, Nick, I don’t think you’re a fool either. If you tell me you heard a helicopter in that canyon before the crash, I believe you. And if you say my grandson’s body looked strange, I’ll believe that, too. But the fact remains, if a helicopter had anything to do with the crash of my Cessna, then it should have gone down. Since there was no sign of a chopper, in pieces or otherwise, I’d say an old army base is a good place to start looking for one.”
Nick studied the trail ahead. It ran straight toward the mesa until it disappeared into the heat waves rising from the horizon.
“Help me watch for flood gullies,” she said before vaulting from the truck bed and climbing back behind the wheel.
She set the odometer and crept ahead at five miles an hour. A mile later the track widened into a single-lane dirt road. It looked recently traveled.
Gault banged on the cab and shouted, “I see dust up ahead.”
Squinting at the blazing landscape had her seeing spots. “I don’t see anything.”
“Stop.”
When she did he handed her the binoculars through the sliding window. Nick had to wipe the sweat from her eyes before she could get the glasses properly focused. Then she wished she hadn’t.
“My God,” she said, stunned. “It looks like a tank.”
“Definitely military,” he said, “probably a humvee. Do you see any markings?”
She wiped her eyes again, then the eyepieces. “I can’t see anything but dust. Whatever it is, it sure as hell is coming straight at us.”
She surrendered the binoculars, switched off the engine, and climbed out of the cab. Gault took another long look through the binoculars before joining her in front of the truck.
“It’s painted in desert camouflage,” he said.
“And?”
“I don’t know, but it’s always best to keep your hands in plain sight.”
“There’s a .30-.30 under the seat,” she said.
He nodded toward the approaching vehicle, now close. “And they’ve got a machine gun mounted on top.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly,” Gault said. “Put up your hands and don’t make any sudden moves.”
The humvee stopped twenty yards short of them, and two men got out, both carrying M-16s.
Nick shouted, “We’re not armed.”
The men, wearing camouflage fatigues that matched their humvee, approached carefully. They had no military insignia, as far
as Nick could see. Neither did their humvee. Dark glasses hid their eyes. In uniform, they looked interchangeable.
“This is private property,” one of them said.
“It’s not posted,” Nick answered.
“We stopped you short of the fence. But you’ve been on restricted land for the last half mile.”
“And you are?” Gault asked.
“We’re here to turn you around.” He gestured with his M-16. His counterpart added, “Please.”
“A plane went down near Ophir,” Nick said. “We think a helicopter may have been involved.”
“This land is closely patrolled. At the moment, you two are the only unauthorized personnel in our area.”
“That plane belonged to me,” Gault said. “And my grandson was flying it.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll still have to turn around.” Both men backed up a step and brought their rifles to the ready.
Nick glanced at Gault and couldn’t believe her eyes. The weary man who’d started out with her that morning seemed transformed. His startling blue eyes had taken on a dangerous glint and his slouch was disappearing as he repositioned his weight. He looked ready to spring at the two men.
She laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Are you army?” Gault demanded.
“We’re not authorized to give out that information.”
“And who is?”
Nick tightened her grip. “Come on, John, we’ll look somewhere else. There are half a dozen roads east of here. With luck we can drive them all before dark.”
Ignoring her, Gault pointed a finger at the nearest rifleman. “Do you use helicopters to patrol this area?”
His only answer was a repeated gesture for a U-turn.
Suddenly, Nick felt Gault’s arm relax. She led him back to the truck, watched him get into the passenger’s seat, then climbed in and drove as fast as she could. Dust clouds billowed behind them worthy of a warship laying down a smoke screen.
When the odometer said they were well beyond the pair’s imposed property line, she slowed enough to be able to talk. “If they were military, they should have had insignia.”
“Could be we ran into one of those right-wing militia groups,” he answered. “Only I don’t buy it. And don’t forget, that mesa’s smack in the middle of a no-fly zone. Crackpot militias don’t rate that kind of treatment.”
Flight of the Serpent Page 5