Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

by William Manchee

CHAPTER 9

  FIELD TRIP

  We decided it would be best to visit Cactus Island early on Saturday morning just as the sun came up, hoping that we would be mistaken for fisherman searching for one of those lunker bass who fed in the shallow waters around the island. Paula and Bart met us at Camp Comfort where we had arranged with Roger Dickens to take a couple fishing boats out to the island. It was still dark when we met in the mess hall over a pot of coffee and a sack full of doughnuts we'd picked up at a convenience store near Scuba Point. Possum Kingdom was a popular place for scuba divers as it was a very deep lake carved over thousands of years by the Brazos River. As the sky began to lighten outside, we cleaned up our mess and walked down to the dock.

  "Well, this should be interesting," Rebekah said. "I haven't been exploring since I was a teenager."

  "Don't worry, Mom," Peter said. "I'll watch out for you."

  Rebekah laughed. "I'll be all right as long as there aren't any snakes."

  Mark said, "Snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them. As long as you don't come up on one unexpectedly, they'll be long gone before you get there."

  "Good. I'll follow behind you, Mark," Paula said.

  Mark shot a dirty look at Paula. Then he smiled. "Sure, I'll take the point."

  We all looked at Mark and laughed. I said, "Mark's our military man. He's already made friends with the neighborhood Marine Corps recruiter."

  "Well, you were a Marine, Dad," Mark replied.

  "That I was," I said. I'd never told the kids much about my disastrous military career. Fortunately, they were very young back then and didn't remember any of it. Rebekah's mother had mentioned recently that I had been a Marine and that got Mark on a military kick. I hadn't got up the courage to tell him the story yet, but one of these days I was going to have to do it.

  The air was cool and a shallow fog clung to the surface of the lake. Visibility was only a few yards so we idled slowly out toward Cactus Island. Ten minutes out the sun broke over the eastern sky and illuminated the top of the island. It was an eerie sight seeing the island protruding out of the mist, littered with giant boulders, and surrounded by a rocky shore line. There were a few scrub oaks on the island but the primary vegetation was sage brush and every imaginable species of cactus.

  Suddenly we heard voices and the hum of boat motors. As the mist quickly evaporated in the sun's early rays, we discovered we were in the middle of an armada of boats of every shape, color, and size. It reminded me of striper fishing at Lake Texoma when hundreds of boats would mass together searching for the schools of stripers that migrated between feeding grounds just beneath the surface of the lake.

  Then we heard helicopters overhead and the sound of a distant bullhorn. "Stay back from the island," a stern voice commanded. We all turned toward the island, where two Texas Fish and Wildlife patrol boats were anchored near the shore. "Turn around and leave the area. The island is closed. Anyone trying to come ashore will be arrested."

  I glanced at Paula. "I wonder what's going on."

  "I guess we're not the only ones who want to inspect Cactus Island."

  Just then a boat slipped up onto the shore and two men jumped out and started climbing toward the island's summit. Two sheriff''s deputies, whom I hadn't noticed before, began chasing after the men. It didn't take them long to catch them, throw them to the ground, and put handcuffs on them. We all looked on in shock. Then I spotted a man on the shore who I suspected was the Palo Pinto County Sheriff, judging by how everyone was hovering around him.

  "Let's go talk to the sheriff," I suggested.

  "Good idea," Bart said. "Maybe he'll tell us what's going on."

  We changed our course toward the small cove where the sheriff's boat was anchored. As we approached, a sheriff's deputy tried to wave us off, but we kept moving until we were within shouting distance. I yelled, "Permission to come ashore. We need to talk to the sheriff. It's official business. My name is Stan Turner." The deputy frowned and then motioned for us to wait. We stopped our engines as he conferred with the sheriff. A minute later the deputy returned and told us we could come ashore.

  Once on the small rocky beach, Paula and I walked over to where the sheriff had set up a command center. He spotted us coming and turned to greet us.

  "Mr. Turner. I didn't know you were coming out here today."

  "We just wanted to take a look around. I figured we'd slip in early and leave before anyone saw us."

  The sheriff laughed. "Well, thanks to you the island is closed. As you can see, every alien hunter in the country has descended upon Possum Kingdom Lake."

  I shook my head. "I never imagined something like this would happen. I'm sorry for all the inconvenience this mess is causing you."

  "Well, apologize to the taxpayers who are going to have to foot the bill for all the overtime I'm going to have to pay my deputies."

  A helicopter flew over kicking up dust and debris. "Why the helicopters?" I asked.

  "We've had several small planes try to land on the island. We're using the helicopters to keep an eye out for any more airborne sightseers."

  "Since we're here and we have a good reason to inspect the island, may we look around?" Paula asked.

  The sheriff turned to her and gave her a hard look. "So you must be the notorious Paula Waters."

  Paula frowned. "Notorious?"

  The sheriff smiled. "Well, that's as close to a compliment as I can give a defense attorney, if you know what I mean."

  We all laughed.

  "Sure, go ahead," the sheriff said. "Watch out for the snakes. I don't want to have to take anybody to the hospital."

  Paula looked at Mark and gestured for him to lead the way. Mark eagerly started hiking up the rugged trail that led to the interior of the island. It was slow going as the path was lined with cacti and other prickly vegetation that we all wanted to avoid. Halfway to the top I looked back at the armada of boats and other vessels that were still lurking around the island. Why were all these people here? Surely they realized the aliens, if there were any, wouldn't be showing up today. Then I realized they were here for the same reason I was—to see if there was any evidence of extraterrestrial life. It was one of life's biggest mysteries—were we alone? As I started hiking again, I couldn't help but feel excited about the possibility that perhaps just a few yards up ahead we might find some answers.

  Paula reached the top of the island, stopped and waited for the rest of us. As I walked up behind her, I couldn't believe what was below us. The very rugged terrain suddenly gave way to an almost perfectly level rectangular surface, sunken several feet below the outer rim. There was very little vegetation on the gravelly surface, which appeared to be quite suitable for use as a landing strip.

  I looked at Paula. "Well, do you think that's a natural formation?"

  She shook her head. "Somebody built this, and it sure as hell wasn't aliens."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because I do. There aren't creatures from outer space running around building landing strips. Give me a break. This was done by bulldozers and a lot of human sweat."

  "But there's no record of anyone ever doing this and nobody saw this airstrip being built. If this was done by men, it would have taken months to build. There would have been dust and noise that someone would have seen or heard."

  "Let's take a look around," Bart said.

  I nodded. "Good idea."

  For the next thirty minutes we examined the surface of Cactus Island. We didn't find anything other than dirt and rocks so I decided to take a soil sample for analysis. If an alien spacecraft had landed, surely some chemical residue would have been left behind. If a lab report did turn up something out of the ordinary, it might be just what we needed to corroborate Steven Caldwell's story.