by Hunt, Jack
“In the last eleven years?” She snorted. “Yeah, I could probably count the times on one hand. But if you’re asking recently — no. He showed up here and let’s say things didn’t go as expected — well, let me rephrase that, it went as expected. He’s still as self-consumed as ever.”
“Did he act out of sorts, did anything strike you as unusual?”
“No.”
Frank continued, “Listen, I don’t know if you remember Hugh Callaway of Callaway Corporation? Ah, you were probably too young. We got an offer for the business. It’s good. It would prevent us from having to declare bankruptcy.”
“What?”
“Kara, since your mother passed, things haven’t been the same. We’ve taken quite a hit and it’s finally caught up with us. I’ve tried multiple times to talk to him over the years and dropped by to get him to at least look at the offer, but he won’t. Now, if we keep on the trajectory that we’re on, we’ll have to fold before the year’s out, and it won’t just be him out of a job, it’ll be me, and every pilot and mechanic we have.”
She took a deep breath and paced her apartment. “Well, that can’t happen.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“Still — what do you expect me to do? I’m in California.”
“Speak to him. Visit him. He, uh… is talking about knowing where this gold is. I think he’s planning on heading out, and with all that’s going on with his memory, the last place he needs to be is traipsing around the backcountry by himself.”
“So go with him. Hell, you fly, if you’re that worried.”
Frank laughed. “Can you see him letting me do that? C’mon.”
Kara felt like she was going to create tracks in her floor with all the pacing she was doing. “Frank. You know how many times I’ve tried. He’s a lone wolf. He likes it that way. Besides, I’ve got an interview coming up. I need the job. And he’s managed well up to now and made it quite clear that he doesn’t need my help.”
“You know I won’t be able to stop him from going out there. I’d feel a lot better if he had you with him. Maybe you can talk some sense into him about the offer.”
“He stopped listening to me a long time ago.”
Frank sighed. “All right. Well, can’t say I didn’t try. Thanks for getting back to me. All the best with that interview. Stay safe.”
As the day wore on, Kara had tried to put the conversation out of her mind but she couldn’t. Despite their strained relationship, her father was all she had, and the thought of him flying alone worried her. Frank only added fuel to her concern. As a courtesy to Frank, and to quell her fears, she placed a call to his doctor to get an update.
9
Tuesday, October 14
The small bush plane glided effortlessly over the unspoiled Alaskan wilderness like an impressive eagle. Kara peered out the window in wonder at the snowcapped peaks, boreal forest, and curving river valleys of Wrangell-St. Elias. It had been years since she’d seen it, she’d forgotten how breathtaking it was to behold.
The national park and preserve located near the Alaska-Yukon border was the largest in the United States with four peaked mountain ranges, slender black spruce trees, a slew of glaciers, and volcanoes all spanning out over thousands of square miles.
It was just a fraction of the state and yet offered 13.2 million acres to explore, and it dwarfed Yellowstone National Park and made Yosemite look like a kids’ playground.
The weather that day was good, better than usual for that time of the year. Puffy clouds drifted in blue skies. Out of the summer and sliding into fall, the crystal-clear rivers below had yet to freeze over. She was reminded of how diverse the landscape could be throughout the seasons. Millions of years ago, it would have been nothing more than thick ice plains and deep snow, today it was lush, rich in color, a patchwork of meadows and rocky slopes, shades of green and yellow trees, endless grass, wildflowers, and moss all stretching out across lowland, alpine, wetlands, and tundra.
Secured into the seat of a de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver, she basked in the beauty while trying to push the thoughts of crashing from her mind. Despite having grown up with a bush pilot as a father, it was hard not to think about the worst, especially riding in such a small plane that was being tossed about on the thermals, and where every vibration made you question if it would fall apart.
The engine was loud, louder than she recalled. Fortunately, all of them were wearing padded earphones that muffled the noise and allowed them to communicate with the pilot and hear his instructions. She was perched behind Frank who was piloting the plane while her father was riding shotgun. The cabin had six seats and she was sharing the rear with three others, tourists, folks who were on their way to Timber Lodge, a new establishment nestled on the northern perimeter. There, they were supposed to pick up one other person to assist in the search, a friend of her father. Behind them, luggage was secured into the back storage area utilizing every inch of space.
They were to drop off the tourists at the lodge, stay one night and then head southwest to an undetermined destination that her father had been tight-lipped about. It was as if he was paranoid that someone might swoop in and steal his thunder before he had a chance to see if there was any substance to his theory.
And theory, that it was. It wasn’t hard facts or clear directions.
No, he was operating in murky waters, tainted by years gone by.
Her decision to fly to Anchorage the previous day hadn’t come without a fair amount of back and forth. Her hesitation wasn’t unfounded. Her interview was in three days so she would be cutting it tight. The last thing she needed was to lose that opportunity. And in all honesty, when had her father gone out of his way for her? If it hadn’t been for Frank’s genuine concern, or the doctor, she might not have pulled the trigger and booked a ticket.
It was times like this she wished she had a sibling or an uncle or aunt that she could phone — anyone that could step in on her behalf. But her father was all she had and the weight of responsibility fell square on her shoulders. If anything happened to him in light of what she knew about his declining health, she would have had a hard time forgiving herself.
Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t try to talk him out of it, get him to realize the inherent danger involved, but he was like a horse with blinders on. Stubborn through and through, he wouldn’t hear her out over the phone and any mention of what his doctor had said was brushed off as nothing. Doctors are wrong all the time, he’d said.
Knowing he would probably head out if he got wind of her arrival, she’d blindsided him. Shown up unannounced. He didn’t expect it and by that point, well it was too late.
In and out, a quick trip to Alaska, that’s what she’d figured.
Worst-case scenario, they’d fly into the backcountry for half a day, he’d realize that he was out of his depth like many other prospectors and treasure hunters before him, and they’d return that evening with her thinking I told you so, and him saying he must have missed something. Hopefully, then the early-onset of Alzheimer’s would prevent him from risking any further trips after she returned to California.
As the propeller windmilled ahead, nothing but a blur, her thoughts drifted back to that heated exchange as she’d dumped her bags down in his home on Monday.
“What are you doing here?”
“I think you know,” she’d said, shaking off her coat and hanging it up.
“So you changed your mind?”
“No.”
“Then there must have been static on the line because I think I made it clear that unless you were going with me, you might as well stay in California.”
“Everyone is worried. Frank, the doctor, hell even Joe across the street.”
“Joe needs to keep his nose out of my business,” he said, grumbling to himself as he strode into the living room and began cleaning up glass scattered like small pebbles across the floor.
“What happened here?”
He nudged his head
toward the rear window that was letting in a cold breeze.
“What does it look like? Someone broke in and trashed the place. I’ve been cleaning up for the last hour,” he said, sweeping up the remaining shards covering the hardwood floors. “Assholes rifled through all my belongings.”
“Anything stolen?”
“Doesn’t appear so. Fortunately, they didn’t find what they were looking for.” He snickered. “Amateurs.” He set the broom against the fireplace mantel and went about picking up scraps of torn paper. As he did, Kara noticed that it was a map of Alaska. “You see, I keep all my valuables locked away in a safe.” He tapped the side of his head. “I figured someone knew I was onto the location of the gold and they wanted to sneak to the front of the line. Well, they have another thing coming.”
Placing a hand on her hip, she ran the other over her head. “Dad. Can you hear yourself?”
“I can hear quite good actually, it’s not my ears that are failing.”
“No, I mean, look at this place.”
“I didn’t invite them in.”
“Don’t you think this obsession with the gold has gone on long enough?”
“You didn’t mind when you were a kid.”
“But I’m not a kid anymore.”
He straightened up and lifted a box to the table, and emptied the dustpan full of shards into it. “You know they say you die the moment you truly believe that.”
“This is serious. The doctor says it’s the early onset of Alzheimer’s.”
“But not me,” he said. “Nope, you’re only as old as you feel, and I feel like I’m eighteen.”
“I can’t stay here forever but I can get things in place so that you’re taken care of by the right people.”
He nodded, placing some of the crumpled map back on the wall and attaching it with tape as if he wasn’t paying attention. “I’ll head out tomorrow. That way if they did find anything, there’s a chance I will get there first.”
Kara darted in and tore the map from the wall. “Goddamnit dad, what does it take to get you to listen?”
“Hey come on, I need that map.”
“No, you need to listen to your doctors and follow their directions.”
There was a pause as he looked around, looking lost. “And what then? They take away my license to fly. If they do that I might as well crawl into my grave today. That job is all I know.”
She sighed. “So you dial back, you let others do the flying.”
“And the gold?”
She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.
“How do you expect to find that if you won’t trust anyone and your memory is getting worse?”
He glanced at her. “That’s why I asked you.”
“I can’t fly a plane, and according to your doctor neither should you.”
“The specialist appointment isn’t until next week. That’s plenty of time.”
She scoffed. “I don’t think you understood what she said.”
“I understood plenty.” Her father took the paper from her hand and returned to taping it to the wall, even though the entire map was torn into six pieces. Kara shook her head and looked at her bags, contemplating staying elsewhere, at Irene’s or a nearby motel.
The rumble of the engine and Frank’s voice coming over the intercom snapped her mind back into the present. “If you look off to your right you should see the lodge now.”
The plane began to bank and they all took in the sight of a huge rustic lodge with a red metal roof on a vast property with additional smaller cabins, all of them swallowed by dense forest. It was close to a short runway. While pilots would often set planes down on lakes in the summer if they had floaters on, Frank had opted for the one with thirty-five-inch tundra wheels, as her father had told him that where he wanted to go, it would require setting down on a gravel bar. As they got closer she could see two other floater planes and several people milling outside the lodge. It was the only accommodation within over a hundred thousand acres, a six-acre private property that perched on the edge of the glistening Tanada Lake.
Frank had mentioned guests were there to either fish or hunt.
Kara glanced at her father who hadn’t said a word since leaving. She knew he was pissed. She’d come to an agreement that she would go with him on one condition: that Frank came along. Fortunately Frank offered to fly them out so she didn’t have to twist his arm. The plane made its descent near snow-brushed mountains and slowed over rocky tundra and a sea of spruce and willow. It looked like a watercolor painting, rich in color with ragged edges clawing up to the tip of Tanada Peak. It was moments like this that reminded her of how small they were, and truly how immense, wild, and remote regions of Alaska were.
Cheerful tourists beside her snapped photos, others taking video, all of them looking on in awe and respect. They glided down, landing smoothly to the enthusiasm of those around her, each eager to get out and explore. Kara’s father glanced over his shoulder with his mouth partly open as if he was about to say something to her before he closed it and the plane slowed. Frank brought it around and close to the lodge.
“Well ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying today. The weather outside is chilly so make sure you bundle up. I hope to see you again real soon,” he said half-jokingly. Her father was hasty to reach his destination but Frank had persuaded him to stay overnight if only to experience the lodge, have a nice meal and conversation. The conversation part had to be a joke.
“Who owns this place?” she asked Frank.
He must have not heard her over the ruckus of everyone getting out, as he didn’t answer. She soon found out why.
Trouble reared its ugly head later that evening. After settling into an Alaskan-style room and taking a shower, Kara peered out the window and saw Frank over by the lake talking to two men, one of whom had just gotten out of a white GA8 Airvan along with several other passengers. Earlier, she’d told her father she’d join him over at the main dining lodge where all the guests gathered to socialize, meet the owners and eat.
Unlike some of the older and more casual lodges that were dotted throughout Alaska, no expense had been spared to create this 3,400 square foot lodge with a large deck, a bar area, and multiple outdoor hot tubs. It felt more like a resort than what she’d seen elsewhere in the region. Frank had told them that their stay was free, a gift from a generous client of his.
After slipping into warm clothing to combat the chilly evening, she made her way to the dining room to find her father looking at color photos on the walls. The room had cathedral ceilings with chandeliers made from antlers.
Log walls. Pine flooring. It was beautiful.
There was a roaring fireplace nearby, and employees flitted in and out of the room bringing food, and serving guests at the bar.
Off to the far wall was a table full of stainless steel food warmers and a chef outfitted in white, cutting slices off a sizzling chunk of meat. The sight and aroma made her stomach grumble. Sidling up to her father, she noted most of the images were hunting photos, tourists who’d caught caribou, moose, and bear and were kneeling proudly behind them. Noticing her off to his side, he said, “Your mother would have had us leave.”
“Perhaps.”
“Kara. Tomorrow. When we find the gold...”
“If,” she said, cutting him off.
He snorted. “You still don’t believe a word of what I’ve told you, do you?”
“I believe you believe it and I guess that’s all that matters but, Dad, how many others believed the same?”
“Few actually.”
“And those that did?”
“They were never heard from again.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Precisely.”
“Listen…”
“Welcome, welcome,” a voice said loudly from behind. Kara turned to see the same two men Frank had been talking to enter the room. One of them, wearing a long gray tweed jacket and black leather gloves, shook several of the tourists’ hands as he ey
ed them from across the room.
“You’ve got to be joking,” her father said.
“Who is it?”
“Hugh Callaway. What’s he doing here?”
Callaway crossed the room with a sense of confidence, waving to several of the employees, and stopping now and again to speak with those who approached him, all the while making a beeline for them. She sensed a clear disdain for the man as her father said he would be back in a moment. As he circled the tables to avoid him, Callaway called out. “Mr. Shaw. A moment of your time.” He threaded around the tables and cut off his exit. Kara made her way over. “I’m glad you could be here. Frank was telling me that you have plans tomorrow to head out to do a little sightseeing with your daughter.” As Kara got closer, he cracked a broad smile. “You must be Kara.”
“That’s correct,” she said, extending a hand. He kissed it.
“Beautiful. I can see the resemblance to your mother. God rest her soul. I hope you will join us tonight. The food here is,” he brought clenched fingers up to his lips and kissed the tips, “out of this world.”
There was something very off-putting about him. Creepy even.
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” her father said.
“Oh, come now, Mr. Shaw, at least join us for a drink. Besides, you are my guests.”
Kara’s eyes bounced from him to another man coming up the rear. She vaguely remembered his face. Someone who’d worked for her father in the past. She recalled the name. He carried himself with a swagger, holster on his chest as if trying to send out a message. “Oh, Henry, you remember Paul Ross, don’t you?” Callaway said, nudging the head in his direction.
Her father didn’t acknowledge him but picked up on something Callaway had said.
“Your guests?” her father asked.
“Yes. Didn’t Frank tell you? I own this place.”