He mirrored the holding pattern of the second Air Guard helicopter, maintaining a mile separation on the opposite side of the drainage. Shultz noticed the clouds had lifted several hundred feet since they arrived. He kept the helicopter in a low orbit, watching the valley and distant glacier for obvious breaks in the overcast.
Several minutes passed before the C-130 sent another update. “Helo Six, the crash site is clear. Winds are six knots out of the southwest at my altitude. Do not have you in sight.”
Colonel Hannesy kept his focus outside the aircraft while transmitting, searching the clouds below the crash site for a visual sighting of the helicopter.
The first officer was flying. He kept the aircraft in a continuous, high orbit over the mountains, waiting for Hannesy to take the controls so he could get another cup of coffee. Since arriving on station earlier in the morning, they had been alternating on the controls every hour and both were getting bored with the repetitive routine.
“I don’t see a damn thing except mountains and clouds,” Hannesy stated. He kept his eyes glued outside. “The helicopter must be blending in with the terrain. What say we take a closer look?”
“How low you want to go?”
Hannesy wanted to stay above the height of the tallest mountains, but low enough for a view of the helicopter. He directed the first officer to descend another four thousand feet, glancing at the instrument panel before refocusing his eyes on the terrain.
There had been no contact with the survivors since the first broken transmission earlier in the morning. Hannesy wasn’t worried. He figured their portable survival radio was out of power, leaving them with no means of contact. They wouldn’t know the rescue was under way until a helicopter arrived. He was more worried about the next weather system and the likelihood of a helicopter arriving at all.
Shultz was about to call the Air Guard Pave Hawk for a situation report when a strong voice interrupted the radio silence. “Helo Six is at six thousand, above the cloud base and climbing. Nothing but clear blue sky on top.”
Shultz managed a slight smile. “Helo Six, Evac two-three-nine copies. Any problems getting through?”
“Negative, Evac. There’s a wide hole over the valley, just north of the glacier. We can see the crash site ahead of us. I’ll make the first lift. Since we have three helos, we might as well spread the load. You still want the second lift, Evac?”
“Roger, Helo Six. I’ll pick up three survivors and the deceased helicopter pilot. He was a friend of mine.”
“Fine with us, Evac. You might as well take the dogs, too, if you don’t mind. Helo Five can pick up the remaining survivors on the last lift. I’ll advise when I’m departing the crash site.”
Shultz didn’t bother explaining further. He wanted to be the one transporting Connor’s body. It was the least he could do for his mentor. An Army helicopter seemed more fitting than one from the Air Guard. Flying him off the mountain was a simple way of paying his respect. He was sure Connor would’ve done the same if the situation were reversed.
Before leaving the airfield, Shultz grabbed a black body bag from the supply office. The zippered, heavy-duty enclosure was big enough for a large adult, designed to protect the body during transport. The flight medic would carry the bag with him when he hoisted down to the crash site. The Air Guard helicopter carried additional bags for the other deceased.
At the lower altitude, Hannesy could see the Pave Hawk reach a stable hover over the ridge. The basket with the flight medic lowered easily in the light winds and the first fatality was loaded a short time later. Two more followed in succession, then one of the survivors.
The deceased were taken first since the medic needed the assistance of the other men at the crash site in moving the bodies. He was hoisted up last, preceded by one of the women survivors. The entire sequence took less than fifteen minutes.
“Helo Six is departing with three fatalities and one survivor on board. You’re clear to climb, Evac. I’ll stay on the eastern side at seven thousand. Advise once you’re through, over.”
Colonel Hannesy contacted the airbase with news of the successful lift. He was content letting his first officer fly and watched the second helicopter ascend over the glacier.
Unlike the day before, there was no turbulence or swirling winds to worry about. Keeping the helicopter stable over the ridge was easy in comparison. Shultz had no trouble holding position as they repeated the procedure of the first helicopter. His steadiness masked his inner feeling of grief.
The surrounding mountains towered brightly into the blue sky. Sunlight sparkled off the white peaks and cornices of ice. The landscape was peaceful and welcoming, in stark contrast to the dreary conditions of the day before.
The crew chief lowered the medic on the hoist and waited patiently while the first passenger was loaded. He maintained eye contact with the ground for any change in the helicopter’s position. Radio transmissions were kept to a minimum.
Ferguson watched the people on the ground. A woman with her hair in disarray from the rotor wash was the first in the lift basket. She held on tightly to the attaching straps, staring at the helicopter during the ascent. In a minute she was inside and looking around with a wide-eyed expression on her face. Assisted by the crew chief, she quickly found a seat and fastened herself in, glancing at the cockpit with a cheerful smile.
The second person was already in the basket when Ferguson returned his attention outside. He could see Bril wearing his olive-gray flight jacket and holding a dog between his legs. He thought it was unusual. The medic must have sent Bril with the dogs, instead of having him help load Connor’s body.
As the basket left the ground, he glanced at the instrument panel. All indications were normal as Shultz held their position over the ground with little effort. Control inputs were minimal in the light breeze, requiring only slight variations to compensate for the swaying of the basket.
A shifting in the balance of the helicopter indicated the basket was inside. Ferguson turned around as the occupants were unloaded. He could see Bril holding the dog by the collar while he found a seat. Then he realized the person wasn’t Bril at all, but Connor, who was grinning affectionately at the woman.
A confused stare was all Ferguson could muster for a few seconds. He thought at first Connor and Shultz must have been playing a practical joke, and then he realized the perceived death was all a misunderstanding. The name of the deceased survivor must have been wrong. They could sort the truth out later.
He recovered and smiled, placing his hands on the flight controls. “I’ve got the controls. Take a break.”
Shultz turned with a questioning look. “I’m good. I’d rather wait until his body is aboard.”
“He already is.” Nodding his head toward the back, Ferguson smiled even wider. “I’ve got the controls. Go ahead and say hello.”
Relinquishing the controls with a questioning look, Shultz twisted in his seat toward the back. He gawked, unable to speak for a few seconds before realizing what must have happened. Connor met his gaze and wondered why a puzzled look was evident on Shultz’s face. He retrieved a headset from a nearby seat and placed the cups over his ears.
“Hello, Joe.” The dog licked his face, happy to be out of the rotor wash. “I was hoping you would be flying today. Thanks for picking us up.”
Shultz’s voice stumbled with suppressed emotion before explaining they thought he had died during the night. “The rescue C-130 relayed the name of the last fatality as Con something. After learning of your cancer and the theft of the helicopter … well, the possibility of suicide seemed a likely option. Everyone assumed the worst. Sorry for doubting you. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Connor looked down in embarrassment. The truth was far more accurate than Shultz realized. Later, he would explain what really happened. At this point, he wasn’t entirely sure himself.
“Did one of the original survivors die last night?”
Connor nodded as he spoke. “Yeah,
unfortunately. The man’s name was Connover so I can understand the confusion. He sustained a back injury in the crash and was too heavy for transport yesterday. He died sometime during the night. His wife is pretty upset. The coroner will figure out what happened.”
As Danny Simms, the remaining dog, and then the medic was hoisted aboard, Connor gave a condensed version of events since they last spoke. When he reached the part about wandering away from the wreckage, he left out his true motive.
In a deliberate voice he explained how he had gone outside and fallen asleep from the effects of the pain medication, only to be protected from the cold by the dogs huddled beside him. The survivors searched for him in the morning when they realized he was gone. Susan found him and at first thought he was dead. Only after blinking his eyes open, uncertain of his surroundings, did she calm down.
No one was pleased knowing he spent six hours on the frozen ground. Finding out Mister Connover had passed away while everyone slept made the situation worse. Considering what everyone had already been through, the added trauma was especially hard.
The confusion over the loss of life was a result of a weak radio signal. A garbled transmission about the death of Connover must have been mistaken for his own.
Shultz took the explanation in stride. Connor seemed different now as if the physical pain and weight of old memories were gone. They talked for a few more minutes until the hoist was brought inside and secured.
The helicopter departed in a smooth acceleration over the glacier. Shultz established a slow climb, turning northward on a course away from the mountains. He grinned, thinking of everything that had transpired. The freshness of a new day, after the passing storm, befitted the moment. Connor was alive and well. The darkness had passed.
The last Air Guard helicopter hovered into position above the ridge. Bril, Kwapich, and Bidwell waited on the ground for the medic, helping him load the remaining body in the basket. Bidwell and Kwapich went next, followed by Bril and the medic. No one remained. The rescue was over.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Marla kept her gaze fixed outside the helicopter. Tears of sorrow had been replaced by a blank stare. What little composure she possessed after the crash, faded upon finding her husband had died during the night. The others offered comfort the best they could, but the ensuing rescue diverted their attention. Their condolences didn’t matter to her. She was a good actor. A façade of grief was easy. No one would guess the truth.
Harold was many things, but a good husband wasn’t one of them. He was a swindler, a pathological liar, abusive, and an adulterer. His desire for wealth was the driving force in his life, providing the power and prestige he perceived as entitlement for his existence. People meant nothing to him, other than those with a high society pedigree who could enhance his ego.
His intensity for climbing the corporate ladder drove a wedge in their relationship. He made millions during the tech boom as a fund manager investing other people’s money. Even after the market crashed, he continued to prosper. He was smart, if nothing else, and saw the downturn before anyone else, coercing investors to continue buying. Thousands of people lost their money. He wasn’t one of them.
Harold became more abusive with power and increased wealth. He took out his anger on Marla, openly ridiculing her or anyone who dared challenge his authority. The cheating was bad enough—the emotional trauma of him flaunting the affairs was even worse. She thought about a divorce but decided to give their marriage another try. Besides, he would never let her walk away with anything substantial. Giving up the social status and luxurious lifestyle Harold provided wasn’t a real consideration.
Along with his arrogance, Harold’s weight increased dramatically. A sharp decline in physical appearance didn’t stop his many infidelities, which he made little effort to hide. Money could buy anything, including beautiful and exotic women. Only after being diagnosed with chronic, type-two diabetes did his lifestyle change—or so Marla thought. Impotence was one of the symptoms of the disease and one she truly believed he was suffering from.
She had hoped there was still some good inside him. The trip to Alaska was intended as a vacation, an attempt to rekindle their marriage. He went along reluctantly, swearing he still loved her and would never be with another woman. Once the vacation was over, he planned to attend a business meeting in Anchorage before returning home. Then, he promised her, things would be different.
Harold’s true personality returned after the crash. She realized he would never change. Initially, she just wanted to get away, determined to be on the helicopter. When that wasn’t possible, she decided to make the best of the situation. The pain medication and muscle relaxers the medic provided would at least keep him quiet. Once they were rescued, she would let someone else care for him. Maybe a change is what they both needed—her most of all.
Harold never mentioned his diabetes to the medic. His ego wouldn’t allow the disclosure. Besides, he was being evacuated on the helicopter. Marla could take care of the injections. She knew any medication he was given wouldn’t interfere with the insulin. The muscle relaxers had already taken effect by the time he realized he would be left on the mountain. He was too groggy to say much of anything.
Following the helicopter’s departure, while everyone was busy, Marla tested her husband’s blood sugar. The level was high but not particularly surprising considering the crash and ensuing trauma. Giving him an injection was easy enough. She’d done the procedure many times before. In spite of Harold’s arrogance, he was actually afraid of needles and preferred Marla doing the procedure for him.
Harold’s diabetes was treated with a rapid-acting type of insulin. His daily activities and the consumption of food and beverages determined the frequency and amount. Periodic testing was critical because the blood glucose level needed to remain within a certain range. Too high or too low could be fatal, a fact Marla was very aware of.
The insulin for Harold was kept in a small collapsible cooler brought aboard the aircraft and tucked inside a tan leather duffel bag in an overhead compartment. Harold hated the injections but was smart enough to keep the medication close by in case of an emergency. He was particular about no one getting inside the bag and disturbing the contents, even Marla. He usually did everything, short of actually injecting the needle into his abdomen.
The duffel was still in the compartment, undamaged after the crash. She was careful. No one noticed what she was really doing. While everyone was busy, she pulled the bag down and set it out of the way on the floor. The thick zipper opened easily. In addition to the cooler, there was a shaving kit, change of clothes, cell phone, and digital camera, all belonging to Harold. She pushed the smaller items to the side and removed the cooler, exposing a pocket sewn inside the liner of the duffel bag. The enclosure was partially open with some papers tucked inside. Curious, she pulled out the contents.
The folded papers were credit card receipts. There was also a small plastic prescription bottle she’d never seen before. Harold was meticulous about keeping receipts, but she didn’t recognize the credit card as one for their joint account. One receipt confirmed a hotel reservation for his business meeting when she would fly home ahead of him. The other receipt was for a round trip airline ticket from Boston to Anchorage. The purchase didn’t make sense. They lived in New York and traveled to Alaska on a cruise ship. The flight home was one-way.
Marla studied the receipts, anger building inside her. She set them aside and read the label on the half-empty bottle of blue pills. The name Viagra stood out, and she knew the trip was all a lie.
Harold had been uninterested in sex with her for over a year. He blamed the impotence. The bottle of Viagra told a different story. The receipts confirmed her suspicion. He was having another affair. His mistress, high-end escort or whatever he wanted to call her, would be meeting him for a lover’s tryst. He had been lying all along.
His cell phone was next. All the messages had been deleted, except one. The text was from the s
ame morning. A woman named Eva wrote she had received the itinerary and would be waiting at the hotel in three days. She signed off with XOXO.
His reply was curt. “Can’t wait. I need you.”
One by one, she placed the items back inside the bag. Her eyes were moist. She thought about her life and what a sham her marriage had been. Her expression suddenly changed. She leaned back, a flicker of a smile crossing her lips. The medic and other survivors didn’t know Harold was diabetic. The medication he’d been given would keep him silent. Killing him would be easy.
His death would be a simple mistake, if the coroner even suspected. She’d claim his glucose levels were high, at least she’d thought so. Maybe she misread the numbers. Injecting him with too much insulin was an accident. In her confused state following the crash, perhaps she misread the dosage, too.
Harold never had a chance. The extra large doses of insulin, one in the evening and another before midnight, did the trick. She was very careful. It was the perfect crime. The resulting hypoglycemia went unnoticed due to his already lethargic condition. He lapsed into shock, then coma and death, unaware of what was happening. Everyone thought he was sleeping comfortably. All except Marla.
EPILOGUE
Connor remembered his dream. The events seemed so real. Every aspect was still vivid in his mind. He was certain his daughter and son were together with him, if only for a short while. After the joyful reunion by the lake, they walked together toward the lodge. He carried Tara in one arm, the other around Eric’s shoulders.
There was a faint whisper in the air. Tara and Eric seemed to understand what the voice said and stopped at the bottom of the walkway. Tara kissed him and asked to be let down, hugging him tightly as he kneeled, then placed her hands on his cheeks. Her voice sounded more mature as she spoke, but there was only love in her eyes.
The Last Flight Page 37