Track Down Alaska (A Brad Jacobs Thriller Book 2)

by Scott Conrad

  They could fly from Dallas to Anchorage direct on a commercial flight, or a charter, which would really make it easier to get everything up there if they happened to get lucky and find one headed there with empty seats. That was actually easier than it sounded. Texas is full of avid hunters eager to hunt the wilds of Alaska. A connecting flight to the small town of Talkeetna should carry them through the next step of their journey. He couldn't book transportation for the last leg until he knew for sure exactly who was going and acquired more information regarding where Pete’s plane had gone down.

  He was keeping his fingers crossed that Hank would be able to arrange transport for the last leg. To Ving’s way of thinking, the last leg was a no-brainer. They needed a chopper because they had no idea where they might have to set down, but they could be pretty well assured there’d be no airfield.

  Ving still hadn’t heard from Jared, so he decided to hedge his bet and call in another man. Tom Riggins was another retired Force Recon Marine, not one of the guys that Brad used on a regular basis but nevertheless he was an expert tracker and specially trained in cold weather survival. They used him a couple of times but it had been a while and Ving was not sure if he could reach him on such short notice. As Ving dialed Riggins’ number, he recalled that the man was also a qualified pilot, though he didn’t know if Riggins’ experience included time in the Arctic.

  To Ving's surprise Tom picked up on the first ring.

  "Hello Ving," Tom said with a welcoming voice.

  "Hi Tom I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up at this time of the morning," Ving replied.

  "Are you kidding me?" Tom responded. "There is only one reason you’d be calling me at this hour and we both know what that is. “I’m bored buddy, I’m bored as hell and I'm ready. Just tell me when and where."

  Ving laughed. He understood that most retired Marines were always looking for some excitement, and nothing got their blood pumping better than a mission with a purpose. Even if it was just a search and rescue mission.

  “Alaska, somewhere north of Talkeetna and southwest of Fort Greeley. How’s your skiing skills these days?”

  “So-so,” Tom replied, “but I prefer the new style lightweight magnesium snowshoes when I’m pulling an ahkio.” Tom looked to be built like a bull and massively strong. Ving didn’t think the man ever laid hands on anything he couldn’t pick up. The new style snowshoes he was referring to were easier to use than the old style, and they possessed teeth on the bottom similar to the ones on the crampons used by ice climbers.

  "I’ve still got to book a flight, but I expect we’ll depart out of Dallas-Ft. Worth International around 0800. When I checked earlier they still held quite a few seats open. I’ll call you back with the exact flight information… and don’t forget your weapon."

  "Affirmative, I'll be ready and waiting for your call."

  Ving dialed Jared’s number again in the hopes of catching the man, but whatever Jared might be doing, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t pick up the phone. He’d never had any trouble reaching the sniper before, and he was beginning to worry about him.

  There was no time for that now, he’d promised to get the arrangements done and get back to Brad by 0600 and was running out of time.

  The number to the Alaska State Troopers office in Talkeetna was scribbled on a scratch pad beside his desk phone, and Ving quickly punched in the numbers. Trooper Lieutenant Ben Robinson must have been sitting right next to his phone, because he answered before the first ring finished. He was the same Trooper who’d left a voicemail for Ving a few minutes earlier while he was on the phone with Tom. Apparently, Pete listed Ving as an emergency contact on the waiver form he’d signed when he’d hired the charter to take him and Charlie to Stephan Lake Lodge.

  “Robinson!” he barked.

  “This is Mason Ving, the man you called earlier regarding Pete Sabrowski. Can you give me an update on the status of your search and rescue mission?" Ving asked.

  “We’re still waiting for sunrise,” Robinson replied. “We could put the search plane in the air, but it wouldn’t do us a hell of a lot of good."

  Ving controlled his temper as best he could. Plane? One plane?

  “We normally get thirteen to fourteen hours of sunshine a day up here this time of year, but we’ve got whiteout conditions up around Mount Watana and the weather has all aircraft grounded right now. We’re monitoring the weather situation very closely and we’ll have the plane up as soon as the weather permits. The good news is that we’ve received an intermittent signal from their transponder… the bad news is that they appear to be way off their planned flight path. The pings we did receive seem to be coming from up near Mount Watana. That's at a much higher altitude than Stephan Lake, and north and east of it as well. With this weather front, that’s not encouraging."

  “How could the transponder be sending out ‘intermittent’ signals? And why are you sending up just one plane?” Ving was trying to keep the exasperation he felt out of his voice, but he knew he wasn’t succeeding very well.

  “Mr. Ving, this is Alaska. I have four troopers stationed here in Talkeetna to cover twenty-five thousand square miles. I’m one of those four troopers, and I have a single pilot to go with my single plane.” The lieutenant was trying to control his own temper, as much for his embarrassment at the scarcity of his resources as at the intemperance of this yokel from the lower forty-eight that did not understand the enormity of the task ahead of them. He took a deep breath and continued. “The bush pilots up here have a sort of loose association of their own, and they’ll be up and searching as soon as the weather permits. Every one of them knows that could be them out there waiting for help.”

  “Sorry,” Ving said, meaning it. He appreciated what it was like to be at the sharp end of the stick with inadequate resources and an inhuman task in front of him. It was a condition that Marines faced on a regular basis.

  “There are a few other groups that will be helping as well, but it’s going to take time to get them here and get them deployed. They operate out of Anchorage, and that’s a hell of a long way from here.”

  “Look, I was out of line and I’m sorry. Pete is an old Marine buddy and he’s saved my ass more times than I can count. I’m pretty stressed about being so helpless.”

  “You guys are Marines?”

  “Used to be, Force Recon.”

  “I was with the Third Battalion, Fifth Marines in Helmand Province back in 2010,” Robinson said.

  “The Dark Horse,” Ving muttered approvingly. The 3/5th had seen some nasty action in Helmand Province that year, taking more than a few casualties.

  “Get Some!” Robinson responded automatically. The phrase was the unit’s motto.

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Ving said. There was a moment of silent bonding between the two men, separated physically by many miles but together in spirit at that moment. The bond between Marines is mysterious, incredibly strong, and only truly understood by them. “Semper Fi brother.”

  “Listen,” Robinson said, “I swear, I’ll have someone in the air as soon as the weather clears. I can even get him up before daylight if it’s possible, because it will take him at least an hour to get up in the area. I’ve got to warn you though, unless we get more transmissions from his transponder, it’s going to be hard as hell to find him.”

  “I still don’t understand how that could happen,” Ving said. “I thought those things were indestructible.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Ving had a gut feeling that something was being left unsaid. He let it go.

  “We’ll be up there tomorrow,” Ving said. “I’ll call and let you know what time to expect us.”

  “That’ll be great,” Robinson said, but the warmth was gone from his voice. “We’ll have the light on for you.” He hung up the phone and stared at the old fashioned rotary device that was all he had to communicate with. Cell phones weren’t worth a damn in the North Country because there were no cell towers. Most communications
were conducted over CB radios and aircraft radios. Robinson suspected that he knew very well why the transponder signal wasn’t getting out, and it wasn’t likely to be caused by damage to the device. There was something else that would keep the signal from broadcasting, something he didn’t really want to dwell on… electronic jamming.

  Ving no sooner set his handset down than the phone rang.

  “Ving! It’s me, Hank…”

  “What do you know good Hank?”

  “Got a couple of things for you Ving. First, none of the commercial airlines are gonna let you bring a combat load of ammunition in for ‘hunting’ so I’ve arranged to have your ammo delivered to Talkeetna as soon as the weather clears. All I need to get from you is the caliber and quantity.”

  Ving answered him quickly, specifying the quantities of 5.56 mm, .45 cal for the pistols, and .50 cal for Jared’s Barrett. Hank repeated the calibers and quantities verbatim and Ving confirmed it.

  “The other thing is that I can arrange transport from Talkeetna by chopper with no problem at all. Hell, I can rent one with a pilot familiar with the area as cheap as I can without. There’s a Bell 212 Twin available at a reasonable cost.”

  Ving grinned at the phone. The Bell 212 Twin was based on the Bell 205, but contained two turbine engines instead of just one. Because of the second turbine, the chopper was able to fly at high temperatures and at higher altitudes. The revolutionary thing about the bird was the coupling of two PT6 power turbines driving a common gearbox. It was as familiar to Ving as his own pickup truck.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CURIOSITY

  Day 2 0540 hours CDST

  Brad fidgeted irritably, going so far as to turn on his stereo to a country music station. Tim McGraw’s heartfelt voice was soulfully singing “If You’re Reading This,” which didn’t do much to lift Brad’s spirits at all. Unable to contain himself and wait until 0600, at 0540 he turned down the stereo and called Ving. Something concerning this mission troubled him, but he only had part of an idea what it might be.

  Ving picked upon the first ring.

  "I was just getting ready to call you," Ving said.

  "There’s one more thing I need you to do."

  "What's that?"

  "Run a full background check on Charlie."

  "Why?" Ving asked.

  "I'm not sure Ving. Just do it, okay?"

  Ving recognized the determined tone in Brad’s voice. It was a tone that he only heard when Brad was determined to have his way, and his friend would either explain the reason why later or he wouldn’t.

  "Okay, but I may not have the results you want before we go wheels-up."

  “Just do what you can buddy.” There was a brief pause. “How’s the mission shaping up?"

  "I haven’t been able to reach Jared yet. I’ve left two messages, but he hasn't returned my calls."

  “I’ll run him down,” Brad replied. “Jessica’s ready to go. What about the rest of the team and transport?”

  “We’re good to go. Commercial flight out of Dallas-Fort Worth at 0815 hours. We’ve got a short one hour layover in Seattle and then it’s on to Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. We should arrive at 1300 hours local time. From there we’ll catch a connector flight from Anchorage to Talkeetna. I went ahead and booked a seat for Jared, and I caught up with Tom Riggins in case I couldn’t reach Jared.”

  “That’s just as well. Tom went through N.W.T.C. with me. He’s good in the cold and he’s a hell of a tracker. Good man in a firefight too.” Brad paused again. “And then what?”

  “I'm still working on that Brad, but Hank said it's just as cheap to rent a chopper in Talkeetna with a pilot, as it is to rent a chopper by itself. It seems they don't want to rent out their choppers to pilots that don't have local experience. Hank is making a few calls and I should have something setup before we leave.”

  “That’s good enough for me brother. I’ll meet you at the airport at 0730.”

  Brad hung up the phone without waiting for Ving’s response. They’d been close friends for so long that they developed a kind of mental link that enabled them to finish each other’s sentences. People who overheard their conversations were frequently confused because they had to say so little to each other to communicate their thoughts. The resultant conversations were often indecipherable to anyone else.

  One thing he always counted on was knowing everything possible concerning all the people involved in a mission before it began. That was the main reason he always used former Marines to form his teams, men he served with. He and Ving saved each other’s lives more times than he could remember. Their shared memories were etched in blood, blood they had spilled in the deserts and mountains of Iraq and Afghanistan, especially during the infamous Second Battle of Fallujah. In those days, Ving had been his Gunny and had always been the one in command. Now that Brad was in charge, Ving tendered him the same cooperation and respect that he had previously shown Ving. They were the closest of friends, both on and off the battlefield.

  Brad poured another mug of the steaming fragrant coffee from Jessica’s pot as he stared at her. She had everything packed and she was fully dressed, lying on the sofa with one hand flung over her eyes, her long blonde hair spilling over a pillow onto one of the sofa cushions.

  She had always been more than just a cousin to Brad. Jessica was more like the little sister he’d never had… a sister that always seemed to find herself getting into trouble. With her long blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and firm athletic body she looked like a swimsuit model, but she packed a great deal of muscle into that slender body. He grinned. She was an adventure junkie, couldn't get enough of it. Treasure hunts were her weakness, and Brad had bailed her out of trouble in some of the most dangerous places in the world on many occasions. Her appearance, her youthfulness, and her gender tended to make people underestimate her, but she never passed up an opportunity to prove them wrong.

  His thoughts abruptly turned to the team. Pete Sabrowski was a good friend who also served with Brad in Afghanistan, and the man was one of the best pilots he knew. The guy could fly anything that flew. He was a vital part of Brad's team on most of their missions. Like Brad, the guy was single and always ready for the next big adventure. Whether he was working with Brad or enjoying a little recreational pastime he had an unceasing thirst for action. Hunting grizzly bear in the wilds of Alaska was right up his alley.

  Jared Smoot, whom he needed to go find very shortly, was another member of Force Recon that Brad had served with. Jared possessed an uncanny ability to make shots with his M40A5 well beyond the capabilities it was designed for. The rifle started out its life as a bolt action Remington 700, but by the time the USMC armorers at Marine Corps Base Quantico were through with it, the stock rifle was no longer recognizable; it was in fact one of the finest sniper rifles in the world. Jared was just as at home with the legendary Barrett .50 caliber, and unless Brad missed his guess, it was the Barrett that Ving would specify for this trip.

  Grizzly bears could weigh up to nine hundred pounds and there were records of the animals reaching a height of over nine feet. Shooting one of them with a 7.62 NATO match round would do little more than piss one of the monsters off unless the bullet placement was very precise. The Barrett might at least slow one down enough to enable the shooter to get off a second shot. A charging grizzly bear tends to make even the iron nerves of a professional sniper a little shaky. Jared had graduated with distinction at the top of his class at both the Scout Sniper Basic Course and the Scout Snipers Team Leader Course at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia. These schools are generally considered to be the most difficult and challenging of the courses offered by the Corps.

  Charlie Dawkins, Jessica’s newest boyfriend, was the unknown quantity in the equation, and Brad hated unknowns. In truth, the unknown was only the second factor in Brad’s instinctive mistrust of the man. The first factor was that Brad was really uncomfortable with the idea of anyone sleeping with his cousin. It wasn’t je
alousy or anything like that, just that she had always been his “little” cousin and he was probably overprotective of her. Even if his dislike of the man was partly personal, unknown factors increased the risks to his men on a mission.

  Brad recognized that Pete was a good judge of character. If Charlie had become good friends with Pete, that was a little reassuring, but there was still something off about the guy. Brad felt anxious to get a full background on him before they reached their destination. Brad wasn’t sure there was anything at all wrong with the man, but he felt absolutely convinced of one thing. Charlie Dawkins was hiding something, and that, Brad decided, was a bad thing.

  Where the hell did Charlie come from? Jessica had been pretty vague about his background. The only thing she admitted was that she met him at Uncle Jack’s Country Club. Had Jack introduced them? Wondering whether Jack had introduced the couple sent Brad’s mind into a few places he really didn’t want to go.

  Brad drained his coffee and stood up, stretching and yawning. He was sleepy, but he could sleep on the plane. Glancing down at his watch, he figured he saved just enough time to run by Jared’s house and wake him up. He knew the man had been fighting insomnia since their return from Africa, a side effect of the medications and antibiotics the doctors gave him for the bullet wound he suffered in the Congo. The fact that Jared had gotten river water in the wound had sent the docs into near apoplexy when they got back, and they loaded his system up with the latest drugs. Jared was fully recovered from his wound, but he was still experiencing side effects from the meds. More than likely he was fast asleep and hadn't heard the phone or his beeper. A man slept hard when he finally managed to get some sleep.

  Brad bent over and shook Jessica awake. “Time to go sunshine,” he said with a smile as she uncovered her sleepy face. God she was beautiful. If that bastard Charlie did anything to hurt her, he’d pay. He’d pay big time.