by Janet Dailey
“You could be right, dad.” Cody's agreement caught Noah off balance. He had expected more of an argument from his son.
“You can argue all you like, Cody, but I'm coming with you,” he replied automatically.
Cody was patient, smiling. “Dad, I agreed that you should come."
“You did?” He faltered an instant, then recovered. “That's sensible of you."
Even though she kept silent during the brief discussion, Shannon concurred. She accepted the wisdom of having Noah along as a kind of chaperon. That passionate kiss had altered the relationship between her and Cody. Once communication had been established on an intimate level they could never retreat from it. The knowledge of it would always be there, running through their glances, their words, the most innocent touch. They needed the presence of a third person to act as a buffer. Shannon knew it and so did Cody.
The weight of his glance was on her, reading her thoughts but passing no comment. “Can you be ready by seven in the morning?” he asked instead.
“Yes.” Somehow, although it meant a lot of packing and sorting and organizing all the loose ends.
“Dad will pick you up at the main entrance. Wear slacks, something comfortable and warm,” Cody advised.
“Yes.” It was an all-encompassing agreement to his suggestions.
“Ready, dad?” Cody questioned. “We have a lot of things to do, too, before tomorrow morning?"
“Right,” he nodded with a show of authority, then had to hurry to catch up with Cody, who was already walking to the door. “See you in the morning."
“Yes.” Shannon followed to close the door after them. “Good night,” she said to both of them.
From Cody she received a slanting smile of acknowledgment while his father responded, “Good night—and be sure to lock the door."
“I will,” she promised.
Once they were out of sight in the hallway, she closed the door and slipped the bolt and night chain in place. For an instant she paused, realizing that the eagerness she felt within had nothing to do with finding Rick. It sobered her to the task at hand.
AS ORDERED, Shannon had packed light, taking only the essentials she'd need for three days and storing the rest of her things at the hotel. Dressed in fur-lined boots, a pair of forest-green corduroy jeans and a bulky cream-colored sweater, she was ready and waiting precisely at seven o'clock the next morning in the hotel lobby.
Noah Steele picked her up. “Cody is waiting for us at the plane, getting it all checked out so we can leave as soon as we get there."
They had traveled several blocks before she realized it wasn't the route to Merrill Field. “Aren't we going the wrong way to the airport?” she asked hesitantly.
“We aren't going to the airport, leastwise not that airport,” Noah replied. “We're going to use the floatplane."
“Oh.” Her concern subsided as she settled back in the passenger seat and looked out the window at the scattered clouds in the sky.
As though bothered by her silence, Noah stole several glances at her. “The weather forecast says it will be clear by midmorning, so we should have good weather,” he told her, then appeared to decide she needed further assurance, because he began to lecture her about flying. “With your fiancé's plane being missing and all, it's natural for you to be a little nervous about going up. Here in Alaska we average a light plane crash practically every day of the year. Those are kinda scary statistics."
“The number is higher in Texas.” She had learned a lot of facts about flying from Rick, so she also knew that the population of Texas was considerably more than Alaska's which meant the risk was higher here.
“What those stastics don't tell you,” Noah continued, not paying any attention to her comment, “is about the pilot flying the plane. Bush pilots have got quite a reputation. It sounds romantic and exciting to these young kids. Before the ink is dry on their pilot's licenses, they're up here to become bush pilots. Just like your Rick. They don't know the weather, the terrain or their plane, and they wind up taking foolish chances with all three. But they aren't the only ones."
Pausing, he glanced over to see if she was listening. She was, mostly because she was confused. She thought he had intended to assure her how safe it was to fly, but he seemed to be trying to shake her confidence.
“There aren't many old, experienced bush pilots.” He stressed the adjective. “Even if they're born and raised here, somewhere along the line they find themselves in a situation where they feel they have to live up to their reputation of getting through no matter what. They take off when the weather's bad or won't turn back when they hit a storm front, or keep going even when they're low on gas. They'd rather crash than have someone question their manhood by doubting their bravery."
“That's stupid and dangerous,” Shannon responded with a frown.
“Yep,” he nodded. “But Cody ain't like that. He's the best damned bush pilot flying today. He knows it and he doesn't feel that he has to prove it. So you don't have to worry about flying with him. You're as safe as if you were in your momma's arms."
So that was what all this had been leading up to. Shannon smiled to herself. The message was loud and clear: he was assuring her of the competency of their pilot, because pilots crashed planes. Only rarely was it the other way around.
“Thank you, Noah. I do feel better,” she said, and he appeared satisfied that he had succeeded in his self-appointed task.
When they arrived at the lake, one of several in the Anchorage area, the plane was fueled and preflighted, ready to go. All the gear was aboard with the exception of the suitcase Shannon had brought. Noah passed it to Cody so it could be stowed in the luggage compartment.
“Do you want to ride in the front seat, Texas?” Cody asked.
“Sure."
It was a peculiar sensation to climb into a plane that was bobbing on the water like a boat. It was a single-engine craft with aerodynamically designed floats instead of landing gear. Shannon buckled herself into the right seat while Noah settled himself in the seat behind her.
Climbing into the pilot's seat, Cody buckled his seatbelt and went through the final checklist. The engine throbbed with power, overcoming the drag of the water. The floatplane was a new experience for Shannon. As he taxied away from the shore and turned the plane into the wind, Cody steadily opened the throttle to full power. The sensation of moving over water gradually decreased until the aircraft was smoothly skimming the surface and lifting off in a steady climb.
Takeoffs always gave Shannon a little rush of exhilaration. No longer earthbound, she was flying free. She glanced at Cody to see if he shared the sensation, the glitter of excitement in her brown eyes.
The smoke-colored lenses of his sunglasses shaded his eyes but didn't hide them. Shannon could see him meet her glance. A brief smile curved his mouth as if in response before he returned his attention to the business of flying. The sunglasses were not an affectation but a necessary protection, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, which could blind him to other aircraft in the vicinity.
She was discovering how many little pieces of information she had picked up from Rick, small things that allowed her to recognize the competence of this pilot. Surreptitiously she studied the man behind the metal-framed sunglasses, the chiseled strength in his profile and the sheen of rumpled velvet in his hair, which was black as pitch. He was calm, and alert, with an air of proficiency. Shannon was conscious of feeling absolutely secure with Cody at the controls. It was a powerful feeling, strong and pulsing through her.
His moving glance encountered her gaze, made a brief scan of her face and swung back to the front. “I have activated our flight plan,” Cody said, referring to the radio communication he had just completed. “They made a stop in Valdez, so we will, too. We can stretch our legs and grab a cup of coffee."
Shannon nodded her agreement with the suggestion. They headed east where the Chugach Mountains stood. The city of Anchorage spilled onto their sides, pi
nning houses on their slopes. But civilization was left quickly behind and Shannon was caught by the vastness that was Alaska. It was the green and gold of white spruce and aspen, the blue of the sky and sparkling water; it was wild and raw, majestic and limitless.
As the plane crossed the neck of Kenai Peninsula, the island-dotted waters of Prince William Sound glittered in the morning sunlight. The Gulf of Alaska lay beyond. There was a predominance of white on the mountains that crowded the sound. This was the snow Shannon had expected to see in Alaska.
“Snow.” She pointed it out to Cody.
He glanced at her and shook his head. “You're half-right."
Then Noah leaned forward, sticking his head between the seats. “Why don't you fly by the Columbia so Shannon can see it?"
“I planned on it,” Cody answered, then explained to Shannon what they were talking about. “We're coming up on the Columbia Glacier. It's literally a river of solid ice, all four hundred fifty-odd square miles of it. That's an area almost the size of Los Angeles."
Through the smoke-gray lenses of his sunglasses, Shannon saw the roguish gleam in his light-colored eyes. “But you're not bragging,” she inserted with a knowing smile.
The corners of his mouth deepened attractively with the shared humor of their private joke. Pleasure sent its roots deep within her and lightened her spirits. After last night she wasn't able to regard their relationship as strictly platonic. She had been aroused by Cody's advances, more so than was comfortable for her peace of mind. And she had become concerned that they might not be able to reestablish an easy communication marked by intimate sparring. But the bond between them hadn't been damaged, and she was glad.
As they approached the glacial formation, Shannon was able to see the course of the giant white ribbon of ice, pushing its way through the mountain forests toward the sea. When they reached its point of terminus, her breath ran from her.
“It's so blue.” She turned to Cody in surprise, because the sheer-faced glacier had a definite sky-blue coast rising hundreds of feet up from the water.
“It looks even more blue on a cloudy day. The ice is like a prism, refracting the light,” he explained, and banked the plane so that she could have a better look. “Do you notice the color of the water?"
It was a dirty gray, littered with huge chunks of ice that had broken off the glacier. The ice chunks seemed unimpressive until she noticed an excursion boat weaving its way through them and realized that many of them were full-fledged icebergs.
“The water is referred to as glacier milk because of the silt, debris and powdered rock it carries.” He made a steeper bank and pointed. “We have some harbor seals down there, sunning on the ice."
“I see them,” Shannon confirmed, spying the dark specks on the ice floes.
“Quite often there are whales in the area, but I don't see any this morning,” Cody said. “I can make a three-sixty if you want to see more of the glacier."
Shannon hesitated for only an instant. No matter how fascinated she was by the massive river of ice, this wasn't a sight-seeing expedition. “No, let's go on to Valdez,” she replied.
“We're on our way.” He smoothly leveled the plane and resumed his original course and speed.
Leaving the glacier area behind, they flew on. This bird's-eye view of the country from the aircraft window began to widen Shannon's perspective of the situation. She hadn't appreciated what Cody meant when he tried to warn her that finding the wreckage of Rick's plane was like looking for a needle in a haystack. There were hundreds of miles of emptiness out there, and a gnawing sense of futility grew inside her. She silently struggled with it as she gazed out the window at the awesome reaches of wilderness.
“The Valdez Narrows are just ahead.” Cody nodded to the front. “The authorities allow only one oil tanker to pass through the straits at a time. It's always accompanied by two tugs just in case it loses steerage. Only two tankers are permitted in the port itself at any one time."
He had begun his descent, and the nose-down attitude of the plane gave Shannon a clear view of the narrow passage of water leading into the harbor. Mountain slopes formed the walls of the strait, less than a mile wide. Shannon waited expectantly for her first glimpse of the bustling port city of Valdez.
Mountains formed a chain around the harbor, a dramatic setting with rugged peaks in the foreground in every direction. The huge oil-storage tanks were clustered along the southern side of the harbor behind a containment dike, as well as the many buildings housing the offices and shops of the operations center. But Shannon could see nothing of a city except for a small town on the north side of the harbor.
“Where is Valdez?” she asked.
“That's it on the left.” He reached down to adjust the trim of the aircraft.
“That?” She frowned in skepticsm when he indicated the small town.
“Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?” Cody allowed his glance to touch her once, busy with his landing preparations.
Her shrug was uncertain. “I thought it would be much bigger. Since it's the terminal for the Alaska pipeline. I guess I was expecting to see Houston, Texas."
Cody smiled his understanding. “Check your seat belt,” he advised as they started their landing approach to the harbor.
Once they were on the water and taxiing toward shore, Noah leaned forward again. “The tidal wave that followed the Good Friday earthquake in 1964 destroyed or damaged practically every building in Valdez. What you see here isn't the original townsite. They moved the town four miles to this location and rebuilt it. The location was chosen for the terminus of the pipeline because this harbor is one of the northernmost ice-free ports in this hemisphere."
“What happened to the old townsite?"
“They leveled it off. There's nothing left of it now,” Noah explained, and settled back into his seat.
Their stop in Valdez was brief. They stayed long enough to stretch their legs, have some coffee and refuel the aircraft. Then they were taking off again, this time heading north across the alpine summits of the Chugach Mountains. They flew over Keystone Canyon with its spectacular rock formations and crystal-bright waterfalls.
Shortly afterward Shannon had her first glimpse of the pipeline. From the air it was a silver thread bumping over hillocks and running straight on flatter land, then disappearing underground to reappear farther along. There was an endless variety of things to see—more glacial areas, spruce forests, tundralike meadows above the tree line. Lakes were sprinkled around the terrain like fat raindrops. Everywhere there seemed to be the sparkle of water. As they flew over a lake in a very sylvanlike setting, Shannon couldn't help remarking on its untouched beauty.
“One of the states in the lower forty-eight is known as the land of ten thousand lakes,” Cody remarked.
“Yes, that's Minnesota,” Shannon inserted.
“I thought you should know that Alaska doesn't have ten thousand lakes.” Cody paused deliberately. “At the last count, we had more than three million, in round figures. Mind you, I'm not bragging."
“No, of course not,” she laughed.
As her gaze swung to the front again, she noticed what appeared to be a massive white cloud bank looming on the horizon. “Look. Is that a storm front?"
“That, Texas, is the Wrangell Mountains,” Cody informed her. “A range unparalleled in sheer magnificence and grandeur."
Chapter Seven
THE GLACIER-CLAD MOUNTAINS were a wilderness of forests, lakes and rivers. They were all she could see in any direction, and the plane had penetrated only the outer edge of the massive range, which encompassed an area of some six thousand square miles. Fifty miles back, Cody had informed her that they were passing the last known spot where there had been confirmed contact with Rick's plane. It had gone down somewhere out here. But where? Her eyes strained in their search of the rugged terrain below.
From the rear passenger seat, Noah spoke up. “Is something wrong, son?"
The quick, serious to
ne of the man's question swung Shannon's attention to the cockpit of the private plane. Cody's expression was cool and steady, but she sensed a heightened alertness. His attention never left the instrument panel as he replied to his father in a calm, very matter-of-fact voice.
“We're losing oil pressure. I'm going to set her down in that lake over there.” He indicated the body of water a mile to their left, then cast a look at Shannon and smiled in quiet assurance. “Don't worry. This is just a precaution. We may not even have a problem."
She nodded her understanding and tried to ignore the twinges of uneasiness. There was no change in the rhythmic power of the engine, which supported Cody's implied assertion that the plane's performance had not been affected—at least, not yet. She listened while he radioed their approximate position and an advisory of their situation. When his transmission was acknowledged, he sideslipped the plane to achieve a rapid and controlled loss of altitude.
It wasn't an emergency situation, and Cody was landing to make certain it didn't become one. Somebody knew where they were and why. Shannon kept thinking that it hadn't been that way for Rick. Whatever had gone wrong, either there hadn't been time for a distress call or else it had never been received.
They landed smoothly and without incident. “I noticed a log cabin tucked back in the woods,” Noah said when Cody adjusted the throttle to taxi. “It was over on the north side just as we were setting down."
Following the directions of his father, Cody taxied the plane back to the general area Noah had described. Shannon spied the cabin he had seen when they were landing and pointed it out to Cody. He taxied the plane to the very edge of the graveled shoreline.
“It looks like it's deserted,” Noah observed as the engine was switched off. “If anybody were living there, he'd be out here to find out what we wanted."