“The credibility of an eyewitness who knows what he’s talking about.”
“How would you get out of town without Coldwater knowing about it?”
“This drop of yours that I sent the camera to — is that a real building supply company?”
“Yes, and a big one, out in College Park.”
“Do this: call St. Clair Wood Products, ask them for their fax number, then fax Herman Muller a request for a presentation by a salesman. Say that you’re looking for a major new source of plywood and chipboard, and you’d heard good things about his company. Tell him your need is urgent, and you want to see somebody right away; he’ll send me. Coldwater will know about it, but it won’t worry him, because I did the same thing in New York.”
“I’ll do what I can, Jess, but I can’t promise. Barker will have to approve this, and I think it’s unlikely. If Muller gets the fax, then you’ll know you’re on. I won’t contact you again, just go directly to Nashua Building Supply, 1010 Parkway, in College Park, and ask for John Withers; he’ll take it from there.”
“Just remember that I might be followed.”
“I’ll plan for that.”
“Something else, Kip; call somebody at the National Security Agency and get some satellite shots of the St. Clair area; they’ll help me make my case, and they’ll help you when you go in.”
“I’ll see about that.”
“Thanks, Kip.”
“Thank me when I make it work.” Kip hung up.
Chapter 47
On Sunday afternoon after lunch, Jenny was helping Carey with some homework. “I think I’ll take a drive,” Jesse said to her. “Will you join me?”
“We’ve got work to do here,” Jenny said. “You go ahead.”
Jesse got into the truck, drove to the center of town and set the odometer of his truck at zero. He drove east, past Wood Products for another mile, and turned right at the sign for St. Clair County Airport. He noted that the road was paved and broad, and after a couple of minutes he came to the airfield. An asphalt strip stretched out in both directions; there were some small T-hangars and one large hangar with an office shed attached and a fuel truck parked alongside. The doors to the large hangar were open, and Jesse saw someone working under the cowling of a Cessna single-engine airplane. He drove toward the hangar, and, as he approached, he saw that the man was Pat Casey.
Jesse got out of the truck. “Hey, Pat.”
“Hey there, Jesse, what brings you out this way?”
“Just went for a Sunday drive, and I saw the sign. First time I’ve been out here.”
“I’m out here every chance I get,” Casey said. “Nothing I love better than flying.”
“Pretty nice setup,” Jesse said, pointing toward the runway. “What is it, about thirty-five hundred feet?”
“Forty-five hundred. You can get a corporate jet in here, no problem. You ever done any flying?”
“Yeah, I had about thirty hours in a Cessna 172 back in my hometown. That was seven, eight years ago. I soloed and did the required cross-country stuff, but never got my license.” This was true, but it had been in Miami.
“I’m just finishing up on a little light maintenance here, cleaning the plugs. Want to do a little aerial sightseeing?”
“Sure, love to.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Jesse moved his truck so that Casey could get his airplane out of the hangar, and, when the police chief had finished his work, helped him roll the Cessna out onto the apron.
“Want to fly left seat?” Casey asked.
Jesse grinned. “That depends on if you can land it from the right seat, should you have to.”
“I can. Hop in the left side, there.”
Jesse got in, adjusted his seat and fastened his seatbelt; Casey climbed in beside him, cleared a double handful of charts and books off the copilot’s seat, dumped them on the backseat and handed Jesse a headset. “Nice panel,” Jesse said. “A lot better than the old 172 I learned in.”
“Yeah, I got rid of the original avionics and put in a whole new panel last year. All King stuff, except for the GPS — that’s from Trimble.”
“That’s Global Positioning System?” Jesse knew more about it than he let on.
“Right. It’s satellite based and accurate to within about a hundred feet, I think. Wonderful navaid. All you have to do is enter the three-letter identifier of any airport, press this button twice, then set the course into the course deviation indicator right in front of you. Switch on the autopilot, and it’ll fly you straight there.” Casey produced a laminated sheet of paper. “I’ve already done a preflight inspection, so I’ll read you the cockpit checklist; it’ll all come back to you.”
Jesse was surprised that it did come back. Soon they were taxiing to the end of the runway.
“This is a 182, which is larger and heavier on the controls than your 172 trainer, but not all that different. I’ll work the radios for you.” Casey announced their intention to take off on the local frequency. “Okay, let’s go; set the trim in the green and put in fifteen degrees of flaps, that’s the first notch; throttle all the way in.”
Jesse slowly shoved in the throttle, and the airplane began to move down the runway. There was no wind, and the takeoff was uneventful. Jesse got the flaps up.
“Climb to four thousand feet,” Casey said. “The airport elevation is three thousand, so that’ll put us a thousand feet above ground level.”
Jesse did as he was told, then leveled off at four thousand feet.
“Okay, reduce power to, let’s see, about twenty-three inches of manifold pressure and twenty-three hundred rpm. Good, now I’ll lean the engine, and we’re in business. Turn left to two-seven-zero, and hold your altitude.”
Jesse made the turn without losing any altitude.
“Want to see St. Clair from above?”
“Sure.”
“See the church steeple there? Head for that.”
Jesse picked out the steeple rising above the trees, then saw the mountaintop just behind it. He headed for the church, then continued straight on toward the mountain.
“Look, there’s Jack Gene’s place,” Casey said. “Head over there.”
Jesse turned the airplane slightly, and soon the snowy swath of Coldwater’s garden hove into view.
“There’s Jack Gene in the garden,” Casey said, smiling. “Let’s do a low pass over his house. Drop down a couple hundred feet, and when you get over the house, make a thirty-degree turn to three-six-zero.”
Jesse pushed forward slightly on the yoke and the airplane began a descent and picked up airspeed. He could see the figure in the garden now; he was sitting on a bench and seemed to be holding a book.
“Here we go, start your turn,” Casey said.
Jesse looked at the attitude indicator and picked out the thirty-degree mark, then rolled the airplane to the right.
“You’re losing altitude,” Casey warned.
Jesse hauled back on the yoke and the airplane began to climb again.
“Now roll out level for a minute and then turn left to two-seven-zero.”
Jesse leveled the wings momentarily, then turned left. As he rolled out again on the westerly heading, he looked to his left and saw that he was level with the mountaintop and only about three hundred yards away from it. Then he saw something else: around fifty feet down from the mountaintop there was an opening in the brush, and, set into the mountainside, a large round opening with a grate over it.
“Let’s circumnavigate the mountain, now,” Casey said. “Just fly right around it, and we’ll head back to the airport.”
Jesse continued around the mountain, and he saw two more of the grates. Somebody came running out of one of the small buildings on top and trained binoculars on the airplane.