He stopped rummaging through Jim’s pantry and turned toward her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the determination on her face. She saw him sigh and close the cabinet before sitting down, folding his hands, and looking her in the eye.
“April…”
“I have no choice. My dad’s career, his financial survival, maybe even his life, are on the line, and the proof that he wasn’t negligent — the proof that can partially end the problem — is right out there.” She pointed to the west and he corrected her, his finger roughly describing the magnetic course to the crash site.
“Look, I really want to help you with this,” Scott began. “Hell, I could use the money, and so could Jim. But, April, you’ve got to be practical. The Coast Guard will more than likely give you that tape back, so you really don’t need us. I’d have to charge you a small fortune anyway for the risk.”
She nodded, her face hardening. “I see. We need to set a price, then.”
“A price?”
“You, know,” she said, a sharpness creeping into her voice. “How many pieces of silver will it take to get you to help me?”
“Pieces of silver? What, as in a biblical reference?”
“Of course. I mean, you’re obviously concerned with money.”
“Well, hell, lady, I’m not in this for love!” he snapped, instantly regretting it. “Sorry. I’m just trying to run a flying service, and the winters get pretty sparse.”
“I’m not asking for charity, you know. I’ll certainly pay your tab without fail.”
“I’m not worried about… Look, I apologize if that seemed mercenary.”
“It did.”
He glanced away for a few seconds before meeting her gaze again. “Look, April, if we try to bust through their prohibited zone, either or both of us could end up out of business. They could take Jim’s permits and financially strangle him! And they could cashier my pilot’s license like… like…” He was gesturing uselessly and unable to back out of the reference he now wanted to avoid.
“Like what they’ve done with my dad’s license?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Who the hell is ‘they,’ Scott? Who am I fighting?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but — and I thought about this last night a lot — it really does have to be something to do with the Navy. I mean, it’s water, it’s military…”
“What do you mean, military? The Coast Guard is primarily government.”
“Yeah, but you remember that so-called fishing boat Jim said was faking fishing? Just before the cutter showed up?”
“I forgot.”
“I finally remembered where I’d seen that hull before. Adak. I’ve had a few contracts to run in and out of there, and I remember seeing him. That’s a Navy tender based at Adak Naval Air Station. April, we’ve stumbled into a Navy operation and… and it probably is legitimately associated with national security. It’s just unfortunate your dad happened to go down in the wrong place.”
“I’ll be sure to warn him to do a better job of crashing the next time,” she said, her voice sharp and sarcastic.
Scott raised his hand, palm up. “I’m sorry — that wasn’t meant to be offensive.”
April nodded, her eyes on the window as she watched the growing light in the eastern sky, a backdrop glow over a glacier-encrusted mountain bordering the western end of the Valdez inlet. She turned back to him, her jaw set. “Scott, I need help. Name your price. I’m going back out there even if I have to buy the equipment and rent an outboard. If neither you nor Jim will help me, then I’ll go alone.”
He was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, April. Unless I can get clearance to legally go there, I’m out of this. I’m not nuts.”
“You’re quitting? Just like that? I said I’d meet your price.”
“So I get paid and lose my license. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“You’re the big macho ex-Navy go-get-’em damn-the-torpedoes guy I was told could do almost anything, and you’re running from this? Apparently they were wrong.”
He was getting agitated, his gestures becoming broader, his face darker.
“Who is ‘they,’ huh? Who the hell told you I was some sort of testosterone-soaked risk taker?”
“Synonymous with fighter jock, right? Or was that only the previous generations in ’Nam and Desert Storm?”
“Hey! I served in Afghanistan before hanging it up!”
“But this scares you?”
His voice rose another notch. “Damn, woman, what is it about professional suicide you don’t understand?”
“I understand that… that… I’m begging for your help, Scott.”
“Oh? What, now you’re the helpless female begging the macho male to go slay her dragon?” He snorted derisively as he got up from the table and paced to the end of the kitchen, turning, his voice raised. “I’ve been jerked around by some of the best manipulating bitches in the world, and you’re no match.”
“Fine.”
“How dare you try to goad me.”
“Forget it,” she said, looking away, genuinely trying not to cry. She started pawing at her purse, trying to get the latch open to pull out her checkbook, anger mixing in a confusing mélange with a wave of despair. “I’ll write you a check so you can get the hell out of Dodge.”
Jim Dobler had been leaning against the far entrance to the room in the shadows, listening. He moved toward the table, watching April flipping through her checkbook, pen in hand.
“Sit down, Scott,” Jim said.
“Hey, don’t—”
“Sit, son! For God’s sake, respect your elders.”
Scott snorted and sank back into his chair.
“And, April? May I have your attention, please?”
She stopped writing the check and looked up, then set the pen down. “Certainly, Jim.”
“Thank you.”
“How long were you standing there?” she asked.
“Long enough,” he said, settling into a kitchen chair backward. “Long enough.”
TWENTY SEVEN
FRIDAY MORNING, DAY 5 USAF SAM 3994 SPECIAL AIR MISSION, EN ROUTE ANDREWS AFB TO ELMENDORF AFB
Lieutenant Colonel Jon Anderson placed the small laptop computer on the polished tabletop in front of Major General Mac MacAdams and opened the screen.
“I just downloaded the shots the Navy took for you, sir.”
“They got them this fast? Great.”
Anderson sat down in an adjacent seat. “According to the message, they had an unmanned remote submersible available, and they located the wreck quickly — thanks to having the coordinates transmitted by the Albatross itself right before it went in.”
“I heard about that on-board GPS system.”
“One more thing I need to tell you. When the Navy ship carrying the submersible was approaching the area yesterday, they found a small civilian amphibian aircraft sitting over the site and dangling a private submersible camera over the wreckage. In the aircraft was the daughter, April Rosen, and two men.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently she hired the pilot and his little Grumman amphib — a Widgeon — out of Anchorage, and they got the video equipment from a company in Valdez.”
“So… they’ve now got footage of the wreck. That’s good if it ends her search for a way to get her father off the hook.”
“Well, we’ve kind of intervened. Through the Coast Guard.”
“Meaning?”
Anderson related the boarding and confiscation of the first tape. “When they got the tape aboard the cutter, one of the crewmen had a camcorder with the same format and they played it, but the tape had only a few frames recorded, and they figured — correctly, it turned out — that Rosen had kept the real tape. They had the police catch up with her when her airplane landed in Valdez, and they confiscated the tape there.”