Sam nodded, taking another bite of stew. “Go on.”
“The pilot tells my father he took an alternative route a couple times before, having known a place where fuel could be purchased. Only this time, he takes a detour. He swears he spotted a pyramid the color of rust. He said his curiosity got the better of him, so he landed on a river nearby to investigate. It turned out, the pyramid was in fact an old warship, like on the coin, and inside there was a chest full of the gold coins. Of course, he couldn’t take them all. So, he pocketed a couple, made notes in his journal of the location, and continued on to Thunder Bay.”
“So what came of the gold?” Sam asked, a wry smile forming on his lips.
“Well. According to my dad, the pilot returned to the location on the map he plotted, but he never found the ship again.”
“It simply disappeared?”
“Yeah. Like I said, the man’s story was pretty far-fetched. Apparently, the pilot was just that kind of guy where there would be only a hint of truth to whatever he had to say, yet people always seemed to believe him.”
Tom nodded, nursing his coffee. “I know a guy exactly like that.”
“Talking about legends,” Sam said. “Do you mind if I ask you about an old one in these parts?”
“Sure. I suppose you want to know about the Meskwaki Gold Spring?”
“No, thanks. Although I’ve heard it’s beautiful this time of year.” Sam smiled. It must have been a common question in this part of the world. “Actually, I’m looking for information about a mildly famous pilot in the area who went missing in the late 1920s.”
The ranger narrowed his gray, bushy eyebrows. “Ah, so that’s it. You’d be looking for Jack Holman’s plane then, would you?”
“That’s it. A friend mentioned Holman’s floatplane was never found.” Sam smiled warmly and glanced at Tom. “We were thinking of trying our luck locating the wreckage. Figured if it hasn’t been spotted from the air, there’s a good chance she’s resting on the bottom of a lake somewhere.”
“And you were hoping I could tell you which lake Holman’s wreckage is lying in?”
“No. I was just trying to get an idea of what lakes have been explored and if there’s anywhere you think a plane like Holman’s could remain lost all this time.”
“Lot of places to lose a floatplane in these parts of the world. Forgetting the lakes, there are plenty of deep ravines, dense forests surrounded by steep unmanageable terrain, where a crashed aircraft might disappear forever.”
Sam felt like he’d been kicked in the guts. “I hadn’t thought of that. I just figured plane crash has to leave a scar on the earth where it strikes. Someone must have noticed that scar in the past ninety odd years since Holman went missing.”
Yago’s brown eyes turned sharp, and his affable manner suddenly abrupt. “What’s your interest in Holman’s plane, anyway?”
Sam thought about lying, but something in the man’s face told him that would be a bad idea. Instead, he simply told the truth. “A friend of mine’s father has been kidnapped. His captors didn’t ask for money. Instead, they wanted me to locate a journal they believed Jack Holman was carrying on board his aircraft when he disappeared.”
Yago met his gaze, put down his cup of coffee. “And why would they think you might locate something that’s been lost all this time?”
“I work in ocean salvaging and, among other tasks, I’ve headed up a few successful treasure hunts over the years.”
“And what do these… kidnappers want with Holman’s aircraft?”
Sam shook his head. “Just the flight records or a journal. Apparently, Holman spotted something unique from the air. Whatever it was, a lot of people have died so that it could be located again.”
“What are you going to do if you find the aircraft and the journal?”
“Give it to the kidnappers.”
“You don’t want to notify the FBI?” Yago raised an eyebrow. “Kidnapping’s a federal offense.”
“Sure. But these people say they have connections throughout the New York Police Department and the FBI. If we cheat them, they said they’ll know and will kill my friend’s father.”
“What makes you think they can be trusted to return your friend’s father if you do as they ask?”
“Hope.”
“Seems like a lost cause.”
“Many things are. But you have to try, don’t you?”
Yago’s face was set hard and his body tense, before finally expelling a deep breath of air. A thin-lipped smile finally rose as though the man had somehow looked into Sam’s face and accepted the truth. “All right. I’ll tell you where Jack Holman and his float plane now rests for eternity. Not that it will do you much good.”
Sam asked, “Why’s that?”
Yago sighed. “Because he’s at the bottom of Dog Lake, beneath three hundred and fifty feet of icy water.”
Chapter Forty-One
Sam asked, “How can you be so certain Holman’s last flight ended up in Dog Lake?”
“Look, always chasing his fortune, Jack Holman was a gambler and a risk taker. He was also involved with a lot of bad people. A jack of all trades, he was someone who could get a lot done in a time when tough guys ruled the area.”
“Was he involved in bootlegging?”
“Not directly. He was employed by a local organized crime gang from Chicago. They moved alcohol amongst other contraband, from Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan into the Great Lakes, where a number of ships shifted it to the cities farther downstream.”
“What did Jack Holman do?”
“He flew up ahead, above, or behind the rum-runners and had an intricate coding system to notify when and where prohibition agents were setting up a blockade.”
“So how do you know he ended up crashing in Dog Lake, Ontario?”
Yago smiled. “Oh, I never said he crashed, did I?”
“Really?” Sam studied his face. “How interesting. Go on. What do you know?”
“In late 1930 Holman landed on Dog Lake. A boat came to meet him. It was owned by the people he worked for. A young man was at the tiller. A man Holman called Stanford.”
Sam felt his heart start to hammer in his throat at the mention of the name. He forced himself to remain silent in case Yago would close up like a clam.
Yago closed his eyes. “Holman and Stanford spoke for a few minutes. When they were done, Stanford shot Holman from behind — right between his ears. Poor Holman never knew what hit him. He fell overboard and disappeared into the icy waters. Stanford then took an axe to one of the floatplane’s pontoons. It quickly filled with water, causing the aircraft to tip over on its side. From there it took less than ten minutes to sink.”
Sam asked, “How do you know all this?”
Yago opened his eyes. “Because Jack Holman was my father.”
“Your father?” Sam asked, incredulous. “How old are you?”
“I’m ninety-three.”
Sam nodded. It was possible, albeit unlikely. Sam decided not to challenge him. He was either telling the truth and the aircraft would be at Dog Lake, or he was lying. “How did you find out what happened?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be on that flight, but I was. When my father spotted Stanford approach, he told me to get into the cargo bay in the tail and stay down. I continued to hide after he was shot, until the floatplane finally tipped over and started to sink. By then, Stanford was already motoring away on his small boat.”
“How did you survive?”
“I was six years old, but that day I became a man.” Yago swallowed hard at the memory. “I swam through the icy waters to the shore, where I was picked up by some local fishermen. They lit a fire and saved my life.”