The skids sank into the soft brown grass and the blades ceased their thump and idled to a stop. Pitt unclasped his safety belt, opened the door, and climbed out, luxuriating in a series of muscle stretches.
"Same time tomorrow, Mr. Pitt?" The pilot had an Oklahoma twang, and a shortcropped haircut to go with it.
Pitt nodded. "We'll angle south and try the lower end of the valley."
"You figuring on skipping the slopes above timberline?"
"If a plane crashed in the open, it wouldn't go missing for thirty years."
"You can never tell. I remember an Air Force jet trainer that smacked the side of a mountain down in the San Juans. The impact caused an avalanche and the plane's debris was buried. The victims are still under the rock."
"I suppose that's a remote possibility," Pitt said wearily.
"If you want my opinion, sir, that's the only possibility." The pilot paused to blow his nose. "A small, light plane might fall through the trees and become hidden till eternity but not a four-engine airliner. No way pine and aspen could conceal wreckage that size. And even if it did happen, some hunter would have surely stumbled on it by now."
"I'm open to any theory that pans out," said Pitt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Loren running across the meadow from the cabin. He slammed the door and waved off the pilot, turning and not bothering to look back as the engine whined into life. The craft lifted and droned over the tops of the surrounding trees.
Loren leaped into his arms, breathless from her dash in the thin air. She looked alive and vibrant in tight white slacks and red turtleneck sweater. Her elegantly molded face seemed to glow in the lateafternoon sun, the slanted light heightening the effect by tinting her skin to gold. He twirled her around and pressed his tongue through her lips, staring into a pair of liquid violet eyes that stared right back. It never failed to amuse Pitt that Loren forever kept her eyes open when kissing or making love, claiming that she didn't want to miss anything.
At last she came up for air and pushed him away, wrinkling her nose. "Whew, you stink."
"Sorry about that, but sitting behind the plastic bubble of a helicopter all day is like dehydrating in a greenhouse."
"You don't have to make excuses. There's something about a masculine musk smell that turns women on. Of course, the fact that you also reek of gas and oil doesn't help any."
"Then I shall immediately pass Go and proceed to the shower."
She glanced at her watch. "Later. If we hurry, you might still catch him."
"Catch who?"
"Harvey Dolan. He called."
"How? You have no telephone."
"All I know is a forest ranger came by and said you were supposed to call Dolan at his office. It was important."
"Where do we find a phone?"
"Where else? The Rafertys'."
Lee was in town, but Maxine was only too happy to show Pitt to the telephone. She sat him down at an old-fashioned rolltop desk and handed him the receiver. The operator was efficient, and in less than ten seconds Dolan was on the other end of the line.
"Where in hell do you get off calling me collect?" he grumbled.
"The government can afford it," Pitt said. "How did you get word to me?"
"The citizen-band radio in my car. I bounced a signal from the public-communications satellite to a ranger station in the White River National Forest and asked them to relay the message."
"What have you got?"
"Some good news and some not-so-good news."
"Lay it on me in that order."
"The good news is, I heard from Boeing. The nose gear was installed as original equipment on air-frame number 75403. The notso-good news is, that particular aircraft went to the military."
"The Air Force got her."
"It looks that way. At any rate, the National Transportation Safety Board has no record of a missing commercial Stratocruiser. I'm afraid that's as far as I can take it. From here on in, if you wish to pursue your investigation as a private citizen, you'll have to go through the military. Their air safety is out of our jurisdiction."
"I'll do that-," Pitt replied. "If nothing else, to settle any fantasies I have about ghostly aircraft."
"I hoped you'd say something like that," said Dolan. "So I took the liberty of sending a request — in your name, of course — for the current status of Boeing 75403 to the Inspector General for Safety at Norton Air Force Base, in California. A Colonel Abe Steiger will contact you as soon as he finds something."
"This Steiger, what's his function?"
"Basically he's my military counterpart. He conducts investigations into the causes of Air Force flying accidents in the Western region."
"Then we'll soon have the answer to the riddle."
"It would seem so."
"What's your opinion, Dolan?" Pitt asked. "Your honest opinion."
"Well…" Dolan began cautiously. "I won't lie to you, Pitt. Personally, I think your missing aircraft will turn up in the records of some wheeler-dealer who trades in government-surplus salvage."
"And I thought we had the beginnings of a beautiful friendship."
"You wanted the truth. I gave it to you."
"Seriously, Harvey, I'm grateful for all your help. Next time I come to Denver, I'll pop for lunch."
"I never turn down a free feed."
"Good. I'll look forward to it."
"Before you hang up" — Dolan took a deep breath — "if I'm right, and there's a down-to-earth reason for the nose gear being in Miss Smith's garage, what then?"
"I have this strange feeling that isn't the case," Pitt replied.
Dolan set the receiver back in its cradle, sat and stared at it. A strange chill crept up his back and turned his skin to gooseflesh. Pitt's voice had sounded as though it came from a tomb.
6
Loren cleared away the supper dishes and carried a tray with two mugs of steaming coffee out to the balcony. Pitt was sitting tilted back in a chair with his feet propped on the railing. Despite the cool September evening air, he wore a short-sleeved sweater.
"Coffee?" Loren asked.
As if in a trance, he turned and looked up at her. "What?" Then, murmuring, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come out."
The violet eyes studied him. "You're like a man possessed," she said suddenly, without quite knowing why.
"Could be I'm going psycho," he said, smiling faintly. "I'm beginning to see aircraft wreckage in my every thought."
She passed him one cup and cradled the other in her hands, soaking up its warmth. "That stupid old junk of Dad's. That's all you've had on your mind since we've been here. You've blown its significance out of all proportion."
"I can't make any sense out of it either." He paused and sipped the coffee. "Call it the Pitt curse; I can't drop a problem until I find a workable solution." He turned toward her. "Does that sound odd?"
"I suppose some people are compelled to find answers to the unknown."
He continued to speak in an introspective way. "This isn't the first time I've had a strong intuitive feeling about something."
Are you always right?"
He shrugged and grinned. "To be honest, my ratio of success is about one in five."
"And if it is proven that Dad's salvage did not come off an airplane that crashed near here, what then?"
"Then I forget it and reenter the mundane world of practicality."
A kind of stillness settled upon them and Loren came over and sank into his lap, trying to absorb his body heat in the cool breeze that drifted down from the mountains.
"We still have twelve more hours before we board a plane back to Washington. I don't want anything to spoil our last night alone. Please' let's go in now and go to bed."