Prologue

 

June 12, 1987

State Department, Washington, D.C.

 

"There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable," President Ronald Reagan spoke into the podium microphone as he stood in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany near the Berlin Wall, "that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall."

​

Edgar Norton reached over and turned down the volume on the TV. “Those are powerful words, sir. Do you think Mr. Gorbachev will take up that challenge?”

​

State Department Under Secretary Bradford Scott leaned back in his leather desk chair and ran a hand through his dark hair. He eyed his young assistant for a moment then shrugged. “We can only hope, Edgar. Our president has called Mr. Gorbachev out in no uncertain terms, and if he doesn’t follow through, the general secretary will look like a fool.”

​

Just then the phone on Secretary Scott’s desk rang and his assistant reached for it. “This is State Department Under Secretary Bradford Scott’s office. This is his assistant, Edgar Norton, speaking. How can I help you?”

​

“Hey, Edgar. Is that no-account boss of yours in the office?” a booming voice came across the telephone wire followed by a chuckle. “If he is, I need to speak to him.”

​

“Oh, good morning, Assistant Secretary Holloway, sir.” Edgar stood a little straighter as he spoke. “Yes, sir. He’s here, sir.”

​

“You know, Edgar, you could drop half the sirs you use, and you’d still be using too many. You need to loosen up some, son.”

​

“Yes, sir,” Edgar nodded, his body still straight and stiff. “I’ll try, sir.”

​

A heavy sigh heaved across the wire. “You do that, son. In the meantime….”

​

“Oh, yes, sir. Here’s Under Secretary Scott, sir.” Edgar passed the handset to his boss and busied himself straightening up the office.

​

“What’s up, Gabe? Did you call to harass my assistant or are you calling to critique the president’s speech? I think he did a pretty good job….what’s that?” Bradford Scott leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk. “Wait a second, Gabe.”

​

“Edgar, hold up on what you’re doing and head back to your desk. I need a few minutes here, please.”

​

Edgar looked up and realized from the undersecretary’s expression that something important was going on. He headed for the door even as he answered, “Yes, sir.”

​

Secretary Scott leaned back in his leather desk chair. “Okay, Gabe. Go ahead.”

​

“Brad, you know I can’t tell you anything on these unsecured phone lines. Do I have to remind you there’s a cold war going on? Meet me outside in five minutes at the park bench.”

​

The phone line clicked in Scott’s ear and the phone buzzed, indicating Gabe had hung up.

Secretary Scott grabbed his fedora from the coat rack and stepped out his door, stopping at his assistant’s desk. “Edgar, I’m stepping out for a few minutes. I won’t be long.”

​

“Yes, sir.” The young man nodded, returning to his computer and the work at hand.

​

Secretary Scott hurried down the marble corridor of the Harry S. Truman building and out the main entrance. He paused for a moment, his gaze on the park bench in the grassy area in front of the building which housed the State Department. A single man sat on the bench, facing the other direction, a plume of cigarette smoke drifting away on the afternoon breeze. Gabe Holloway. He’d know him anywhere. Even from the back.

​

Secretary Scott left the sidewalk, strolled across the paved driveway in front of the building then crossed the grass to the park bench. He stopped and faced the other man, grinning at him.

​

“Hi, Gabe. What’s so all fired important that you dragged me out of my air-conditioned office to sit out here and talk to you? It may be mid-June, but it’s already getting warm.”

​

Gabe Holloway crushed his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and laid the butt on the seat beside him. “Well, at least it’s not August, Brad. Besides, there’s a nice breeze, and we’re sitting under the shade trees. So quit your griping and have a seat. I have something to tell you. Something that we need to act on. Now.”

​

Scott’s brow furrowed at his superior’s words, and he took a seat on the wooden bench. “What’s up, Gabe?”

​

The older man crossed one leg over his knee, his foot bouncing in…what? Agitation? Frustration? Excitement? Brad couldn’t decide, but lifted his gaze to the older man’s face as he began to speak.

​

“A few hours ago, a Russian pilot attempted to defect to the US.” Gabe’s voice was low, and Scott strained to hear his words. “The difficulty is we can’t find him.”

​

“What do you mean, ‘we can’t find him’?” Scott’s voice matched Gabe’s in a low whisper. “Where did he enter the US? Or did he?”

​

Gabe wiped a heavy hand across his forehead, puffed out his cheeks, and blew out a stream of air. He turned his gaze to meet Scott’s. “Apparently, our defecting pilot was picked up by a couple of fishermen on a small fishing trawler off the northwest coast of Alaska. It’s unclear how he escaped from Russia or how he made it to the point where he was picked up. They found him floating in an emergency raft. He told them he was from one of the crabbing boats and had fallen overboard.”

​

“Did he speak English that well?”

​

“Would you hang on, Brad.” Gabe held up his hand as a policeman would to hold back traffic.

​

“How do we know he’s a pilot?” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Gabe.

​

“Don’t get ahead of me, Brad. Let me finish.” Gabe glared. “Our pilot in question was taken on board the fishing trawler and talked his way to shore. The fishermen let him go when they docked in Nome. They never asked anymore questions. He made his way to the airport and stowed on board a flying ambulance. Only the pilot was onboard at the time but was preparing for a flight and had the engines running. The Soviet pilot caught him unaware. The ambulance pilot threatened to turn our defecting pilot over to the local authorities, but apparently the defecting pilot has some sensitive Soviet information he’s more than willing to hand over to the US government. He explained in broken English that he’s a pilot and flew out of the Soviet Union during the night with top secret information. His plane was shot down over the Bering Sea. He talked the ambulance pilot into taking him to one of the military bases in northeast Alaska, using the sensitive information as a bargaining tool. That’s where they were headed when we lost them. When I say we don’t know where they are, we have a general idea but that’s all.”

​

Secretary Scott shifted on the park bench. “That’s quite a story, Gabe. What I’d like to know is how he survived the plane going down in the frigid waters of the Bering Sea. You know how cold that water is. And where did he get the emergency raft?”

​

“Brad, if I knew all the answers to this account, I’d tell you.” Gabe scratched his head. “At this point we don’t know everything. Maybe he had an emergency raft beneath his ejection seat. Who knows what the Soviets do in their planes? Give me a break, man. Besides, there are more important issues at stake here.”

​

“Fine.” Scott waved a hand. “I understand. Where do you think the general area is where they may have gone down?”

​

“Now that’s a more sensible question.” Gabe glanced around then turned to look over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Scott. “Mt. McKinley National Park. The pilot of the ambulance called the Ft. Wainwright Army Base in northern Alaska telling them he was bringing the defecting pilot in. Because it was an unsecured radio transmission, he attempted to tell them as much as he could without endangering him and his passenger.

“He indicated he needed a security officer to meet the plane ASAP. His passenger had a ‘package’,” Gabe held up fingers indicating air quotes, “they would be interested in. We translated that to mean sensitive information. He also told them his passenger was from a nearby country and needed to speak with the officer. Well, that could mean several different countries, but the nearest is Russia, so that’s the most likely choice.”

​

“You’re reading an awful lot into a few words in a vague transmission, Gabe.” Scott swept his hand through his hair. “And if you don’t find the plane, it isn’t really going to matter much.”

​

Gabe harrumphed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The transmission ended near Mt. McKinley. Do you have any idea how big Mt. McKinley National Park is, Brad?”

​

“Yeah, actually, I have a general idea. I am from Alaska, remember?”

​

“Yes, I do remember, and the park is nine thousand four hundred and forty-six square miles. We looked it up. And we have to find a tiny plane in all of that. All because we want whatever it is that Russian pilot has in his hands that the Soviet Union doesn’t want us to have.” Gabe pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his suit jacket and tapped it against his finger. Nothing came out. He mumbled, “Empty. Wouldn’t you know it.”

​

With a heavy sigh, he jammed it back into his jacket pocket. Reaching into an inside pocket on the other side of his jacket, he retrieved a stick of gum, offering one to Scott.

​

Secretary Scott waved a hand indicating he didn’t want any. Gabe unwrapped a stick and popped it into his mouth. “We begin a search of that park, Brad. I’ll call the Secretary of the Department of the Interior, and he can do whatever has to be done to get the park service moving on their end. I want that plane found. I’m sending you out there to oversee things and make sure the search is thorough.”

​

Scott sat up straight. “Me? Search and rescue isn’t really my area of expertise, Gabe.”

​

“Maybe not, but it is your home state, and it’ll look good on your record if you find them.”

​

“And if I don’t?” Secretary Scott quirked an eyebrow. He certainly had his doubts. McKinley is a huge park.

​

“Don’t defeat yourself before you’ve even started, Brad. We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. Find that plane and hopefully you’ll find those pilots still alive. Then find whatever sensitive information that Russian pilot has. Understood?” Gabe looked him in the eye.

​

“Understood.” Scott understood all too well that this mission was nearly impossible. The proverbial needle in the haystack had nothing on him. He’d much rather look for the needle than attempt to find that plane in Mt. McKinley National Park.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Present Day

 

Pavel eyed his phone as it rang. It was that number. Grabbing it, he clicked on the answer call button and held it to his ear.

​

“Da?”

​

“You must remain vigilant.” A deep Russian voice came across cyberspace as if the man were in the next room rather than the next continent. “He will be arriving soon. We will tell you more when our intelligence has that information.”

​

“Da. I understand.” Pavel answered in Russian. “How soon, do you think?”

​

“That is not your concern. You worry about finding it and getting it out when the time comes.” He heard the Russian’s voice harden. “You will use whatever means are at your disposal.”

​

“Understood.”

​

Only the Russian man’s breathing filled the pause that spanned a full thirty seconds causing Pavel to grow uncomfortable. What was he doing? Was this a mind tactic reminiscent of the cold war? Weren’t those days over? There were rumors….

​

“Evgene was a fool.” The Russian’s words were adamant. “He could have had everything. He was to be given a promotion that would have placed him high in the ranks of the KGB. President Gorbachev himself would have….”

​

He waited for the Russian to continue.

​

“What’s the use of looking to the past?” The Russian’s words were more resigned now. “Just be prepared. You will move when we tell you to.”

​

“I understand, and I’ll be ready.”

​

“Good.”

​

“How shall I address you?”

​

“I am General Kozlov. That’s all you need to know.” The phone clicked and the line went dead.

~

Maggie Lawrence parked her little green rented SUV in front of the small, brown wooden building at the far end of the runway and turned off the engine. The lake behind her was home to numerous seaplanes. They were tied up along the lake shoreline while a long runway lay between the lake and a long row of buildings surrounded by small land planes. Maggie glanced at the sign over the front door of this building. It read Svenson’s Bush Plane Service. Yep. This is the place. Before she’d left New York, she’d done thorough research of all the bush plane services that flew out of Fairbanks, Alaska. Svenson’s had the best reviews and the best prices to boot.

​

Maggie couldn’t wait to get a bird’s-eye view of the park she’d been hired to photograph, and she wanted to get a jump on it. She would drive down to Healy near Denali National Park later today and find her new home away from home. First things first. She needed to find the pilot who would take her on a flight-seeing tour.

​

Opening the car door, she stepped out into frigid cold air. The car rental attendant had told her the temperature was -20˚. Maggie shivered in her tan parka and pulled the hood up. Having been born and raised in North Carolina, she doubted she’d get used to these temps. Ever. Even living in New York City as she did now, didn’t compare to Fairbanks, Alaska, the coldest city in the US.

​

Locking her car, she tucked her gloved hands into her parka pockets and headed for the front door. With reluctance she pulled one hand back out and attempted to turn the door knob. Locked. Shading her eyes, she leaned close and gazed through the window in the door. There was no one in the room. Just a cluttered desk, a filing cabinet, a bookshelf and a couple of chairs.

​

Maggie knocked hoping whoever ran this place was just in another room. However, no one came hurrying to let her in. She knocked louder.

​

“Hello. Anyone here?”

​

Maggie heaved a heavy sigh. Still nothing. Not good. She had a reservation after all. She glanced around, then heard a faint sound. A gravel road led from the parking lot in front of the building around back. Drawing her parka hood closer, she walked around the side of the building, the sounds growing louder.

​

Maggie found a larger building located further back. It looked like a plane hangar and the sounds emanating from it were mechanical.

​

Maggie tried the door on the side of the building, and it opened. She stepped inside to find it was a lot warmer than outside. The smell of petroleum filled the air. Gasoline and oil, she guessed. A plane stood ten feet in front of her, its engine cowling removed. A man stood beside it, his arms buried inside the engine. His loud hum was off key as he worked.

​

Maggie took a couple steps closer. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Jud Svenson. Is he around?”

​

The humming stopped, and the man tilted his head slightly to the side as he ceased working. He shook his head and started working again, resuming his loud humming.

​

Maggie shoved her parka hood back and stepped nearer to the man, raising her voice as she spoke. “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for Jud Svenson.”

​

The man jumped and yanked his arms from the engine. “Ouch!” he yelled.

​

Blood dripped from a cut on the back of his greasy hand as he spun around to see who had interrupted his work.

​

“I’m so sorry.” Maggie’s gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I called out a few seconds ago, but you didn’t hear me.”

​

The tall blond man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as his blue gaze landed on Maggie. “No, no, please don’t apologize. You did startle me, but it’s alright. I had no idea someone had come in.”

​

He strolled over to the wall where a first aid kit was attached, and pulled it down, carrying it to the utility sink near the back of the hanger.

​

Maggie followed him.

​

“What’s your name?” The man turned on the warm water and pumped soap into his hand from a dispenser on the wall.

​

“I’m Maggie Lawrence. I called a couple of weeks ago to make a reservation. I tried the front door, but no one answered. I heard a noise back here and decided to come see if I could find someone.”

​

The man scrubbed his hands, removing the grease and washing the cut on the back of his hand. “Lawrence, huh? I don’t remember the name, but then my secretary usually handles reservations. Sue Ellen had an emergency this morning. Her daughter went into labor. Wasn’t due for another two weeks. Anyway, let me get this cleaned up, and I’ll help you out.”

​

“And you are?”

​

“Jud Svenson. I’d normally shake your hand, but that’ll have to wait, I’m afraid.” He dried his hands with paper towels he retrieved from the holder on the wall.

​

“Open that for me, will you?” He pointed to the first aid kit.

​

Maggie opened the kit and took a look at the cut on his hand. “I don’t think it’s too deep, and you certainly don’t need stitches. One of these should do it.”

​

She pulled out a bandage that would be sufficient and, after applying an antibiotic ointment, applied the bandage. “There you go.”

​

“Thanks, Flo.” He grinned at her.

​

Maggie wrinkled her brows at him. “Flo? I told you my name is Maggie.”

​

“Flo. You know. Short for Florence Nightingale.”

​

Maggie chuckled. “Well, it’s the least I could do after causing your injury.”

​

Jud waved her words away. “Nah. I’ve always got my hands inside the engines of my planes, and I’m always getting them cut up. It’s no big deal, believe me.”

​

Maggie returned his smile. “Very well. Now how about we check on my reservation. I’d like to get up in the air and get a look at Denali. I have some photos to take. I hope it’s a clear day down there.”

​

Jud snapped his fingers. “You’re in luck. I check the report every morning and it said clear skies for Denali today.”

​

“You’re not just saying that? It’s really going to be clear?” Maggie lifted crossed fingers on both hands and squinted at him.

​

“I’m not just saying that. It really was the report this morning. I can’t say that every day, you know. The majority of the time Mt. Denali is shrouded in clouds.”

​

“Then let’s go.” Maggie started to walk toward the front of the hanger then stopped. “Oh, but what about your plane?”

​

Jud stopped next to her and placed his hands on his hips, a question in his gaze. “What about it?”

​

“You’re working on it.”

​

Jud smiled and crooked a finger at her, beckoning her to follow him as he walked around the grounded plane and pointed. “Ta da.”

​

Maggie stepped around the first plane to see a second one, it’s engine cowling in place. Red and blue stripes decorated the white Cessna 185.

​

“Patriotic. Nice. She’s ready to fly?” Maggie turned to Jud.

​

“As soon as we do your paperwork, I’ll get her out of the hanger. I’ll do my pre-flight check and we’ll be on our way.”

~

Maggie had flown many times before, mostly commercial airlines. She’d flown a few “puddle jumpers” with six to twenty passengers, but this was her first flight in a four-seater. From her seat inside the plane she watched as Jud followed his checklist, ensuring that everything outside the plane worked as it should. Then he climbed inside and continued to follow his checklist.

​

When Jud finished, he stowed the clipboard with the list and handed her a set of headphones. “It’s going to get loud so put these on. We’ll also be able to talk to one another through the mics.”

​

Maggie placed the headset over her ears and Jud plugged the cable into the audio panel. Then he did the same with his own headset.

​

She watched in fascination as he began flipping switches and pushing buttons. A few seconds later, she felt a vibration throughout the plane as the engine roared to life. Its muted sound stayed a mere hum thanks to the headset.

​

Excitement stirred within Maggie. She’d been looking forward to this trip since National Scenic Wildlife Magazine called three weeks earlier. They’d hired her to do their photo shoot for an article they planned to release in six months covering the scenery around Denali National Park. This gig should put her in the big time for sure.

​

Maggie glanced out the window as she felt the plane begin to roll down the tarmac. Jud spoke to the air traffic control tower putting in his request for takeoff.

​

The tower at the Fairbanks airport responded with the need for them to wait while they set up a plan for them. Jud moved the plane to the flight area where they would wait until the tower told them to move to the runway.

​

He turned off the mic to the tower and turned toward Maggie, speaking only to her.

“How you doing? You okay?”

​

Maggie nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

​

“Ever flown in a small plane before?”

​

“Nope. Not this small.”

​

Jud’s eyebrows rose. “Okay. Have you ever had air sickness when flying?”

​

“No, no. Never.” Maggie shook her head.

​

Concern filled Jud’s eyes. He reached under his seat and pulled out a paper bag, handing it to Maggie. “Just in case.”

​

Maggie eyed the paper bag. “I won’t need it.”

​

“Just in case. I just cleaned the inside of my cabin. I don’t want to have to do it again.” Jud’s face twisted distastefully.

​

Maggie snatched the paper bag from his hand. “Oh, for goodness sake.”

​

Jud chuckled as the tower came back directing him to take off.

​

He turned the Cessna 185 and throttled it up as they taxied toward the runway. Once there, Jud moved the plane into position and throttled the engine. As he pushed the throttle forward, the little plane rolled down the runway faster and faster. Jud pulled the yoke back and the plane lifted off the ground.

​

The slight sensation of weightlessness overcame Maggie for a few seconds as the plane lifted higher and higher. The plane skipped sideways a few times with wind gusts, causing Maggie to grab hold of her seat.

​

Jud spoke to the tower again then signed off.

​

Maggie looked out her window and watched as Fairbanks grew smaller and smaller, drifting away behind them. Soon trees and lakes with the occasional small house, smoke wafting from its chimney, became part of the snowy scenery. A winding frozen river and a road twined through the mountainous terrain. A distant railroad track serpentined through the landscape like a snail’s trail. Snow covered the landscape and the midday sunshine reflected off frozen ponds and lakes. Maggie grabbed her sunglasses from her purse.

​

Jud noticed her actions. “You’re coming at a good time. Our days are getting longer now, you know. Here in early March, we have about 10 hours of sunshine per day. Earlier in the winter it was far less with only a couple hours of sunshine. As we move further into spring the days will continue to grow longer until summer when the sun is up all but a couple of hours at night.”

​

“So I’ve heard. The land of the midnight sun, right?”

​

“You’ve got it.”

​

“Isn’t that hard to get used to?”

​

“What? Walking around at ten o’clock at night and it looks more like three in the afternoon?” Jud chuckled. “It’s all I’ve ever known, so I’m used to it. To a newcomer, I suppose it would take some getting used to.”

​

Maggie shook her head and gazed out at the scenery below them. “This is gorgeous. My first real view of Alaska. I sat on the aisle on my flight to Fairbanks and the man by the window kept his shade down so I couldn’t see our approach.”

​

“This is a far better view anyway. You’re closer and we’re going slower.” Jud pointed to the southwest. “Take a look at that. Denali is clear today. Not even the usual cloud ring around the summit. What do you think?”

​

Maggie followed his pointing finger to catch her first glimpse of Mt. Denali, once called Mt. McKinley, and gasped. “Oh, my goodness. It’s…it’s spectacular.”

​

She reached into her camera bag, that she’d stuffed between her feet, for her camera.

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re going in a lot closer. I’ll angle the plane so you can get some great shots, but you can snap away whenever you want.”

​

Maggie did just that. Jud set up the plane for some terrific shots from great angles. Then he took the plane in low and she was able to get some more great shots of the park landscapes and some of the glaciers.

​

They flew over a dog sled team whisking across the snowy terrain.

​

“Oh my goodness!” Maggie snapped more pictures. “Did you see that? It was a dog sled team.”

​

“Yep, they use them here in the park.” Jud pulled back on the Cessna’s yoke and lifted the plane into the sky. He turned the yoke to the right then pushed it forward, diving back toward the ground, leveling off as they approached the dog sled team once again. Jud waggled the plane’s wings slightly on approach.

​

The musher lifted a hand and waved.

​

“Do you know him?”

​

Jud pulled back on the stick, lifting the plane back into the sky. “I know several of the rangers in the park, but I don’t know which one that was. He’s too bundled up.”

​

“Dog sled teams in the park service. Who knew?” Maggie mumbled as she glanced over her shoulder trying to catch a final glimpse of the musher and his team whisking over the snow.

What an interesting story that would make for a magazine article. Would the editor of National Scenic Wildlife Magazine be interested in something like that? Maggie only did the photography. Mr. Charles Radford would have to find a reporter to come up and do the article. Could she sell that idea to the great New York editor?