Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Sabotage - Jill Elizabeth Nelson - Страница 13

THREE

“Young lady, my head is harder than most bowling balls.” The older executive glared up at Lauren from his cushy seat, age-spotted hands folded over his modest paunch. “I don’t need to be poked and prodded.”

“Sir, a concussion is all about the softness of your brain slamming around inside that bowling ball.” She frowned down at him. “I do need to perform some basic assessment.”

The edges of the curmudgeon’s lips curved upward. “Deftly done, young lady. I am put in my place.” The smile grew, revealing even rows of gleaming, white teeth. Dentures, no doubt, since his speech carried the slight slur that sometimes came with that territory. “Very well, you may shine your little flashlight into my pupils and confirm that they are equal in size and reactive.”

Lauren lifted her eyebrows. “You have medical training?”

“No, I just watched a lot of Dr. Kildare in my younger years.”

“Who?”

“Never mind, well before your time.” He removed thick-lensed glasses and stared up at her with shrewd, brown eyes.

Lauren scanned his pupils with the penlight she had found in the medical kit. “At least as far as this symptom of concussion, you have a clean bill of health, Mr... Ah.”

“Gleason. But you may call me Neil.”

“Are you related to Jackie?”

Neil Gleason let out a raspy chuckle. “Not at all. You may not be familiar with my favorite TV doc, but I see you’re not out of the loop on all prehistoric television personalities.”

Lauren smiled. “My grandmother loved The Honeymooners. I watched a few reruns with her when I was little. And you may call me Lauren, rather than young lady.”

“It’s a deal. Now feel free to assess someone needier that I. Your mother, perhaps?”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

She began packing up her kit. It was actually amazing that she wasn’t dealing with a whole gamut of major medical problems, instead of an abundance of minor ones. She’d examined every passenger except her mom, and doctored cuts and contusions from flying objects. While one of her patients had a broken finger from trying to protect his head from said objects, thankfully no one was bleeding profusely from a slice through a vein or an artery. As for more serious injuries, she suspected kneecap fracture or dislocation in Richard, the next oldest to Neil, but the best she could do in the confines of the jet was wrap the limb and apply an ice pack.

Lauren found her mother hugging herself, frowning and staring out the window.

“Are you in pain?” Lauren bent over her.

“Not really.” She dredged up a faint smile. “I’m starting to feel cold, though. With the cockpit windshield gone and my jacket packed away in the stowed luggage, there’s not much between us and the great outdoors. Looks pretty barren out there. No snow yet in this valley, but it’s coming soon. I can feel it.”

“I’ll grab one of those airplane blankets for you after I palpate your abdomen.”

“You’re going to do what?”

Lauren chuckled. “I’m going to press on your tummy in different spots to see if you hurt somewhere specific.”

“Whew! At least you’re not contemplating surgery.” Mom winked up at her.

Lauren’s heart squeezed in upon itself. What if her mother did have an internal injury that required surgery? What if some of her other patients had something like that going on, and the issue hadn’t yet been identified? For sure, Mags needed to be hospitalized immediately. There was so little Lauren could do out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a first-aid kit.

Mom squeezed her arm. “I’m fine, dear.”

The warm touch pumped encouragement into Lauren’s bloodstream. “Go ahead and put your seat all the way back while I check you out.”

Her mother complied, and Lauren swiftly determined that the ache was general across the length of abdomen where the seat belt had fastened, and no point of pressure elicited a sharp pain. Good signs that the damage was muscle strain and bruising, not damage to an internal organ. Still, she’d keep her mother under close observation.

“I think you may live,” Lauren concluded with a wink, and her mother laughed. “Now, about that blanket,” she swiveled on her heels, “I’ll—Oops!” She halted barely in time to keep from bumping into one of the executives.

The man’s angular face sported a butterfly bandage closing a long, shallow cut on his cheek and a purple goose egg on his jaw, which Lauren believed was not broken, only bruised. The tall, raw-boned man held a small stack of blankets.

“Take one of these,” he said. “I was just going to start passing them out. None of us brought our outdoor jackets on board. They’re all packed away with the luggage.”

“Mr. Yancy, isn’t it?” Lauren accepted the blanket. “Thank you for thinking of this.”

He offered a small smile. “Call me Cliff. Now that the edge is off the hysteria, I think we can start functioning like intelligent human beings who are grateful to be alive.”

“Here he comes!” Mom called out, angling her head toward the outside.

“Who’s coming?” a passenger demanded sharply from farther back in the plane. “Are we being rescued?”

“It’s our hero pilot, who has already rescued us from sudden death, so let’s see what new and amazing trick he’s pulled out of his hat.” Mom pointed out the window.

“All I want to know is when a chopper will be arriving to get us back to civilization,” a surly voice grumbled.

Lauren identified it as coming from Dirk Dixon, the man with the broken finger and the foul mouth. She felt the same way about being rescued as soon as possible, but a male diva attitude wasn’t going to help make it happen.

She leaned across a vacant seat toward a window and gaped at her mother’s freshly anointed hero and whatever strange vehicle he was dragging behind him. Not that everyone aboard didn’t owe Kent Garland a world of gratitude and no little admiration for his skill as a pilot, but if Mom thought she could put stars in Lauren’s eyes about this guy or any other, she was doomed to disappointment.

The pilot brought the contraption to a stop next to the wing, and Lauren got a look at the words painted on the side. What? He’d found a hearse? She shivered. The cold must be getting to her, because she was in no way superstitious about a dusty old wagon.

She turned and smacked her palms together. “All right, people. I believe our chariot has arrived.”

“I’m getting out of here.” The man with the broken finger jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Dixon, we will evacuate the most seriously injured first.”

The man smirked and held up his bandaged hand.

A pop announced the emergency exit panel turning loose, and Kent stuck his head through the opening.

“That means my copilot, Magdalena Haven,” he said firmly, “as well as Ms. Carter to watch over her, and then the rest of you will go in whatever order her triage assessment dictates.”

His icy stare toward Dixon brooked no argument. The executive scowled and sat down.

“Next after Mags and me should be Richard Engle,” Lauren said. “His leg needs more attention than I can give it in here. Both of those patients will need to lie flat, so I think that’s all for the first load. Phil Blount and Dirk Dixon will be for the next load in order of triage. Then I want Neil Gleason, Cliff Yancy and my mother.” She nodded toward Kent.

“I’ll help do the mule thing.” A tentative hand went up from Cliff.

“And I can walk. So they won’t have to pull me,” said Phil, the bulky man who’d given way to panic in the first moments after landing. “That way, Neil and Mrs. Barrington can go in the second load, too.”

The man had been sheepish ever since his display of terror. Lauren sent him a smile, and he drew himself up tall, dignity restored.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Kent. “First, round up as many of the blankets and pillows as you can. Keep whatever you need for yourselves for the trip, but send the rest in the first load. We’re also going to harvest the seat cushions. Grab some of those now for the most injured to lie on.”

Healthy activity began in the cabin of what was once a luxury aircraft. With something constructive to do, the tension in the passengers seemed to ease. If only Lauren could say the same for herself. She’d never looked after patients under such primitive conditions. The prognosis for the copilot was not good if help didn’t reach them soon. And who knew what complications might develop in her other patients?

Shoving her jitters to the back of her mind, Lauren threw herself into aiding people and organizing supplies. Moving Mags was the most delicate operation. They formed a makeshift sling out of blankets and somehow managed to get her limp form out the egress window. Cliff and Phil had already gone outside to help Kent, and the three of them easily slid her onto a set of cushions in the back of the black ambulance. Lauren refused to think of it as a hearse.

Transferring Richard Engle was almost more difficult, because the man flinched and moaned with every jostle. Not that she blamed him. He had an excruciating injury and had behaved better about it than certain others with minor hurts. Finally, her turn came, and she climbed out the window onto the wing of the plane. She began shivering immediately, despite the blanket around her shoulders.

Standing between the wing and the open door of the ambulance, Kent reached up and took her hand, steadying her as she leaped to the ground. His grip sent a tingle up her arm, and his encouraging smile warmed her straight down to her toes. All right. Enough of that nonsense. She made herself look away and climbed into the wagon with her patients—one inert and comatose, the other gritting his teeth and stifling groans.

If only she had something stronger for pain than the limited stock of non-narcotic analgesics in the first-aid kit. The kit contained things like nitroglycerin and epinephrine designed to respond to medical emergencies in-flight, not deal with injuries due to a crash landing.

The inside of the wagon smelled stale and musty. Lauren wrinkled her nose as she settled cross-legged between her patients. Someone closed the door, and darkness swooped in. Only a few small cracks in the wood allowed slivers of dull sunlight to ease the gloom.

“How are you doing, Mr. Engle?” she asked.

“Call me Rich, please, and I’m alive. Guess that will have to be enough for now.”

“Hang in there. The emergency kit contains lidocaine for local anesthetic. Once we get to an environment where I have room to work, I’ll administer it. If your kneecap is only dislocated, I should be able to put it back in place, which will decrease your pain level, long-term. There is some risk of aggravating possible cartilage damage, but—”

Her patient wheezed a small laugh. “Anything to ease the pain sounds great to me.”

Their wagon creaked and shifted.

“Here we go.” She patted Rich’s arm.

Rocking and jouncing in a vehicle with no shock absorbers went on for a small eternity. Finally, they stopped and the door swung wide. Kent stood framed in the opening. He was puffing, and a trickle of sweat traced a path from his left brow to his chin, but the white cloud of his breath testified to the chill in the air. When the sun went down, chilly would become downright cold. They had a lot to accomplish in the few hours before sunset.

Lauren pulled her blanket tighter around her and stepped down out of the wagon. They were parked in front of a weathered clapboard structure with a sagging porch and very few intact windows. The faded sign over the building announced it as the Trouble Creek Mercantile. Whatever supplies the mercantile had stocked were bound to be long gone. Trouble Creek had been abandoned for quite a while.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Kent said with a wave toward the shabby building, “but I’ve laid down sturdy boards from the steps to the door so none of us is going to fall through on our way inside. The structure is sound, though I can’t guarantee the roof doesn’t leak. But if we can scrounge things up to cover the broken window panes, the potbellied stove in the middle of the front room should warm us up considerably. No lack of old wood for fuel around here.”

“You’ve thought of a lot of things in a little time.” Lauren beamed up at her mom’s pilot hero.

The guy certainly had a good head on those impressive shoulders. It might be interesting to get to know him better—not as a boyfriend, of course, but as a person. He probably had a thing for his copilot anyway, judging by how protective he acted toward her.

Kent’s gaze dropped toward his feet. “Just doing what I can.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes. “What is it that you don’t want to tell us you can’t do?”

His lips pulled tight beneath grim eyes. “Let’s get everyone transferred safely, and then we’ll all have a powwow.”

Simmering, Lauren barely restrained herself from stomping across the porch boards. Aggravating man. One thing Lauren had learned to hate in her early years—other people deciding when to tell her things she was entitled to know. All she wanted was straight answers to important questions...even though everything she dreaded might be in those answers.

* * *

Kent tromped toward the downed plane, empty wagon in tow. He’d left Phil and Cliff with Lauren and her patients to see if they could get that stove going, as well as find ways to cover the broken window panes.

On this next trip back to town, Dirk could walk or even help him pull. That measly broken finger didn’t qualify him for a free ride. Phil had told him they called the guy DJ at Peerless One where they worked together. The nickname drove Dirk nuts, because he thought they were referring to his brief and unstellar career as a disc jockey in the nightclubs before he made it in arbitrage. No one had ever told him the initials stood for Dirk the Jerk. Not hard to guess how he earned that name. Kent suppressed a grimace.

A half hour later, he helped Mrs. Barrington into the wagon. At her insistence, she was the last to climb aboard.

The dainty woman awarded him a large smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said, “And please call me Nina. I can see you are among the last of the true gallants. I believe you have impressed even my headstrong daughter with your courtesy and service.”

Kent shut the wagon door and shook his head. Impressed Lauren Carter? Aggravated would be more accurate. He seemed to have a gift for pushing her buttons.

He headed back toward town with the wagonload of people and supplies. Dirk Dixon plodded alongside him, wearing a scowl. Fat chance the guy would help him pull.

They arrived back at the abandoned general store to the tune of lively hammering. Was it possible the former inhabitants had left tools behind? Might there be other survival treasures lying around, too?

Kent smiled as he helped his passengers out of the wagon. Everyone—even Dirk—carried a load of food and other supplies inside the store. Kent placed himself last in line and stopped short just over the threshold.

Someone had brought order out of hodgepodge. He could about guess who. The fixed counter that sat on one side of the open area, as well as the moveable shelving, appeared to have been wiped off, though the floor remained thick with dust due to lack of a broom. The shelving had been arranged to afford both organized storage and a margin of privacy between the bulk of the room and the most critically injured passengers. He caught a glimpse of Lauren kneeling beside Mags, taking her pulse.

A fire blazed in the stove, and the building was already much warmer than when he’d left about an hour ago. Cushions were arranged on the floor around the stove to allow a little seating comfort up off the dirt on the floor.

Kent deposited his load of food and beverages on the glass-fronted shelving unit that was fixed to the floor and had probably served as the checkout counter. He gazed around at broken windows being covered with what looked like thin slabs of wood. Cliff turned from one of the windows and held up a shiny nail and a partially rusted crowbar, now serving as a hammer.

He grinned. “Found a sealed box of these.” He wagged the nail. “And some old, empty crates in the back storage room. Busted up the crates. Found this on the floor,” he lifted the crowbar, “and, voilà, wooden curtains.”

“And I found these,” Phil said, pointing to a pair of oil lamps on the counter. “No kerosene, though.” He frowned.

“Maybe we’ll run across some,” Nina said and patted his arm. “Or some candles. In the meantime, I believe we are all due a break. How about some of these peanuts and pretzels and a soft drink for everyone?”

No one turned her down, especially not Kent. But water was his preferred beverage after all the exertion, and he wasn’t done yet. One more trip today.

“We need to go get the luggage,” he said. “The stove and wooden curtains are great, but we’re still going to need our jackets and probably dress in layers to stay warm.”

Lauren came around the wall of shelving and grabbed a bottle of water. Her clothes were dusty, and dirt smudged one cheek. Weariness etched small lines around her big, green eyes. How come the disarray, brought about by trauma and compassion, emphasized her attractiveness far more than Elspeth’s haute couture ever had?

Lauren’s gaze caught his, and his heart did a stupid skippy thing. A motion with her water bottle beckoned him to follow her. She led him into her makeshift hospital. Richard Engle had his eyes closed and appeared to be lying comfortably, though his leg was raised, resting on an extra cushion, and his knee was immobilized in bulky wrappings. The blood had been washed from Mags’s face, and a towel-wrapped cold pack pressed against a spot on her head, but her complexion was waxen. She lay unnaturally still. Kent swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I managed to put Rich’s kneecap back in place,” Lauren said, “but Mags needs a doctor and a modern hospital immediately. I believe she’s hemorrhaging inside her skull, which puts life-threatening pressure on her brain. Don’t you think it’s about time we know what chance there is of rescue happening anytime soon?”

Kent nodded. “Step out here. I’ll talk to all of you at the same time.”

They went back to the counter where the others were still snacking, and Kent cleared his throat. Attention was instantaneous and electric.

“I wish I could tell you that we will be rescued any minute now.”

Dirk barked a laugh. “All these housekeeping preparations pretty much told us we’re not looking for anyone today. So when is the cavalry coming? Tomorrow? Any later than that, and I can tell you it’s going to cost Peerless One, and me personally, a bundle. That’s unacceptable. We need to be—”

“Shut up!” Neil growled. “Lives are more important than the next stock trade. How many companies do we represent here? At least three. But I guarantee you, in the big picture, our no-show within the next few days will wind up a minor hiccup in the big scheme of business. I’m on the fast track toward retirement, but I’ve been digging in my heels about taking the plunge. This little adventure has convinced me that it’s time to let go of work, work, work, and enjoy life. When we return to civilization, my company will have to bid me sayonara for good.”

“Everyone, hush, please.” Lauren’s voice quivered like a plucked violin string. “Right now, our pilot is the only one who has anything to say that we need to hear.”

Kent’s heart hovered somewhere around his toes. If only he could tell them what they wanted to hear. But truth was the only commodity worth trading in at this moment.

“I’ve flown under a lot of adverse conditions, but I’ve never heard of or experienced anything like what happened up there. My instruments, including the radio, went out in the blink of an eye. Something catastrophic happened to the plane.”

“The explosion.” Cliff jabbed the air with a nail. “Accidental malfunction or—”

“A bomb!” The hysterical edge had returned to Phil’s voice. “Terrorists tried to kill us!”

“Whoa!” Kent held up a quieting hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Tomorrow I’ll go over every inch of the plane, and then I might know more.” His gaze skimmed the expectant faces. “But here’s the thing. I can fly and land a plane without instruments. Had to do it under extremely tough conditions and on challenging terrain when I was in the air force, but I cannot promise to resurrect that radio. And even if I did, I have my doubts it would be able to communicate with the outside world.”

“Why not?” Dirk demanded.

Kent pulled a small compass out of his pocket. He held it up so they could see the needle jumping all over the place. “The rocks coating the ground are taconite. I’m pretty sure this area was mined for iron. If there’s enough metal around to confuse my compass, there’s probably plenty left to scramble a radio signal. Maybe even to keep any signal from leaving this valley.”

Phil wrung pudgy hands. “What about that black box thingy we hear about on the news? Doesn’t that send a signal to a satellite when a plane crashes?”

“Same problem.”

“In plain speech,” Lauren said, tone flat, “no one knows where we are, and no one is coming to rescue us.”

The proverbial pin-drop would easily have broken the silence. A nail plummeted from Cliff’s hand and hit the floor with a noise like a sonic boom.

“Why can’t a few of us just hike out of here and send help for the rest of you?” Neil’s matter-of-fact tone breathed sanity back into the atmosphere. “This was a town. There must be a road in and out.”

Kent frowned. “Unfortunately, I got a pretty good look at that ‘road’ on my way down into the valley. It doesn’t exist anymore. Avalanche closed off the route.”

Dirk spat a foul word. “We’re in a box canyon. Trapped like rats.”

Kent lifted his hands, palms out. “It’s not a great situation, but it’s not hopeless, either. When we don’t arrive at our destination, searchers will look along the route of the flight plan we filed before we took off. Our current location is a little off that path, but not radically beyond reasonable range. One thing we can do is position chunks of glass on the stone chimneys of one or more of these buildings and along the cliff walls that will reflect the sunlight and hopefully draw the attention of airborne searchers. However, their search pattern will be lower than regular flight altitudes, so they are unlikely to fly through these mountains at night, which means we probably shouldn’t bother with setting and tending bonfires after dark.”

Lauren’s mom let out a long gust of air. “At least we have a plan. Let’s keep our hopes alive, people. And another thing we should do tomorrow is search this town top to bottom for anything we can use to make our time here easier, however short or long it may be.”

“That’s the pioneer spirit, Mom.” Lauren exchanged a fist bump with her mother.

Kent smiled as ragged laughter erupted among most of the passengers, and the atmosphere lightened. Quite a pair of admirable women, these two.

Dirk’s scowl barely dimmed. “The shorter the better.” He tromped away to hunker down on one of the cushions near the heat source.

“I’m going to make one last trip out to the plane,” Kent said. “Phil? Cliff? Are you still my main men?”

“What about me?” Dirk jumped up.

“I didn’t think you’d want to handle luggage with a broken finger.”

Dirk snickered. “You’re right. I don’t.” He turned his back and held out his hands toward the stove.

Kent gritted his teeth.

Cliff brushed past him with a sidelong look. “I’m about ready to smack the smirk off of Dirk.”

Swallowing laughter, Kent followed him and big, lumbering Phil out the door. An hour later, as the sun closed in on the horizon, they returned with a full load of luggage and one stunning item that left all humor out in the cold.

Kent hauled Mags’s wheelie and a bulky bundle into the makeshift hospital area. He stared down at his inert copilot, frost riming him from the inside out. Lauren took a look at his face and rose from her kneeling position.

“What is it?” she said. “And don’t give me a slick answer.”

Kent eyeballed the activity going on near the door where everyone was crowding around to receive their luggage. The prospect of jackets and additional clothing, as well as toiletry items, was exciting in a good way after all the excitement in a bad way. The thumping and bumping and babble of eager voices would likely cover any conversation between him and the too-insightful physician’s assistant.

“This.” He lifted the bulky pack. “It’s a parachute.”

Her eyes widened. “Isn’t that standard equipment aboard your aircraft?”

He shook his head, bereft of speech as the possibilities—no, probabilities—buzzed around in his brain.

“Someone else brought it on board?”

“There is no tag on this item, so none of our passengers checked it in. Mags oversaw the loading of the luggage. She’s the only one who could have put it there.”

“But why?”

“That’s the gazillion-dollar question, isn’t it? Unfortunately, the answer stinks to the moon and back. Who would have needed an unorthodox exit from the aircraft?”

The sharp intake of Lauren’s breath marked comprehension. “Only someone who knew an emergency was going to happen.”

“Bingo. And the layout of my plane allows access to the luggage bay from the bathroom. Just sneak back there, don the chute and out you go. Nice and neat.”

Color receded from her face. “So we have to conclude that the plane was sabotaged. Would Mags have had the know-how to rig whatever caused the explosion?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kent crossed his arms. “She was the bomb expert on our flight crew in Afghanistan.”

“She was in the air force with you? Somebody you trusted? Wow. That’s got to hurt.”

Kent’s skin tightened. She’d said a mouthful. It was hard to explain the camaraderie that developed between soldiers in the military. Such a level of betrayal bit deep, and somehow, this woman got it without explanation.

Lauren laid a hand on his arm. “We still don’t know why she tried to destroy the plane.”

“That, and which one of our passengers was in on the deal.”

“What do you mean?” Her brows knit together.

He grimaced. “This is a tandem chute. Two people dive in it. Somebody was planning to leave with her, but got stuck in the plane with us because Mags was incapacitated.”

Lauren’s jaw dropped, and she leaned in toward him. “Someone walking around in this room tried to kill us? Wow. And they could try again!”

Kent delivered a single, decisive nod. “For now, let’s keep the discovery of this parachute our secret. Her accomplice doesn’t need to be alerted that his existence has been exposed.”

“Allow him to relax, get complacent and maybe slip up somehow?”

“Exactly. And we need to pray that Mags wakes up—at least long enough to tell us his name—or we’re all the proverbial sitting ducks. Anybody with the brains and guts to devise and carry out this sabotage plan will be quick to implement a Plan B that will glean him the same results—us dead and himself home free.”