Test Pilot's Daughter: Revenge (19 page)

On the fourth day, he finally received a call, but it wasn’t from her. It was from Lt. Col. Pat Matthews. Her dad said she had promised him a call from the Exumas on Monday night. He wanted to know if Lazer had heard anything.

“
No, sir,” Lazer said. “I’m getting a little concerned myself. Do ya know where they’re stayin’?”

“
That’s just it,” Matthews replied, “I called the Club Peace and Plenty in George Town, and she never registered. Great Exuma is a pretty small island, and I’ve checked every establishment. They’re not there.”

“
Well, maybe they decided to go to one of the smaller islands. Damn, wish she had given me her itinerary.”

“
Normally, I wouldn’t worry, Lazer. Christina is quite capable of taking care of herself. But when she says she’ll call on a specific day, she always does.”

“
No doubt that gal can take care of herself. But, one of us shudda heard something by now. Let me make a couple a calls and see if I can figure out what’s goin’ on. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you right back.”

“
Likewise, I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”

Lazer thought about calling Dr. Steve Weston in Athens, but he couldn’t stomach the guy. He checked his AOPA directory of airport listings and found the telephone number for the FBO at West Palm Beach. It was the last place he had talked to her. It seemed a good place to start. A young female receptionist answered the phone.

“
Signature Flight Service, where anyone can learn to fly. How may I help you?”

“
Hello, name’s Lazer. . .uh, I mean. . .Mike Clark. Can you tell me who flies charters outta there for the Exuma Islands?”

“
Why yes, we have two charter pilots, Hank Rogers and Barbara Gilmore.”

“
That’s it, Hank. I remember that name. Can I please speak with Mr. Rogers?”

“
He’s gone all week. He’s fishing in Great Exuma with his grandson. Won’t be back ‘til Saturday night.”

“
How ‘bout Gilmore?”

“
We haven’t seen her for a few days. Not sure where she is. Didn’t leave any messages.”

“
Can you tell me if Hank flew Christina Matthews and her party to the Exumas last Saturday?”

“
Just a minute and I’ll check. No, he flew a charter under the name of a Dr. Steve Weston.”

“
That’s it,” Lazer replied. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with ‘em down there?”

“
Hank left a number at the Beachside Hotel. Do you want that?”

“
Yeah, and can you give me the tail number of his airplane?”

“
No problem. He flies November Two Eight Niner Niner Kilo. Why would you want that?”

“
Just, I ain’t heard from my friend that was on the trip. Trying to find out if they ever arrived.”

“
Well, don’t you worry. If they had any problems, we would have been notified.”

“
You sure about that?”

“
Sure. If they don’t arrive under a commercial flight plan, all hell breaks loose. I can guarantee you they arrived on schedule.”

Lazer called the Beachside Hotel and found that Hank Rogers had a reservation there but never showed and never cancelled. He checked every hotel in Great Exuma, and Hank Rogers was not to be found. Then he called the customs office at the airport and learned that no one in their party had cleared customs on the date in question. Lazer couldn’t figure a reasonable explanation, but he wasn’t worried about a plane crash. He was more concerned with some sort of hijacking. Well aware that drug smugglers loved to steal planes in the Bahamas, he called a friend who was an air traffic controller at Atlanta Center.

“
Dave, my girlfriend was on a charter flight from West Palm to Great Exuma last Saturday. I can’t find any evidence the plane arrived.”

“
If you have the number, I can check the computer.”

“
Yeah, it’s November Two Eight Niner Niner Kilo.”

After a long pause, Dave Conrad came back on the phone. “I’ve got it. They departed Saturday at 2:00 p.m. in route to Great Exuma with five souls aboard. The record shows that the IFR flight plan was cancelled mid-course.”

“
What? Why would he cancel his IFR flight plan?”

“
Well, I don’t know, but it’s the pilot’s prerogative. Maybe they wanted to do some sight-seeing.”

“
Point is,” Lazer exclaimed loudly, “they never showed up! I want the FAA to jump on this and find out what the hell happened to that airplane!”

The next several hours were a flurry of activity. Between Lazer and Matthews phones were ringing all over the country. Christina’s dad called the FAA and the NTSB and demanded an immediate investigation. If they went down somewhere in the Bahamas, there still might be hope.

It didn’t take long for the media to sniff out the disaster. That night it was the lead story on the evening news. Wednesday morning the
Atlanta Journal and Constitution
reported the mystery of a charter flight which vanished over the Bahamas. There was a lot of speculation and side-stepping by various agencies as to how a commercial flight could have gone down undetected and unreported for four days. The FAA issued a press release summarizing the actual radar data. The plot, which was lost at lower altitudes, led to speculation that the plane may have gone down in open water in the large gap between Andros Island and the Exuma Cays. A massive search was underway.

The mystery continued to build as air and sea searches turned up nothing for two days in good weather. The media started pulling out old stories about the Bermuda Triangle. By Thursday the headline on the front page of the AJC declared:

Another Airplane and Five Innocent People

Swallowed by the Bermuda Triangle

For the hundredth time, Matthews called Lazer at his apartment in Atlanta. “Listen here, boy, these government types are a bunch of dip-shits. I don’t think they got enough resources on this. How hard can it be to find a downed Saratoga in the Bahamas when you’ve got radar data pointing to the general area?”

“
Well Sir, don wanna sound pessimistic, but it’s possible the wreckage sank to the bottom. Only other explanation is they flew low, undetected for a period of time to some other location.”

“
Yeah, and it’s also possible they’re on some goddam island out there waiting for us to get off our asses! What do you say we grab a plane and conduct our own search?”

“
How soon can you get down here, Sir?”

“
I can be there in a few hours in one of Boeing’s planes. Can you rent us something maneuverable so we can fly low and slow if something looks curious? I’d like to get a good look at every island along the intended route. Don’t worry, I’ll pay the tab.”

“
Yes, Sir! How ‘bout a Mooney or a Bonanza?”

“
No, get something with a high wing so we can get a better view below, something like a Cessna 182. I’ll be at your place no later than ten o’clock tonight. Let’s plan on taking off from Atlanta at first light.”

* * *

After three days of intense searching, the two men in Christina’s life were out of ideas. They found absolutely nothing of consequence and were beginning to consider the ridiculous speculations. Saratoga November Two Eight Niner Niner Kilo had vanished from the face of the earth. They were told by the Coast Guard that, eventually, debris from the wreckage would float to a beach, and they would finally learn the five unfortunate passengers were dead. In the meantime, Lazer was distraught with the fact that the woman most precious to him, Christina Matthews, and her friends were gone without a trace.

Chapter Fourteen

Jessica lay on her mat ill at ease, unable to sleep. She couldn’t understand why no one was looking for them. She had a strange feeling they had died in that crash landing on the beach and gone to some kind of Bahamian purgatory. A few planes had flown by at lower altitudes, but none seemed interested.
What are we, invisible?
In the morose darkness of a stormy night, she caught herself sinking into a lonely depression.
God, I miss my mom.

Fish and rainwater kept them alive. Except for the occasional thunderstorm, the weather was warm and life was easy, too easy. Their little microcosm existed in general harmony with nothing much to fight about. But the days were long and boring, and they had to battle the dark inclinations of isolation. For a generation of young people who had been inundated with radio, TV and the Internet, island life was incredibly dull. The few books brought along for poolside reading had already been circulated once and were going around for a second pass.

Billy had his favorite frisbee, which was a real blessing. Every day they would play two-on-two frisbee football on the beach. Billy, who wasn’t in the greatest shape, huffed and puffed trying to keep up with the well-toned college girls. After dark, sitting around the campfire, they each took turns telling all kinds of stories. Truth or fiction, it really didn’t matter as it was their only form of nocturnal entertainment. Sometimes they would compete to see who could wind up the biggest whopper.

Heather tried to get them interested in singing old camp songs, but no one was too keen on that idea. She would sometimes sing solo, to the delight of the others. Her beautiful voice resonated through the night air like the aura of a good friend. Jessica loved to hear her sing, and on occasion, it brought her to tears.

As captain, Christina was the final call on important decisions, but she noticeably avoided being too overbearing. The few duties required to sustain life such as fishing, taking care of the water supply, gathering firewood, stoking the signal fire, preparing food and maintaining the sandpit latrine were assigned each day and rotated for fairness. There was an ongoing contest to see who could prepare the best meal, and they were blessed with an abundant supply of goodies: clams, lobsters, conch, oysters, sea urchins, eels, octopus and every imaginable saltwater fish. They boiled, roasted and even baked their catch in a makeshift oven carved out of limestone cliffs. Once they even tried a luau-style feast, wrapping an assortment of seafood in a space blanket and burying it under the sand with hot coals from the fire. Starvation was not an issue.

Jessica grew sick of eating fish and thought long and hard about trying to vary the diet. She suggested they go after the seagulls for the boiling pot, but she was voted down. Early one morning, Christina and Billy decided to explore the interior of the island and hunt for something new to eat. Billy fashioned two sharp spears for makeshift weapons. They got up early marching off at sunup to take advantage of the cool air.

Tired of laying awake as the morning temperature soared, Jessica woke her friend and suggested they snorkel out on the reefs for the day’s bounty. Just one-hundred yards off the beach was a long, jagged line of coral, a goldmine of groceries. They decided to try a new area down at the other end of the beach. Jessica loved the feel of the tepid water in the gentle surf. On their morning swim to the local supermarket they came upon a dark area on the inlet floor.
Weird
, Jessica thought as she swam down for a better look. It was a sinkhole about twelve feet across and forty or fifty feet deep. Waiting for her eyes to focus in the dim light, she saw large groupers and snappers teeming in the depths.
Wow, the mother lode,
she thought.

An expert diver and strong swimmer, Jessica cocked her spear-gun, got a good breath and dove straight down into the abyss. Without hesitation she found a target and fired her weapon under a large coral ledge. A huge red snapper struggled on the end of her lance as she fought her way back to the surface. She was excited with the kill, much bigger than their usual fare. Surfacing to show off the catch, she could see Heather was pleased, giving her a double thumbs up. With the “fish of the day” already in the bag, the girls started looking around in the shallows for other delicacies to accent the evening meal.

* * *

Two Bahamian natives sat aboard their fishing boat three miles offshore, peering through large field glasses. Thomas gasped with excitement at the sight of an airplane.