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“No,” she replied. “I need General Stone. I need to speak to the adjutant general of the Colorado National Guard, as I told you. And yes, he does know me, and this is an emergency, and I can tell you with certainty that someone is going to die if I can’t get through to him!”

  She rolled her eyes at the response.

  “No…no, sergeant, listen carefully. That was not a threat! I’m trying to prevent a suicide on a mountain top that apparently only your helicopters can reach, okay? Now please, drop your defensiveness and call the general!”

  Her secretary had been waiting, leaning in the door, and Judith motioned him to come, punching the mute button in the process.

  “Anything?”

  “This may be his home number. I’m not sure.”

  “Call it and see if you can get him on the line.

  Judith stopped to look at her hastily taken notes. She’d talked to the National Park Service, two hospital emergency rooms, and a longtime friend who owned a jet charter company out of Broomfield, as well as two medical evacuation helicopter operators, both of whom claimed their choppers couldn’t go to fourteen thousand feet. She supposed that was truthful, but it was hard to accept, knowing that someone had recently landed a helicopter on Mt. Everest at 29-thousand feet. She’d even seen the YouTube video.

  Her secretary was back and holding a portable office phone.

  “It’s General Stone,” he whispered.

  “Great. Tell whoever comes on here that we found him. It’s on mute.” She handed over her cell phone and took the offered portable.

  “General, Judith Winston here. We met last fall at the benefit in Cherry Creek for…oh. You do? Good. Well, I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I’ve got a crisis on my hands and I’m told that only your team can help, but I can’t get hold of anyone in your outfit who’ll dare to make a decision.”

  Denver

  Across town in the Centennial Airport command post for RescueFlight, the shift chief was drumming his fingers on the desk and thinking about the rescue he’d had to reject. Despite being the primary source of medical helicopters for central Colorado, Long’s Peak summit was not a place their choppers could safely reach. What had snagged his attention, however, was the name of the person needing rescue.

  He thought for a few more seconds, turning over the question of whether tipping off a reporter he knew could get him in trouble.

  Hell, we’re not really involved. Not my monkeys, not my circus.

  Scott Bogosian answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Scott, Jeremy here at RescueFlight, although this call never happened, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I remember you told me you were considering doing a book on the Regal accident, and I’ve got a bit of breaking news involving that airline captain who’s on trial.”

  Boulder

  The callback to Judith from the head of the Colorado National Guard affirming that a powerful Blackhawk helicopter would be airborne inside a half hour propelled her into motion northbound to the Estes Park area. Technically the LZ – as the landing zone they were preparing had been described – was the Long’s Peak trailhead parking lot south of Estes. The rescue attempt would be launched from there, and if Marty Mitchell could be found – and if it wasn’t too late – there would be an ambulance waiting at the LZ.

  Fortunately, the night seemed mild, the sky clear, and no ominous clouds were approaching the front range. Probably as ideal as it could be for a helicopter rescue, she thought.

  She had checked the GPS location of Marty’s phone again before darting to the parking lot, and once again the target had moved slightly, still on the summit of the peak, but at least a few feet away. That had to mean he was still alive, she concluded. At least she hoped that’s what it meant.

  North Denver

  Three rings had come and gone on the best number Scott Bogosian had for the Superintendent of Rocky Mountain National Park, but so many people now forwarded one phone to another, he decided to stick with it. On the fifth ring, a no nonsense voice he knew well, a voice laden with a heavy southern accent, barked a hello.

  “Joe? Scott Bogosian.”

  “Hello, Scott! What’s up? I’m a bit busy right now.”

  “Does that have anything to do with someone on Long’s Peak?”

  There was a distinct chuckle on the other end. “You wouldn’t ask me that if you didn’t already know. Yes. And this is off the record, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “We’re arranging a landing zone for a National Guard Blackhawk…near the Long’s parking area. You know the location?”

  “I’m a veteran of that lot.”

  “Thought so. I’ve got to get moving…I’ll be there myself in thirty minutes. You didn’t hear this from me, okay? And I do NOT want to hear about it on KOA or KNUS.”

  “You won’t…at least if you do, it won’t be from me. I’m a print reporter, not broadcast, remember? And I owe you, Joe.”

  “You always owe me Bogosian! When you gonna pay up?”

  “Well, when you tell me in what form payment should be rendered for past intelligence provided? Cash, check, liquor…women?”

  “Women? Shit, Scott, your sense of humor is gonna get us in deep trouble one of these days when the call gets monitored by NSA or something and someone posts it on Facebook.”

  “You started it, old friend. Okay, I’m in motion.”

  Long’s Peak Trailhead Parking Lot, Rocky Mountain National Park

  The crew of the inbound Army Blackhawk spotted the LZ almost thirty miles away. Cordoned off by ranger vehicles and sheriff’s SUV’s, all with red and blue beacons flashing urgently, it was impossible to miss. Using their GPS anchored displays of the terrain, the pilot guided them though the wide valleys leading up to the mountain and settled the twin engine turboshaft machine onto the concrete for a quick pre-mission brief.

  The crew had shut the helicopter down and had used the hood of a car to layout and examine a terrain map. Now, a half dozen park rangers pushed in around the pilot and his crew as he looked up from the terrain map they’d been examining.

  “Okay, folks, weight is a factor, even for a Blackhawk, but we’ll have one flight nurse and the most terrain-savvy ranger with us. So, five of us – two pilots, two crew chiefs, and our one flight nurse – plus Ranger Wilson here, who knows the summit very well. No one else. We’re not going to use night vision goggles because we will need to use our night sun to illuminate the area when we arrive, and we’ve got pretty good moonlight with moonrise in a few minutes. We’ve been briefed that there is no flat, open terrain up there on which to set the machine down, so I’ll either hover just above with the crew chief using the winch as necessary, or I’ll balance one of my main wheels on the flattest rock available to get people in and out, and essentially remain barely airborne in the meantime. Weather at the top this evening is very moderate, winds should be no more than twenty knots from the southwest. Any questions?”

  Judith could see the position lights and the beacon of the Blackhawk lifting off from the LZ as she turned off the main highway. She had briefed the Guard command post by phone since she knew that riding along was not possible. As she pulled around the circle of ranger SUV’s and parked, she could still see the machine climbing toward the north. Judith watched for a few seconds, startled when a uniformed man materialized at her window.

  “Ma’am, we have a rescue operation going on…”

  “I know that. I called it.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m the one that asked for this.” She still wasn’t making sense and she held out her hand instead. “Judith Winston. The guy we’re trying to save on the peak is my client.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Present Day – August 14th, 9:05 pm

  Summit of Long’
s Peak

  Trying to get comfortable enough to die was more of a challenge than he’d expected – dammit! Even the spot he’d used during the afternoon felt like precisely what it was: a bed of rocks!

  He stood unsteadily, aware of being at least intoxicated, but wondering why the barbiturates he’d finally received from an offshore pharmacy two weeks ago hadn’t kicked in yet. The thought that they might not be as potent as they were supposed to be had crossed his mind, but hey, he had all night.

  What had really propelled him to his feet was a growing anger that had harpooned his idea of a peaceful departure – a deep sleep to oblivion. He had been a good captain, dammit! But wasn’t he a freaking human being? Weren’t humans supposed to be imperfect? Yes, he misunderstood a radio call and failed to question his bumbling copilot, but it seemed it was just diabolical chance that put that Beech 1900 in front of them! Chance or a higher power that hated him.

  “GODDAMMIT!” He screamed into the wind, the effort making him dizzy. He braced himself on the edge of a huge boulder that had been his companion for hours and stood and railed again. “FUCKING GODDAMMIT TO HELL! WHY? WHY ME? YOU HEAR ME? WHY? THERE ARE WORSE BASTARDS OUT THERE TO TORTURE!”

  Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but screaming felt better than lying on rocks and wondering when it was all going to be over. He let go of the boulder and took an unsteady step forward, shaking his fist at the now starry sky. “YOU BASTARDS SET ME UP! YOU’RE THE ONES WHO SHOULD BE ON TRAIL…TRIAL…WHATEVER. I WAS A GOOD MAN! I WASN’T TED FUCKING BUNDY OR CHARLES MANSON OR SOME SCUMBAG WIFE BEATER!”

  Somewhere in the corner of his mind was the question of precisely who he was railing at. Who were the stated bastards? But there was a therapeutic impetus to the screaming, and it was like a huge boulder that had started rolling downhill with too much momentum to stop.

  More yelling now, shaking both fists, and turning toward where Denver ought to be before realizing he was too dizzy to know which direction to look.

  I’d better sit down, he decided, but another idea slowly crawled into his frontal cortex and he summoned the energy and the anger to stand once more, middle finger offered to the skies as he screamed: YOU…YOU COWARDLY MOTHERFUCKERS! I CHALLENGE YOU! YOU HEAR ME? SHOW YOURSELVES AND FIGHT ME! COME ON, BASTARDS! I KNOW YOU”RE UP THERE…OR OUT THERE SOMEWHERE! COME ON! I DARE YOU!”

  A slightly familiar, rhythmic sound reached his fuzzed up hearing and he steadied himself and turned in that direction, watching something descending toward him as a blinding light hit him like a million suns. He covered his eyes and screamed ineffectually against the oncoming Valkyrie or angry devils or whatever it was that was accepting his challenge. He felt like a mouse flipping off an eagle a microsecond before the talons closed, but that tiny rebellion felt good!

  “YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT! YEAH, BABY! BRING IT ON, YOU BASTARDS!”

  The light was blinding, the sound apparently the beating of huge wings. What the hell had he summoned, a pterodactyl?

  So this is what dying is like! he thought

  The breeze had risen to a hurricane and the merciless blazing light was even brighter as he kept his left arm and hand above him, middle finger defiantly thrust toward the invited intruder. He unshielded his eyes and screamed one last heartfelt epithet at the top of his lungs: “FUCK…YOU!” as he slowly lost his tenuous hold on consciousness, his eyes rolling back in his head, the bulk of his body slowly oozing down among the boulders like an escaping octopus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Present Day – August 14th, 9:35 pm

  Thanks to the “he’s with me” stewardship of Joe Johnson, the barrel chested chief park ranger now standing next to him in the trail head parking lot, Scott Bogosian had been spared the task of pushing through the normal official defenses thrown up against invading reporters.

  Word had been radioed from the flight crew that they had the target on board and were electing to land back at the LZ and transfer the man to a waiting ambulance, a decision Scott interpreted as hopeful.

  “Any idea where they’ll take him, Joe?” Scott asked.

  “Don’t know. Usually our mountain rescues are all about broken bones and hypothermia, so helicoptering directly to a Denver trauma center is the best idea, but I don’t know what they’re dealing with. Could mean he can walk to the ambulance. Could mean they recovered a body.” Joe turned and regarded Scott for a few seconds. “So, what’s this all about, Scotty? Why are you out here in the cold tonight? I know it’s not a social visit because you didn’t bring any scotch.”

  “A book I’m thinking of writing. Maybe.”

  “Really? Well, that figures. In the old days you would have never shown up without a photographer rattling at least one bag full of Nikons. You aren’t acting like you’re under deadline pressure.”

  Scott smiled, shaking his head. “How times change. The TV guys are doing it solo these days too, and so are reporters. At least we are Rocky Mountain News refugees.”

  “Tell me about this book idea.”

  “There’s a lot to this, Joe. You remember last January when a Regal Air jet hit a commuter?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s the Regal Air captain they’re bringing off the mountain right now.”

  “Really? What is he doing on my mountain at night?”

  “That’s…one of the things I need to find out,” Scott replied. “Maybe he had an accident and couldn’t climb down. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe he was up there for the night communing with the universe. I imagine it’s an incredible view of the starfield.”

  “You have no idea!”

  “Joe, I’ve been studying the NTSB raw material, the reports from each of the investigatory groups, and there are a number of strange things I’m trying to understand. I’m sure the NTSB is working on the same puzzles, but they haven’t held the hearing yet or even gotten close to issuing their final report.”

  “Seems diabolically simple. They had a midair, the little airplane’s stuck on their wing with live people, and the captain refuses to follow his company orders and as a result, lives were lost, and now he’s been charged with murder for insubordination. Right?”

  “Well…somewhat. Those are the basics. But there’s so much more here. First, I can’t even imagine the pressure this guy was under to either sacrifice the people he’d rammed in that smaller plane in order to make a safe landing, or keep them safe and imperil the passengers on the big jet.”

  “Have you talked to this fellow? The captain?”

  “Only his lawyer…that woman right over there. She’s built a brick wall with concertina wire around him until the trial. And, of course, that’s the other thing. It’s unsettling when you try to crucify someone for a human mistake. You know, a professional makes a totally unintentional mistake and then tries his best to do his job and make decisions under pressure and some district attorney decides to convict him for it. That’s third world shit, it doesn’t belong in the U.S. But the public doesn’t seem the least upset about it, while to me it’s clearly malicious prosecution.”

  A broad smile spread across the big ranger’s face as he regarded his friend of at least two decades.

  “Scott, you remember that long-ago tv detective played by Peter Falk?”

  “Columbo? Lord, that’s been off the air forever.”

  “Well, you do know you’re a bit like Columbo when you latch onto something, right? I mean, you don’t have the seedy trench coat or the weird accent, but little things get your attention.”

  “Hey, I’m not a bit like Columbo!”

  “You drive an old Volvo, right?”

  “He didn’t drive a Volvo…did he?”

  “I really don’t recall.” Joe chuckled. “It was an old beater, though.” He paused, both of them watching the sky.

  “So, what, in this
case, is keeping you up at night, Mister Scott?”

  “Unexplained lights.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “On final approach that night, after everything that had happened in the middle of the blizzard, the captain said in his hospital interview with the NTSB that suddenly bright lights snapped on just to the right of the centerline, and he reacted instinctively to avoid hitting whatever it was. He figured it was a snowplow in the wrong place, but the airport flatly denies any snowplows were anywhere near that runway and they’re got video of their equipment parking garage which seems to support the point.”

  “Is the man lying?”

  “I doubt it. He could have just imagined it afterwards, a trauma-induced false memory, but his history just isn’t that of someone who tries to lie his way out of things. But you asked…and that’s what’s bothering me.”

  The landing lights of the approaching Blackhawk were suddenly visible and the two men watched as the thunderous roar of the blades and engine approached and the National Guardsman set the chopper back down in the landing zone. The door slid open and the two paramedics who had been waiting in their ambulance now scrambled aboard , and out again within a minute. They retreated to respectful distance as the pilot lifted the Blackhawk into the night sky once more and headed east.

  Scott shadowed Joe Johnson as the ranger approached the two paramedics.

  “What’s going on, fellas?”

  “No time to take the patient by road, sir,” one of them said, folding an unused blanket and preparing to leave empty.

  “Why’s that?” Joe pressed.

  “Excuse me, sir, you are…?” the paramedic asked.

  “I’m the chief ranger here. I summoned you.”