'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.'
Pitt smiled and kissed her eyes tenderly. He balanced her weight in both arms and rose from the chair, lifting her as easily as he would a large stuffed doll. Then he carried her inside the cabin.
He wisely decided that now was not the time to tell her that she would be returning to the nation's capital alone, that he would stay behind and continue his search.
7
Two evenings later, a subdued Pitt sat at the cabin's dining table and scrutinized a spread of topographical maps. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. All he had to show for his effort was a distraught girl friend and a hefty bill from the company that had rented him the helicopter.
The sound of feet thudded up the stairs to the front balcony, and soon a head that was completely shaved and a face with friendly hazel eyes and an enormous Kaiser Wilhelm mustache peered through the window in the Dutch door.
'Hello, the house,' hailed the voice that seemed to come from a pair of size-twelve boots.
'Come in,' Pitt answered without rising.
The man's body was squat and barrelchested and must have sagged the scales, Pitt judged, at close to two hundred twenty pounds. The stranger shoved out a beefy hand.
'You must be Pitt.'
'Yes., I'm Pitt.'
'Good. I found you on the first try. I was afraid of taking a wrong turn in the dark. I'm Abe Steiger.'
'Colonel Steiger?'
'Forget the title. As you can see, I came dressed like an old pack rat.'
'I hardly expected you to answer my inquiry in person. A letter would have done just as well.'
Steiger gave a wide grin. 'The fact of the matter is, I wasn't about to let the price of a stamp cheat me out of a prospecting trip.'
'A prospecting trip?'
'I'm killing two birds with the same stone, so to speak. One, I'm scheduled to speak next week at Chanute Air Force Base, in Illinois, on aircraft safety. Two, you're sitting in the heart of Colorado mining country, and since I have a raving fetish for prospecting, I took the liberty of stopping over in hopes of getting in a little gold panning before continuing on to my lecture.'
'You're more than welcome to bunk with me. I'm baching it at the moment anyway.'
'Mr. Pitt, I accept your hospitality.'
'Did you bring any luggage?'
'Outside, in a rented car.'
'Bring it in and I'll fix some coffee
Then, as an afterthought, 'Would you like some supper?'
'Thanks, but I had a bite with Harvey Dolan before I drove up.'
'You saw the nose gear, then.'
Steiger nodded and produced an old leather briefcase. He unzipped the sides and passed Pitt a stapled folder. 'The status report on Air Force Boeing C-ninety-seven, number 75403, commanded by a Major Vylander. You might
