Read Under Suspicion - The Legend of D.B. Cooper Page 101

The Blazer sped down the blacktop as the highway wound through the trees and grassy farmland. Jim slowed and turned into the empty oncoming traffic lane as vehicles in his lane slowed to a stop.

  “What’s going on?” Cranston wanted to know as he looked at the line of stopped vehicles and their impatient drivers.

  “I’m not sure. There must be—”

  Screech!

  Jim slammed on the breaks as he came around the bend. Directly in front of them was a large timber log closing off the road. Several other logs covered the road and the ditch on the left hand side. To the right was the logging truck from which they’d come. Turned over on its side, it covered the highway and filled the ditch on the right side with impassable debris.

  “I’d better see if anyone’s hurt,” Jim said urgently as he opened the door, jumped out, and ran to the truck. The rig’s driver was sitting on the roadside with his hands on his head. “Are you all right?” Harper asked, when he reached him.

  The man looked up at Jim then lowered the white compress from his forehead, revealing a large bruise and small gash above his right eye. “I think I’ll be all right,” the man said while trying to smile. Jim looked at the wound. “I hit it on the steering wheel when my rig flipped.”

  “It doesn’t look too bad, but just the same you’d better see a doctor,” Jim said with a concerned voice. “Did anyone else get hurt?”

  “No, just me,” the driver replied as he put the compress back on his head.

  That was a lucky break, Jim knew. This could’ve easily turned into a major catastrophe and Jim was glad to see that at least a few things were going his way.

  “What happened?” Harper asked as he looked around at the wreckage.

  “I was coming around the bend when, coming from the opposite direction, a sports car pulled out to pass a Winnebago on this blind stretch of road. I swerved to get out of the way and it worked, but my trailer caught the edge of the ditch and it flipped the whole rig. Luckily, no one else got hurt,” the driver explained.

  “No kidding, these logs could’ve done some real damage.” Jim agreed, astonished as he looked at the huge cedar timbers.

  Cranston looked at the mess and shook his head. “It’s going to take hours to clean this mess up, Sheriff. I guess we’d better make ourselves comfortable.”

  “Not hardly,” Jim replied as he looked up at the northern ridge. He wasn’t about to wait around when his objective was so close.

  “What?” Cranston asked as he tried to figure out what Jim was looking for.

  Jim walked back down the road from which they’d come and looked at the barbed wire fence next to it. His eyes followed it as it paralleled the road, and he knew that it continued for miles. “Yeah, that’ll do nicely.”

  “What will do nicely?” Cranston asked.

  “There.” Jim pointed. “About a hundred yards back is a gate in the fence. I’m going to call this in and get a crew out here, then we’ll use that gate to cut across the field.”

  They both ran back to the Blazer. As Jim put in the call, Cranston wiped the sweat from his brow. He’d been behind a desk for too long and was out of shape. The short jog was enough to remind him of that.

  Still, the excitement he felt at that moment reminded him of the times he’d spent on the streets of Seattle. Back then, he headed up his own investigations, found his own clues, and raced against time to nail the bad guys, just as they were doing now and he missed that. It felt good to be back on point again, and it provided a type of energy and thrill that only comes from knowing that what you’re doing could make or break the case.

  The Blazer arrived at the gate and Cranston leaped out to open it. After driving through, Jim jumped out, locked the hubs then looked at Cranston. “Are you all right?” Harper asked as he looked at Cranston’s sweaty face.

  Cranston nodded. He welcomed the feel of adrenaline flowing into his blood stream as his heart pounded in his chest, and he knew it was from more than just the exercise. “What are we doing?”

  “You don’t live out here as long as I have without learning the back roads.” Jim smiled as both men got back in the Blazer.

  “But there’s no road here,” Cranston argued.

  Jim put his seat belt on. “You’d better buckle up, it’s going to get bumpy.” With that, he hit the gas.

  Cranston was pushed back into his seat from the acceleration. Struggling to get the belt secured, he watched the sea of tall grass bend over and disappear under the Blazer as they sailed through it. On the opposite side of the field, they came to a stand of alder trees and Jim maneuvered through them to a creek bed.

  Pulling the steering wheel sharply, Jim punched the gas then launched the vehicle over the steep bank. The Blazer hung in the air, just clearing a deep water hole, then cannon balled into the far side of stream. A wave of water shot over the cab as the tires bit into the streambed. The Blazer leaped forward into shallower water and made its way upstream.

  The passengers felt like corn in a popper as the Blazer’s shocks and springs were tortured by the rocky terrain. Water was thrown in all directions as the passenger’s side wheels spun deep in the stream.

  Cranston lifted his legs as water came through the bottom of his door. “What are you trying to do, Sheriff, drown me?”

  “Just hold on, we’re almost through it,” Jim reassured him.

  The Blazer serpentined back and forth across the stream, trying to keep from being swallowed up by one of the many deep holes. A minute later, Jim pulled the wheel hard and the Blazer left the streambed, starting up a steep grassy embankment. Jim buried the gas pedal and large clods of dirt and grass were thrown down the hill as the four by four clawed its way towards the top. Cresting the hill, the Blazer moved down a narrow path with tall pine trees on both sides.

  “What kind of a trail is this?” Cranston asked.

  “It’s an old logging road from the early sixties when they clear cut this hill. As you can see, the trees have grown back, covering most of the road. There aren’t very many people who know it’s here,” Jim replied as the Blazer maneuvered through the trees.

  “Where’s it taking us?”

  “It winds back and forth up the hill to the top of the ridge. On the other side is a gravel access road which leads down to Mineral Lake,” Jim answered. Like a thousand tiny fingernails on a black board, the branches from the pines scrapped eerily down the sides of the four by four as it pushed through the trees and up the road.