Read Under Suspicion - The Legend of D.B. Cooper Page 72

“Alan.” Chet shook his friend. “Alan!”

  Alan slowly turned and stretched. “What time is it?”

  “6:30 a.m.,” came the reply.

  Alan rubbed his eyes and saw Chet looking in the mirror tying his tie. “That tie is awfully bright,” he commented as he stumbled out of bed.

  “It’s cloudy outside. I don’t want to look too bland on TV,” Chet replied.

  On his way to the bathroom, Alan pulled the curtain away from the window and looked out. “They’re low and thin. They’ll burn off before noon.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Alan looked again and nodded his head. “I’m sure of it. This isn’t Seattle, you know.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Chet said sarcastically as he watched Alan walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Removing the tie, Chet discarded it, then grabbed another from his bag. After putting it on, he walked to the front door. “I’m going to the diner across the street. Do you want anything?”

  “Yeah, bring me a tall almond latte with whip,” Alan replied as he examined his face in the bathroom mirror. “Better make that a double.”

  Chet opened the door and walked out.

  After showering, Alan walked out of the bathroom. That feels a lot better, he thought to himself. Alan heard some commotion outside- a car honking and people yelling. Looking out the window, he saw Chet with his arms full yelling at a car that was slowly pulling away. Alan opened the door for him as he approached. “What was that all about?”

  “The traffic is real thick. I waited on the curb for five minutes, but none of those idiots would let me cross. So when I saw an opening, I made a run for it. A few of those jerks got mad because they had to put on their brakes a little,” Chet replied in an obviously irritated tone.

  “Take it easy, Chet,” Alan joked. “All these people have gone out of their way to help us out. You should be a little nicer to them.”

  “Yeah? Well all I wanted was a decent meal and an espresso, but the diner is packed! It’s an hour wait, so this is all I could get.” Chet set two large cups and a plate on the table. Pulling the foil off the plate, he touched one of the pastries. “Damn! I had them heated, but now they’re ice cold. Here, this one is yours.” He handed a tall paper cup to Alan.

  “What’s this?” Alan asked.

  “Coffee. Black. Here’s some fake sugar and creamer too.” He pulled a handful of small envelopes out of his pocket and tossed them on the table.

  “No latte?” Alan asked, with a sour look on his face.

  “This isn’t Seattle, you know,” Chet joked.

  “I know,” Alan rolled his eyes, then took a drink. “Yuck! This sucks.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with regular coffee. You’ll live,” Chet remarked.

  “Yeah, but it’s so unsophisticated.”

  At that moment the fax machine came alive. An eerie green light glowed inside it as it hummed and beeped. Alan walked over and picked up each page as it was spit out, then the phone rang and Alan picked it up. “Hello…yes, Peterson, I got it. Did the finger prints match?…No go, eh. All right then…thanks,” he said, then hung up.

  “What’s that?” Chet asked.

  “It’s some information on one Richard Schaffer, pilot for the Forest Service. This guy is supposed to be fighting forest fires, but it appears that he may be doing a little moonlighting on the side.” Alan examined the papers.

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked.

  “Several times a week, Schaffer makes practice dumps in the mountains. At least once every couple of months or so, he flies out over the ocean for awhile before he makes his runs.”

  “So what? I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t you see?” Alan said. “Schaffer flies out there and meets up with an Asian fishing trawler or freighter before it enters U.S. waters and has to go through customs. He then flies into the mountains, lands on Mineral Lake, and delivers the shipment to Henderson for processing.”

  “It’s so simple, it’s scary,” Chet replied with amazement. “What does the report say?”

  “Let’s see here.” Alan paged through it. “He learned to fly in the military and spent time in Vietnam. He doesn’t have an address, just a post office box here in Morton.”

  “Just like Henderson!” Chet exclaimed. “I wonder if they met in Vietnam.”

  “It says here, Schaffer moved to Morton in 1970. That’s the same year Henderson moved here! There are too many coincidences for it to be wrong.” Alan continued turning pages. “Bingo! Look at this! It’s a rap sheet. Schaffer was arrested for flying drugs into the U.S. from Mexico.”

  “Looks like you hit it right on the head, Ol’ Buddy!” Chet exclaimed. “Do you think he was the man out there yesterday morning?”

  “No, Peterson ran his prints. They don’t match so it couldn’t be him.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to the Sheriff’s station to get some help finding this guy. If he hasn’t already flown the coop, I’m going to grill him until he breaks.” Alan pounded a determined fist onto his open palm. “I need you to get your TV crew together and keep your phone handy. When this guy spills his guts, I’ll be moving fast, so you’ll have to be ready.”

  “You can count on it!”

  “Great! Lets get moving.” Alan smiled, then they went to work.