Bloody Basin Read online

“To tell you the truth, Carolyn and I have been preparing for retirement since the day we got back from our honeymoon.” I saw the strange looks on both the men’s faces when I told them that. “No really,” I said. “And even before that, my brothers and I were small-time investors. You fellas remember Chrysler Corporation, don’t you?”

  They nodded. “Yes, we remember. Why?”

  “Way back when their stock was down about, you know, three bucks a share, my brothers and I put everything we had into it and then hung on for the ride. It ended up being a surprisingly good ride. After that, we found other companies that looked like if they could just hang on, they would be good investments. So that is what we did over the years, and fortunately it has turned into a very nice nest egg.”

  “What do you know?” said Tom. “I’ve been flying with a guy that’s really a millionaire. How you do like that!”

  We all laughed again, then Old Bill said, “You know, Jack, if you’re serious about doing this with cash, then we need to talk to my nephew, because he’s the local CPA up here, and he’s been involved in finance and home loans for years. Why don’t we talk with him and see if we can work something out?”

  Old Bill and I shook hands, and we went back to Tom’s house to use the phone to contact Old Bill’s nephew. We arranged to meet Old Bill and his nephew later that afternoon.

  After Old Bill left, I told Tom I needed some quiet time to reflect on what had just happened, so we made ourselves comfortable. Then I remembered I had picked up that Prepare and Survive magazine. I sat out on the front porch with a cold drink, just enjoying the rest of my morning. I looked through the magazine, and it covered everything from canning your own fruits and vegetables to storing ammunition and firearms, with everything imaginable in between.

  At the back of the magazine, I saw an ad for the installation of what looked to be your very own personal bomb shelter. The company selling these things marketed them to the person concerned with civil unrest and natural disasters. As I kept reading, I saw that the company was based in southern Utah, not too far from the Arizona border. I had to admit that after looking at the photograph for just a few moments, I was somewhat intrigued at the possibilities that the underground storage facility provided. After all, that could be the perfect place to store all the paper money that had fallen into my lap over the last couple of weeks.

  According to the advertisement, these underground storage facilities were temperature and humidity controlled, not to mention they were guaranteed waterproof. Which would be perfect, I thought, and it was at that point I decided to contact them when I got back home to get more information and perhaps see one of the underground units firsthand.

  Tom came out to the porch. “How are you doing, Jack?”

  “Okay. Just have a lot to think about.”

  “Yeah, that’s for sure,” said Tom. “How is the old shoulder doing these days?”

  “Oh, you know. Some days are better than others, but it is all good…. So, Tommy”—he hated it when anyone called him Tommy, but he let me get away with it—“Give me your opinion about buying this property. What do you think?”

  “Well, if he’s serious about that price, it’s an absolute steal,” said Tom.

  “I was thinking the same thing. It seems a little low for the property, the house, and the buildings.”

  “Do you think you’re really going to go through with the offer, Jack?” asked Tom.

  “I’m thinking that this afternoon when we meet with Old Bill’s nephew, I don’t want to be stepping on any toes. I mean, what if Old Bill promised that property to his nephew and just forgot about it?”

  “That is a good point, Jack. Lately Old Bill has not been himself when it comes to the thinking or memory department.”

  “Yet I think the thing to do is wait until we talk to the nephew. That will give me a better feel as to whether I want to proceed, but having said that, I would really love to own that property, and I think the family would love it as well. But for now, if it is okay with you, I’m just going to lie down here on your glider and try to get a little sleep. After last night, I need some.”

  Calling from a pay phone, Agent Tygard contacted Adam Gore. He didn’t want anyone listening in to what he was about to say.

  “Hello, Adam. This is Lank. Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course, I do. What’s up?” said Detective Gore.

  “I want you to know that tomorrow I’ll be going over to Albuquerque to visit an old friend of mine, someone who’s retired from the bureau and, more importantly, someone I can trust. I’ll probably be gone for at least three days, and I’ll be sure to check in with you every day.”

  “Okay, Lank. Good luck, and I’ll keep on the trail down here while you’re gone.”

  “Sounds good, partner. You watch your back. These drug-dealing slimeballs are everywhere, so be careful, and no matter what, don’t let them know where you live.”

  “I understand, Lank. We’ll get together when you get back in town and go over our progress.”

  “Okay, Adam. See you when I get back,” said Special Agent Tygard.

  At the appointed time, Tom and I arrived at Old Bill’s new residence. It was a beautiful two-story brick home just inside the city limits, and it was beautifully landscaped. From the front yard, I could see snowcapped mountain peaks.

  We rang the doorbell, and Old Bill’s nephew, Joseph Feather, greeted us.

  “Hi, Joe,” said Tom.

  “And you must be Jack?” Joe said.

  “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

  Joe led us into the living room, where he offered us a seat and a cold drink.

  “So,” Joe said, “my Uncle Bill tells me that you’re interested in buying the old homestead?”

  “Yes, I am. Did he tell you, my terms?”

  Joe laughed. “Yes. He said you were going to make a cash offer. Is that true?”

  “That depends,” I said. “First, I think the offer is a little low, and second, I just want to be sure that it’s okay with you. I mean, after all, I don’t know if your uncle made any kind of promise to you and your family, and if he did, I certainly don’t want to come between the two of you.”

  “You know, Jack, that is a genuinely nice piece of property, but to tell you the truth, I already have several nice pieces of property up here on the mountain. I really don’t need another one, so no, I have no interest in owning the old homestead.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” I said, “and I would like you to hear the rest of my proposition. I am serious about the cash offer, and I am serious that, after looking back on it, the offer is too low. I would like to up my offer to an even $250,000.”

  Joe sat back in his chair, not knowing what to say, and luckily at that very moment, Old Bill walked into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Old Bill, “but sometimes an old man has to take care of business before anything else can happen.”

  We all laughed and shook our heads.

  “Uncle Bill,” said Joe, “I want you to know that Jack has increased his offer to an even $250,000. What do you think about that?”

  “That sounds fair to me. I mean, I’ll never turn down more money, especially cash money,” said Old Bill.

  Joe looked over at me. “It sounds like you have another stipulation to this transaction. Is that right, Jack?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “Please hear me out. Joe, I was told you are a CPA?”

  “Yes, that’s true. I also deal with buying and selling parcels of land and ranches.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “So here comes the rest of my offer. I would be willing to come back up here next week with $50,000 in cash and then come up the following month with the final $200,000 in cash. Now, my problem is that I don’t really want anybody but us to know I’m doing this deal in cash.
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  “And let me tell you why: for the last twenty years or so, the wife and I have been stashing part of our investment money in cash and hoping to use it for just such an occasion, and I don’t want the state or the federal government taxing me on it. I mean, I’ve been taxed on this stuff three ways to Sunday, and I don’t want to get taxed again, so if there is any way you can help me do this, I’m all ears.

  “Now before you get started, Tommy, I do not mind paying some taxes, but if I go down into the valley and literally dig up $250,000, somebody is going to come snooping around, and I don’t want that. Understand the money is clean; there is nothing illegal about where I got it, and you can ask Tom here. We worked together for years. I’ve always been a pretty frugal guy, so if you think we can do the deal, let’s shake on it, and I’ll be back here next week with $50,000.”

  The deal was done, and I feel very uncomfortable telling you exactly what Joe was able to pull off.

  Chapter 7

  Whiskey Till I’m Dead

  The sun was just coming up over the mountain peaks to the east as Lank Tygard sat at the controls of his twin-engine aircraft. Waiting for clearance to take off, he had forgotten how much he missed flying. Over the last two weeks, he had been completely consumed by his current murder case.

  Suddenly the voice through his headphones told him, “Twin Cessna 2977 Fox, you’re cleared for takeoff.”

  Lank responded, “Seven-seven Fox cleared for takeoff. Rolling.”

  He eased the throttles forward, moving the aircraft out to the centerline of the runway. Holding the brakes firm, he ran the throttles forward until the engines roared with full power. He released the brakes, and the plane sped forward. He was still surprised at how much power the new engines produced, as he was literally shot down the runway.

  At 110 knots, he rotated the aircraft skyward, leaving the ground and leaping into the air. He was off on his way to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to see his old friend Chuck McGowan. “Landing gear up,” he said to himself.

  He then raised the flaps, scanning the instrument panel for any irregularities. Airspeed good, oil pressure good, engine temperature good, Lank thought. This plane moved like a bat out of hell, she was so fast. Moments later, Lank contacted departure control to receive instructions for his IFR flight over to Albuquerque. He would cruise at a lower altitude for today’s flight. Checking his autopilot, he was one hour and twenty-one minutes away from Albuquerque and would be cruising at an altitude of 17,500 feet.

  The weather was beautiful, with clear skies and unlimited visibility. He was even assisted by a slight tailwind. All the better, he thought. With the plane trimmed for cruise and the autopilot engaged, all he had to do was monitor the radios and keep an eye out for additional air traffic via his onboard radar, then just sit back and enjoy the view.

  It had been good to hear Chuck’s voice on the telephone yesterday when they spoke, and it was even more convenient that Chuck’s company had a construction project just northwest of Albuquerque at the new Double Eagle Airport. That was Lank’s destination, a small regional airport set up for general aviation only, so he would not be bothered flying in and around big commercial planes today.

  Sitting at the controls of his twin-engine aircraft, he found himself thinking about retirement and how he and his wife would be flying around the country together. His wife was also an accomplished pilot in addition to being an excellent physician. Her being a physician was what allowed them to own such a beautiful aircraft together. In the evenings, they found themselves talking about all the places they wanted to visit after he retired. They had even discussed flying down to the Bahamas and just hopping from island to island for a month or so. The idea of becoming flying beach bums was especially exhilarating to them.

  Even though Lank was planning on retiring after the Fourth of July, his wife would continue to work another year or so or until she sold her medical practice. He smiled to himself, enjoying the view from his 17,500-foot office. Unfortunately, his pleasant thoughts were short-lived, interrupted by the case he was working on. That was the reason he was on his way to see his old friend Chuck.

  Far below and traveling at a much slower speed, Carolyn and I were on our way to Kingman, Arizona, to visit the site of an actual underground bunker. I’d contacted the company whose ad had caught my attention while I was at Tom’s, and while talking to the owner of the business, he’d informed me that his company had just finished the installation of a smaller underground survival bunker in the Kingman, Arizona, area. Having heard that, we agreed to meet there so I could see one and perhaps have one installed at the Pinetop property.

  “So do you really want to do this,” asked Carolyn.

  Glancing over at her, I said, “Yes. What do we have to lose? If nothing else, we get to enjoy the ride up to Kingman and have a nice dinner.” “What do these things cost? How long does it take them to be installed? Are they really secure?”

  “Honey, you can ask the man all the questions you want once we get there, but for right now, all I know is the basic cost, and considering the cash we have, it sounded reasonable to me. If we can swing it, we should at least look into the possibility of burying one of these things up at the ranch.”

  Carolyn nodded in agreement, then settled back to enjoy the view. We drove for at least thirty minutes without seeing another vehicle on the road as we headed up to I-40 and then over to Kingman. Suddenly Carolyn unfastened her safety belt and, kneeling on her seat, reached over into the back of the truck and produced the notebook I had found.

  “I want to look at this for a little while, okay?” she asked.

  “I guess it’s okay,” I said, “considering you already have the book in your hand.” We both laughed. Settling back into her seat, she opened the book, and several pages of paper fell out. Those were the pages that listed the locations by city and state where the storage units were located.

  “You have nineteen storage units listed here,” Carolyn said. “If your theory is right and there are boxes of cash stashed at each of these locations, there could be well over half a billion dollars!”

  “That’s my theory,” I said. “I read a story in the paper that a university back east estimated Americans spend over $30 billion per year on drugs.”

  “I wonder how they figured that out,” Carolyn replied. “Maybe it’s because most of those East Coast professors are drug users.”

  I looked at her again, rolling my eyes. “Okay, that’s it. We’re stopping for coffee and breakfast at the first restaurant we find.” “You know I don’t like coffee!”

  “Fine, sweetheart, you can drink whatever you want to.”

  “Double Eagle approach control, this is Twin Cessna 2977 Fox on IFR approach to Double Eagle,” said Lank. “Twin Cessna 2977 Fox, contact tower, and have a good day,” replied the air traffic controller.

  Lank reduced airspeed and decreased his altitude per the instructions of the tower.

  “Twin Cessna 77 Fox, enter a left downwind for Runway 4. No reported traffic in the area. You are clear to land.”

  Lank repeated the instructions to the tower and entered the left downwind for Runway 4. The twin-engine aircraft was now at the appropriate airspeed to lower flaps, helping to reduce the airspeed even more, and then lower the landing gear.

  “Flaps down, landing gear down, and indicated airspeed’s good,” Lank said to himself, turning from the left downwind to the left base leg. He continued reducing power and descending down to the runway.

  “Twin Cessna 77 Fox now turning short final at Double Eagle,” Lank said into his microphone, and then a few moments later, he greased a near-perfect landing. After exiting the active runway, Lank contacted ground control, and they in turn directed him to the FBO, or fixed base operator, where he would be securing his aircraft for the next twenty-four hours.

  A young woman made her way out of the FBO building and directed Lan
k to his parking spot. The young woman, dressed in a florescent orange vest and carrying two bright orange paddles, had Lank taxi right up to the front door before giving him the signal to stop and park his airplane.

  Wow looks like I have VIP service today, Lank thought. He could see his old friend Chuck McGowan standing outside the building, grinning from ear to ear and waving to him. Lank waved back before starting the shutdown procedure on his airplane.

  As the propellers stopped spinning, Chuck made his way out to the aircraft, and as Lank opened the door, Chuck’s said, “My goodness, that plane’s a beauty.”

  Lank made his way down the wing and onto the tarmac, where he shook the hand of his old friend. “It’s good to see you, Chuck. You look great. I guess the construction business agrees with you?”

  “It’s good to see you too, Lank, or should I call you Special Agent Tygard?”

  Lank shook his head. “Don’t give me any of that crap. Besides, after the Fourth of July, I’ll just be a civilian, and brother, I cannot wait for that to happen.”

  Both men laughed. They were happy to see each other and eager to catch up on what was happening in each other’s life. Chuck told him that he should get any luggage out of the plane because in a few minutes, the ground crew would move the aircraft into a private hanger owned by Chuck’s construction company.

  “Like I said before, it looks like the construction business agrees with you.”

  “I have to admit,” said Chuck, “things have been a lot better than I ever expected. We have more work than we know what to do with, and it looks like the company will be remarkably busy for at least the next ten years!”

  “That’s great,” replied Lank. “I’m really happy for you, Chuck.”

  Chuck shook his head. “It’s been a lot of hard work, but it’s paid off. You must be hungry after the flight. I know a great little diner we can go to on the way to my house.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Chuck. I am hungry. Let’s go,” replied Lank, and the two men got into Chuck’s car and left the airport. Before they had driven very far, Lank told the story of what had been going on back in Arizona. He didn’t want anyone listening at the restaurant.