The 22nd Secret
Authors: Randal Lanser
The 22nd Secret
By Randal Lanser
©2000 by Randal Lanser
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author.
Cover Design: Linda Boulanger
www.TellTellBookCovers.weebly.com
Interior Design: Linda Boulanger/Jennifer McMurrain
Edited by: Chris Guthrie, Open Book Editors
Published by: New Orleans Publishing House
New Orleans, LA
Also available in paperback publication.
To my wife and my family
Table of Contents
November 15th, 4pm - Kenai Peninsula, Alaska
November 15th, 2pm - Berkeley, California
July, Five years before the crash – Idaho
March, the year of the crash
8am the morning after the crash – Anchorage
The morning after the crash – White Bear Lake Lodge
Chapter Seven – The Investigation
The day after the crash – Chugach Army Base, Alaska
November 18th – The People’s Republic of China
Chapter Nine – The 22nd Secret
November 3rd, one year after the crash – Bear Breath, Alaska
The Crash
November 15th, 4 pm Kenia Peninsula, Alaska
Leonard Casino’s eyes focused on the fast approaching tree-lined ridge. Despite the slow cruising speed of the single engine Cessna 182a, the increasing wind gusts made it difficult to keep it straight and low over the snow-covered meadow. It was a jarring, rough ride for him and his two passengers. It wasn’t the only struggle keeping the plane hugging close to the rugged Alaskan terrain. A major blizzard due to pound the west coast of Alaska that night was approaching faster than had been forecast.
While he flew the plane at full throttle, just clearing the tree tops at the crest of each ridge then down to skim across the valleys and meadows before moving up the next ridge, he thought about flying his Douglas A1 Skyraider in Vietnam. His flying skills and his luck at cards earned him his nickname, Lucky. Lucky Casino. The United States Marines taught him how to fly, and he turned it into a career with the mafia. Flying people like Tino and the young lady sitting behind him wherever they wanted to go without asking questions. Questions like why did they have to fly under the radar, and why was Tino delivering the blond to the Chinese? He knew if he kept his course low and straight he could make it to the Chinese research vessel anchored in Otter Bay, drop off the girl, and race the storm up the coast of the Kenai Peninsula to Anchorage.
Anthony “Tino” Cassioppi released his seat belt so he could turn and look at the pretty young blond sitting behind him. She chose this side of the plane because she knew the pilot would be too busy to bother with her. She wished Tino would have done the same. His conversation and crude flirtations over the drone of the engine and between the erratic convulsions of the wind-tossed plane, seemed inappropriate. She stared out the right-side window trying to ignore Tino and dreading the fate that awaited her in Otter Bay.
It stood in the same spot for over one hundred years. It stood witness to everything that happened in this remote Alaskan valley. It outlived all its peers and most of their descendants. It survived two consuming fires and countless blizzards. In front of it and up the hill were many of its own descendants, now growing tall and strong. Behind it was the small rocky clearing made by the last fire, which the great old tree impossibly survived. Disease and age were now taking its toll. The coming blizzard would be a test to see if it could survive just one more winter.
“Damn”, Lucky said, peering over the dashboard. The plane streaked over a man on a snowmobile two hundred feet below. “I bet he didn’t have time to identify this plane.” He pulled back on the wheel to clear the ridge. “Son of a bitch.” They were Lucky’s last words as the engine fell silent.
Tino had just enough time to turn around and fasten his seat belt before one of the ski landing gear clipped the first treetop. The plane was not yet to the top of the hill. Lucky was using all his skill to keep it level without losing too much airspeed. He knew he had seconds left. There was no time to restart the engine. He knew the plane probably wouldn’t clear the ridge without the engine, but if it did he might have time to get the engine started as they glided down the other side. In the silence of the cockpit, the three occupants began to hear the treetops lick at the plane’s undercarriage as it crested the hill. In his last few seconds of control, Lucky knew it made little difference. There was no valley to glide into after all, and the clearing in front of them was too small and rocky to land.
