Runner: The Legend of D.B. Cooper

By James Olszewski

The secret identity of D.B. Cooper has finally been revealed, and he is now on the run as an international fugitive. Alan Bradley, the US Marshals, Interpol, and scores of others are on the hunt and hungry to sink their teeth into the most notorious criminal of all time. The former hijacker finds that the authorities are well prepared and organized, which pushes him to the limits of his ability. Continually staying one step ahead of these predators is an eventual losing proposition and Cooper finds that the odds are quickly turning against him.

D.B. Cooper, believed to be the only man who could never be caught, hijacked a plane, escaped using a parachute, eluded the FBI and army and then hid right under their noses for decades. Cooper narrowly evaded Alan Bradley in Lewis County Washington during a drug smuggling investigation, and the reminder of it over time has nearly driven Bradley insane. Alan Bradley is obsessed with the capture of his new nemesis. Pulling out all the stops, Bradley congers up an ingeniously elaborate plan to find, torture, and then kill Cooper. Punishing Cooper for the humiliation he suffered has become Alan Bradley’s top priority.

Anthony Marcellous, Cooper’s former partner in crime, is jealous of Cooper’s renewed fame. All of the press fawn over the return of D.B. Cooper to the spotlight, but completely ignore Marcellous’s contribution to the longest running most successful heroin smuggling operation of all time. The Drug Enforcement Agency’s Phantom file was so named due to Marcellous, not Cooper. Marcellous has lived in Cooper’s shadow for far too long and he wanted the recognition he deserves. So, Marcellous partners with a Colombian drug lord to launch a cocaine smuggling plan to eclipse anything ever attempted.

Alone and desperately missing the woman he loves, Cooper is haunted by the reality of what his secret life has cost him. Nothing his lawlessness had gained him was worth the loss of the only love he had ever wanted. As he hides, Cooper has to come to grips with his past and is determined to find a way to make amends for his criminal activities.

Stopping Marcellous is what Cooper decided he must do in order gain forgiveness for his past, live with a clear conscious and have any hope for a life with his true love. Finding help in unexpected places, Cooper summons every ounce of his abilities to create a scheme to stop Marcellous, even if it costs Cooper his life. As the pack of authorities closes in, Cooper must be cunning and full of tricks in order to escape yet again and in a way that no one can follow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Olszewski
• Release date: Jan 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310338434

James Olszewski

James Olszewski is a northwest author who grew up with the legend of D.B. Cooper. Olszewski was a young boy when Cooper had jumped from the 727, and the news coverage captured his attention. As Olszewski grew, the subject of D.B. Cooper continued to spark interest and questions not only about his true physical identify, but also about what drove Cooper to do what he did.James Olszewski was born and raised in Great Falls, Montana. Graduating with an engineering degree from Montana State University in Bozeman, Montana, Olszewski moved to Seattle to work for the Boeing Company. While in Seattle, Olszewski attended Seattle University, graduating with a masters in business administration. Making the town of Snohomish his home, Olszewski spends much of his time in an effort to bring to light the secrets surrounding Cooper’s identity.

Book preview

Runner

The Legend of D.B. Cooper

A book of fiction

by

James Olszewski

Book 2 of the Legend of D.B. Cooper series

Sequel to Under Suspicion

Proofread by: Megan A. Olszewski

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are fictitious or the products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

Runner is copyright © by James Olszewski TXu 1-895-899. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. No liability is assumed for any damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

Copyright © TXu 1-895-899 by James Olszewski

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www.JamesOlszewski.com

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Paperback

ISBN13: 978-1500126056

ISBN10: 1500126055

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ISBN: 9781310338434

Published and printed in the United States of America

Chapters

Quote

P Rabbit Hunt

1 New life-Old Demons

2 Dangerous Obsession

3 Damage Control

4 In Plain Sight

5 True North

6 Controlling Interest

7 The Plan

8 Black Hole

9 Fool’s Poker

10 Reflections

11 Oasis

12 Old Salt

13 Acceptable Risk

14 Inevitable

15 Wolf Pack

16 Revenge

17 The Same Conclusion

18 Strange Bedfellows

19 Trickster

20 Nemesis

21 Time to Kill

22 Briar Patch

23 Fair Winds

About the Author

Other Books by James Olszewski

All the world will be your enemy and when they catch you, they will kill you… But first they must catch you. …Be cunning, and full of tricks, and you will never be destroyed.

- Lord Frith to El-ahrairah

Adapted from Watership Down

Prologue

Rabbit Hunt

New York City

June 7, 2000 18:24

Amy Johnson was working her normal shift waiting tables at the departure level bar of JFK International Airport’s Terminal Four. She stood about five-foot nothing tall and was as skinny as anyone could possibly be. She was the nickname Floaty by her friends, partly because she was so small and light that she seemed she might float away at any moment. The other part was her bubbly, mind-in-the-clouds, personality, always smiling, humming some happy tune or another.

Most of her weight seemed to be comprised of her long red curly hair that came down to the center of her back. She glided around the room stopping at tables to see how everyone was doing with their drinks, her heels so high she appeared to be walking on her toes, a ballerina on point. Her arms never rested at her sides, but rather came up in the air in an animated, almost dance-like motion as if she were about to drift off into space, her mini-skirt and tiny tank-top her costume for the day’s performance. While her costume didn’t weigh Floaty down, they did bring her great tips from the customers.

The customer at table six, the one who ordered ice water, wasn’t likely to tip anyone, no matter how short the skirt, she figured. He was either very depressed or had a serious case of jetlag. The expression on his face was one of torment as he just sat there looking at the ground, wringing his hands, and occasionally rubbing his chin. He must be depressed, she decided, because even men with jetlag noticed her legs.

Normally, she became quick friends with the customers by asking the standard questions in an airport: Where are you going? and Where did you come from? These questions made the customer think she was actually interested, even though she wasn’t, but she found it generated better tips by acting that way. Occasionally, though, she found there were people wanted to be left alone. The customer at table six was one of those. So, she monitored him from time to time, refilling his ice water, but mostly left him to himself, hoping all the while that he’d leave and allow a more profitable customer to sit down.

***

Jim Harper sat at the table in the corner in his own little world, barely touching his ice water and not noticing anyone or anything else. In his hand, he held a ticket to Zurich on Swiss International Airline’s flight 4703. Actually, he had three tickets. Each was for different cities and people.

Having multiple tickets and aliases was a security measure common to those on the run and traveling by air. Airports, and especially airplanes, are dangerous because there are few ways in or out. It was akin to walking into a trap that’s ready to be sprung, but hasn’t yet. That’s why he was traveling with three different passports, as three different people, to three different parts of the world. If something went wrong, he could change identities fast before the authorities caught on.

Jim mentally ran over everything once more to make sure he hadn’t forgotten something. He was currently traveling as Wayne Ellenbecker, an eye doctor from Idaho. He wasn’t wearing a disguise, mostly because he hated them, but also because they were for emergency situations. If it wasn’t an emergency, a disguise could actually work against you. Heat, sweat, and time could make false noses and beards fall off. That quickly draws the wrong kind of attention. So, if he didn’t need a disguise, he wasn’t going to use one.

An hour ago, he’d finished purchasing the last of his three tickets from three different airport terminals. If something didn’t go exactly right, he could easily step onto the AirTrain connecting all eight JFK terminals and go to Plan B or C. Plan A, the plane to Switzerland - where he was to meet his old drug smuggling partner, Anthony Marcellous - was the least complicated, but was the longest flight in the air and it boarded in fifteen minutes.

The flights for Plans B and C were carefully chosen. If anything went wrong with Plan A, Plan B was a flight to London, from Terminal Six, and scheduled to board in forty-five minutes. This flight had the advantage of the shortest time in the air and would be used if he felt like he was at least one step ahead of his pursuers. Plan C was a flight on the red eye to Paris, from Terminal Eight, five hours from now. If the situation at the terminal got too hot, he could leave the airport and hole-up somewhere to give himself time to gather information. If things calmed down, he could come back to the airport, after the employee shift change, and step onto the airplane catching everyone off guard.

But there wasn’t going to be no a need for either Plan B or C, he was sure of it. It would take a couple of days for the FBI to put enough together before deciding to go to Centralia and start asking questions. All he had to do now was wait and he’d be home free.

But waiting gave him time to think and that just brought misery. Jim kept running the last twenty-four hours over in his head. What had seemed like a success yesterday, with the arrest of Alan Bradley for the killing of Jim’s friend Buck Henderson, was short lived. Jim had wanted to make Bradley pay for driving Rich Schaffer to commit suicide but he found no way to prove it.

His former drug smuggling partner, Anthony Marcellous, confronted him and reality had set in quickly. Not only were his two closest friends, Buck and Rick, dead because of him, but this morning he had to walk away from the only women he’d ever loved.

Jim had tried for years to ignore the reality of who he was and what he’d become by hiding in his work, but there was no escaping it now. He was Jim Harper, Sheriff of Lewis County, keeper of the peace, shepherd and protector of the community. He was also D.B. Cooper, notorious hijacker, fugitive, and drug smuggler.

How he’d let things get so confused, and go so wrong, wasn’t clear to him anymore. Confronted with the fact that this was not what he intended to happen, agonizingly dazed him. The truth would be known soon and that meant he had to run, disgraced and humiliated.

He never wanted to believe that this day was ever going to come. In fact, he believed it never actually would. Yet, for all the years of careful planning and near flawless execution, still here he sat. A man all alone, soon to be pursued by every law enforcement agency in the world.

He thought was it interesting how a person’s perspective changed over time. Once you commit a small crime, and justify it to yourself, you can then justify larger and larger ones. That’s how corruption gets you. Blinding you a little at a time until you’re completely rotten.

Things that are done out of anger, out of a thirst for vengeance, blind you. Then later, when the heat fades, a desire for excitement replaces the motive driven by revenge. That wasn’t quite so compelling, but once you’re in deep, it’s almost impossible to pull yourself out. He found that out the hard way. By having the operation destroyed, he was forced to run.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The way Nikki had looked at him this morning was burned into his memory. It played over and over in his mind. Last night, after the confrontation with Marcellous, Jim had been emotionally distant. Nikki had thought it was her fault, because she had doubted him, his honesty, and his competence as sheriff.

His inability to talk about it made it even worse. Jim was completed drained, emotionally and physically, and he just didn’t have anything left to tell Nikki the truth. Hurt and confused, Nikki retreated to the bedroom, tossing and turning in worry through the night.

On the couch, Jim couldn’t sleep either, and really hadn’t planned to. Marcellous was right. The Feds would be coming for him soon, so it was foolish to wait. Once he thought Nikki was asleep, Jim retrieved his emergency escape kit from its hiding place under the house. Examining its contents, he found an assortment of European currencies, two disguises, and three separate passports in tact and ready to go.

Long before sun up, Jim had rehearsed what he needed to tell Nikki. When she emerged from the bedroom he immediately started talking. But now that he was looking at her, the words just wouldn’t come out right. While the explanation he’d practiced all night seemed reasonable in the dark, in the light of day and looking into Nikki’s eyes, it became weak and pathetic.

The way Nikki looked at him was devastating and he wanted to hide from it. Unable to speak from the initial shock, Nikki appeared as if she might faint. When Jim attempted to put his arms around her for support, she pushed him away in protest.

The pain she was feeling left her so upset that she couldn’t put a complete sentence together. All she could do was ramble incoherently about lies and betrayal and she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to touch her.

Jim tried to calm her down, there just wasn’t any time for this, but that only made things worse. When he begged her to leave everything and come with him, she couldn’t believe that he’d suggest such a thing. Not only was she never going with him, but she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Jim didn’t so much leave as he was thrown out. With arms flailing, she was now yelling angrily. Within seconds, Jim was retreating out the door. Before he could say or do anything else, the door was slammed in his face. The sound of it still echoed in his mind.

There was nothing left for him to do then but leave. He slowly drove partway down the road from the house then stopped and looked back. Sitting in the Blazer, he saw Nikki’s dark silhouette in the window watching him. She made no move or effort to call him back. He waited, for what seemed like several minutes, but the dark figure stood stoic and defiant. She wasn’t going to change her mind.

Somehow, dizzy and shaken from the pain, he was able to drive away. Semiconsciously, Jim maneuvered his sheriff’s vehicle to the Portland International Airport. Eventually he boarded a plane to Denver, and then to New York where he now sat waiting in the lounge for his flight to board for Switzerland.

His arrogance at believing he could control all events, bolstered by the repeated success of Cooper, had simply been a mirage. For as many times as Cooper had saved him over the years, Harper’s inability to control his alter ego had, in the end, betrayed him. He had set himself up for this, but never saw it coming.

His thoughts were suddenly disrupted by the faint sound of his name over the television. A chill ran down his back and the hair on his neck stood straight up. Had his worst fear come to pass?, he wondered as his heart pounded rapidly like that of a scared rabbit caught out in the open with a hawk overhead.

He looked up, but no one else seemed to notice the special news report coming in over the television. At first, the sound of the television was just additional white noise in a sea of conversation, which no one had noticed. Jim only did because he heard his name mentioned.

On the television screen was a red and white banner that said Manhunt and Wanted Fugitive. The news anchor started talking about D.B. Cooper. Someone at the lounge noticed and asked the bartender to turn up the volume. Everyone could hear it now, and as the anchor continued his report, everyone’s attention was slowly drawn to the screen.

Wide-eyed, his face went pale and his heart seemed to stop beating. Jim knew he had to get a grip. He forced himself to breath slowly, controlled, and even. His eyes moved quickly around the lounge to see if any had noticed him. All eyes were still glued to the television.

It was time to leave. Harper’s demeanor instantly became very serious and focused. He became Cooper again. Pulling a twenty from his pocket, he placed it on the table, picked up his backpack, and left as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. As he did, he looked back to see his picture on the screen. Cooper’s cover was blown. Plan A had failed. It was time to quickly change identities before anyone spotted him.

***

"Hey!" the waitress exclaimed loudly, recognizing the picture. "That guy is sitting right over there!" She turned and pointed to the now empty table where Harper had been. They all looked around confused, then back at Floaty skeptically.

He was there, she defended herself. I swear it! Suddenly a phone number flashed on the screen for anyone with information, and she instructed the bartender to call it right away.

***

Deputy US Marshal Thane Brandt was a tall and thin, yet deceptively powerful man with short black hair and graying temples. His icy dark eyes saw everything and his penetrating stare seemed to look right though people enough to make them flinch uncomfortably.

To the untrained eye, his baggy, wrinkled, off-the-rack dress clothes and trench coat gave him a lazy, almost slobbish, appearance. However, the sleek, muscular body underneath was one that saw the gym everyday for two hours of weights followed by a five mile run. Once a week, just to stay in practice, Brandt would sprint all out for a half mile to ensure he could chase down any suspect. In fact, he had a perfect record. No fugitive had ever eluded him.

To his coworkers, Brandt was known as the best of the best for many reasons. First, when pursuing a fugitive, Thane Brandt brought with him a fire and brimstone, wrath of God type of justice. When that wasn’t enough to make a criminal give up, he’d treat them to an old-fashioned beat down. For the real hard core repeat offenders who didn’t intend to go back to prison, Brandt didn’t mind saving the taxpayers money by filling them full of bullets. Brandt was driven to the point where he never gave up on any case, no matter what he had to do or how difficult it might become.

But to Thane Brandt, it went much deeper than what the other deputies had witnessed. It was something that defined him down to his very soul. A twenty-year veteran of the US Marshals Fugitive Task Force, Brandt knew how to track and capture those on the run. In fact, that’s what he did best. That was who he was. At his core, Thane Brant was a hunter, and the hunt was all he really lived for.

No kids to show and surviving two divorces taught him that dedication to law enforcement was a lonely and thankless one of duty. When the call came in, ten minutes ago, he responded immediately. He was the only one of his team that could.

Work was his life, and as such, he was always close to the phone and could drop everything at a moment’s notice. That’s why he was the first of his team on the scene. Those with families were difficult to reach or had to be pulled away from plans, which wasted valuable time.

But then, this was just a long shot, a search for a needle in a haystack. It was a one in a million chance to nail the most legendary fugitive in history. But that is not why he acted so professionally. He acted so because that’s the way he did his job—by the book. No shortcuts. No mistakes.

He was a natural at taking charge and, giving orders. In stressful situations he always kept a clear head. As he stepped out of his government issued grey sedan in front of JFK International Airport, he was greeted by a polite but insistent young police officer. You can’t park here, sir. You’re going to have to ―

Brandt interrupted him with a stern look and flashed his badge. I’m Deputy Brandt, of the US Marshal’s Service, and I want your commanding officer to meet me immediately.

He was met with wide-eyed astonishment and silence as the officer opened and closed his mouth like a stunned fish out of water.

"Now! Brant yelled. Son, I don’t have time to play games. We have ourselves a runner. Do you know what that means?"

The young officer only managed a sickly and confused uh… before turning pale.

There’s a fugitive on the loose and you are wasting daylight! He grabbed the officer by the coat and started walking quickly towards the entrance. And if I have anything to say about it, this runner won’t go international. Now, get on the radio, and get me in touch with whoever’s in charge.

The officer was finally able to snap out of his shock in order to do as he was ordered while being towed along by Brandt.

Just then the loud screech of angry wheels caused Brandt to pull the young officer to a stop and look back towards the street. A taxi door flew open and a young man jumped out and ran toward Brandt.

I got here as soon as I could, the rookie deputy, who also had nothing else to do that evening, exclaimed as he reached Brandt.

Good work, Tate, Brandt replied with a smile. I need you in the control room, where all the camera feeds go. Pull up the fugitive’s photo from the internet and get it on every monitor in the airport. If he’s here, someone will see him and make the call.

Ring! Ring!

Brandt’s cell phone went off in his pocket and he reached for it. Brandt, he said firmly. As he listened a stone cold determined look came across his face, and then he replied decisively. Understood. He grabbed the officer and deputy and looked them both in the eye. "D. B. Cooper is here, right now, and we have an eye witness."

Both of the young men exchanged shocked looks.

Tate, get in that control room then call me right away. Check the recording logs for the cameras closest to the bar on the departure level of terminal four, Brandt checked his watch. "Our fugitive has a 20 minute head start―let’s move!"

Yes, sir, the young deputy then bolted for the front door.

I want the fugitive’s picture on every computer screen in the airport in five minutes! If anyone gives you any crap, arrest them on the spot for obstruction, Brandt yelled after him. He turned his attention back to the officer. "Son, where is your commanding officer? Brandt gave the young officer an annoyed scowl knowing that time was not on their side. The man tried to answer, but Brandt didn’t give him a chance. He just took the radio from the officer and started giving orders. This is Deputy Brandt of the US Marshal’s Service and we have a federal fugitive on the loose in this airport. His loud monotone and commanding voice got everyone’s attention as he moved quickly towards the door. I want police at every departure gate immediately, if not sooner. I want every restroom, every store room, every janitor’s closet, every corner, every nook and cranny searched. I want everyone checking in every fifteen minutes. Now move!" With the officer stumbling along in tow, Brandt sprinted into the airport and toward the bar where Cooper was last seen.

***

Cooper dashed into the nearest restroom and locked himself in a stall. He couldn’t believe it. How could they find him so fast? Cooper immediately worried that Nikki had turned him in, but then refused to believe it. There was no time to worry about how it happened, he just needed to figure out his next move.

Cooper had to think. He had to make a decision. Right now, police would be combing every corner of the airport looking for him and he was sure the Feds would be arriving within the hour. The flight to Switzerland was now out, because they’d quickly connect his picture to Mr. Ellenbecker. He could leave the airport and get away, but as the hours went by the Feds would become better prepared and organized and the chances of escape would become almost impossible.

If he tried to escape on the plane to London, he could be confined in a cage over the Atlantic as the Feds put it all together, and then have a team waiting on the other end. The trap was quickly closing and he felt he only had one real chance. Escape before they had more information and put together a more coordinated effort. If he could get to London before they figured it out, he could get away.

He looked at his watch. The first boarding call to London would be announced soon. That gave him fifteen minutes before the plane door closed, and then another ten until wheels up. He just had to get past whatever police were sweeping that area.

Opening the small backpack on his lap, he pulled out a grey wig and beard and put them on. Using a small hand mirror, he adjusted them until they fit properly. He then took out a contact case and inserted the colored contacts changing his eyes from brown to blue.

"Good," he thought to himself with another look in the hand mirror. He was now Glenn Bliss, a retired gas dealer from Montana. Mr. Bliss was on his way to London for a long deserved vacation.

Cooper pulled a light blue jacket, just baggy enough to hide his true features, from the backpack and put it on. Next, he stuffed all the money into the inside pockets of the jacket and zipped them up. Finally, he dropped Mr. Ellenbecker’s passport and boarding pass to Switzerland into the backpack and pulled out the appropriate ones for Mr. Bliss traveling to London.

He checked his watch, it was time to go. The restrooms would be one of the first places they’d look because that is where people went to hide. He needed to hide as well, but he was going to do so out in the open, right under their noses. That was the only way he could watch them, see what they were up to, and hopefully counter their efforts to capture him.

Grabbing the backpack, he opened the stall door and prepared to move. Putting his best old man act on, he squatted and bent over slightly as he widened his gate by spreading his feet out. Walking slowly, added to the other changes, made him look old and frail. Most importantly, someone moving slower than everyone else, didn’t look like they were trying to escape.

He gave himself one last glance in the restroom mirror as he passed, and then turned to leave. Stepping out of the doorway, two police officers quickly brushed past him and went inside. He saw four others, with guns drawn, running for the Swiss International Airlines departure gate.

That was close, he thought as he tried to fight off nervousness. It was also way too fast for normal security and Cooper worried that the Feds may have already arrived. If so, he wouldn’t have a chance. He shook off the thought as unconstructive and didn’t look back as he headed for the AirTrain to terminal six.

Just before reaching the AirTrain, he stepped over to a line of rental lockers and tossed the backpack into one of them. He needed to get rid of it, for now. If he was stopped and searched, he had too much incriminating evidence on him. Or if they were monitoring the security cameras, they might see Jim Harper enter a restroom and an old man leave with the exact same backpack. It wouldn’t make any difference how good the disguise was then, they’d have him.

Slipping a couple coins into the slot, he locked it up, put the key in his pocket, and then hurried for the AirTrain. Moving through the crowd, he could see two officers near the train checking faces as people came and went. The train doors were closing and although he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, he couldn’t help but rush to make it. He slid though the closing door and had to pull his arm and leg through. This caught the eye of one of the officers, who stepped over to see what was happening, but it was too late. The train was already moving and Cooper made sure he was looking away from the window.

"Whew, that was close," Cooper thought, and dumb! It was better to have to wait for the next train then draw any attention and he knew it. It’d been far too long since the last time he had to be Cooper and he was out of practice. He reminded himself to stay calm, in control, and let his instincts work.

***

Brandt was sprinting towards the AirTrain, with the young officer trying to keep up. He heard Tate’s voice call him on the radio, so he answered for it. Tell me something good.

We have Cooper on tape purchasing a ticket to Zurich, Switzerland. I rushed officers to the gate, but it’s already taken off, Tate said over the radio.

Notify the pilot and have the plane searched, Brandt ordered.

I already did, but they won’t find anything, Tate’s voice squawked. The officers confirmed with the gate attendant that Cooper never boarded the plane.

Brandt came to an abrupt stop and looked up at the rows of monitors showing departure and arrival flights, times, and terminals. The winded officer next to him bent over, put his hands on his knees, and breathed hard trying to recover.

Sir, Tate finally said over the radio. Are you still there?

Brandt was deep in thought, and then an idea came to him, so he keyed the radio. What’s the next international flight to take off?

Hold on. The radio went silent as Tate did a check.

Brandt waited impatiently and started to pace as he stared up at the departure monitors.

British Airways flight 2232 to London takes off in fifteen minutes from Terminal six, Tate said a moment later.

I want a half dozen officers to meet me there immediately. I want the plane and the area searched, Brandt ordered. He had a hunch. Cooper would have a backup plan. One that he could put in play while his pursuers were busy looking in another direction. After all, that’s what he’d do. Brandt barely heard the order acknowledged before he stuffed the radio in his coat pocket and ran for the train to terminal six.

***

Two minutes later, Cooper stepped off the train at Terminal six. He moved with the crowd towards the departure gates all the while trying to avoid security cameras whenever possible. When he came around the corner, he could see the British Airways departure gate swarming with police.

Damn, that was fast, he thought. The wolves were on the loose and they’d gotten his scent quickly. These guys were definitely getting highly trained and experienced help. Even though he hadn’t seen them, he knew the Feds were there. Somewhere.

His flight appeared to be delayed while it was searched, so there was nothing to do now but wait. He decided to do that standing in the open where he could watch and gather more information. Cooper moved towards the news stand, picked up a magazine, and pretended to examine it closely.

The Feds were here, he was sure of it, but something wasn’t quite right. Looking out the corner of his eye, he could see several serious looking officers guarding the British Airway gate, looking around and checking everyone who approached. He had to remind himself not to lingered too long in one spot otherwise he could get noticed.

He slowly moved to the cashier to pay for the magazine when he saw a tall man in a trench coat sprint into the terminal and up to the officers. Two of them had just come up from the plane through the departure tunnel and shook their heads when questioned. All of them were looking around now, clearly frustrated.

The trench coat barked out some new orders and two officers stayed at the gate, while the others began to disband. They were now searching faces again, checking behind obstructions and some were headed back to the restrooms. The British Airways gate attendant, checked the documents of the last two passengers in line, and then announced the last call to board.

The trench coat moved slowly to the center of the isle, twenty feet away, put his hands on his hips and looked around slowly. Cooper could see him clearly now and could tell that this man was the one in charge. However, the frustration on his face told Cooper that he really didn’t feel in control. This man was different from the others. Cooper could see it in his eyes and a chill went up his spine.

This man was a predator. The trench coat looked around with the calm, cool calculating stare of a hungry wolf. He saw every detail, every movement, and anything out of the ordinary. As Cooper felt the man’s eyes brush over him, he fought the urge to bolt like a scared rabbit.

How do I get past this guy? Cooper wondered, trying not to loose his nerve. Cooper was fifty feet from the gate and this man stood directly in his path. The Federal agent reached for his radio and Cooper heard him give orders like a commanding general.

***

Tate, Brandt keyed the radio again. I want every plane that left here in the last half hour to be faxed Cooper’s picture and instructions to search their passengers.

Yes, sir, squawked the radio.

Brandt looked at his watch impatiently, and then stopped suddenly. A chill went up his spine. His eyes narrowed and he looked around suspiciously. Cooper is watching us, he announced out loud to no one in particular as his eyes moved back and forth.

The young police office next to him looked around frantically, How can you tell?

Brandt arched an eyebrow and a tight smile came across his face as his predator eyes moved slowly across the sea of people coming and going. "Because that’s what I’d be doing," he said coolly. But Brandt was at a sever disadvantage. Without his whole team, there were simply too many people to do the kind of detailed search necessary to be truly effective. He was forced to hastily scan the crowd for anything unusual.

But there was still too much information for his mind and instincts to process efficiently, so he started eliminating some of the targets. First, he eliminated the women, and then those clearly too short to be a possibility. His eyes went out of focus for a moment and then slowly returned to normal. Like a lion scanning a massive herd of wildebeests for his prey, his eye saw everything without really focusing on one thing in particular. The low probable targets blurred from his conscious focus while the more suspicious ones came into vivid clarity and he permitted himself a slight smile.

Sir, we’ll have more of our team starting to arrive in thirty minutes and they’re all supposed to be here within the hour, Tate’s voice squawked across the radio.

A moment later Brandt looked at his watch again, then grabbed the radio. That’s not fast enough, he replied sternly. I want to make this perfectly clear, he said as he keyed the radio. Our fugitive is caught in a cage and we’re slamming the doors shut quickly. If we don’t catch him in the next twenty minutes, Cooper will bolt for the front door. I want the officers who are guarding the domestic terminals to be posted at every exit to cut him off.

Yes, sir, came the reply at the other end.

Brant was taking a great risk by not covering the domestic flights, but he just knew Cooper wouldn’t waste his time with one of those. After all, that’s what he’d do. If he couldn’t get on an international flight out of the county, then the safest bet was to travel by car to the border and try to cross on foot.

***

Cooper was in shock. There was no way Brandt could’ve discovered his plan so quickly! There was simply not enough time to do so. Then how could he have known enough to put himself between Cooper and the British Airways gate where he needed to board?

Cooper quickly analyzed the man and determined that he was working on instinct. Cooper had worked hard to be unpredictable, but this guy seemed to know every trick. Clearly, the Feds had learned a lot since the last time they’d hunted him and Cooper worried that they might’ve learned too much. He was just fifty feet away. Could he make it? Cooper examined the facts.

Trench coat was working off a hunch. A good hunch, but a hunch none-the-less. You needed luck to make hunches and instinct work for you and he wondered whose luck would run out first, his or trench coat’s.

Cooper analyzed the man’s search technique and determined that he was looking too much away from him, as if looking for a scared animal trying to evade notice. He was looking in every corner and around every obstacle. Those who walked calmly past him barely got a second glance.

That was the flaw in Brant’s search pattern, and Cooper intended to exploit it. He could do this, but he was running out of time, so he had to move as quickly as an old man could without looking suspicious. Cooper started walking straight towards Brandt, calmly reading his magazine as if he had no care in the world.

***

Brandt’s searching eyes washed over the old man moving slowly towards him, barely with any notice, and then jumped quickly to the man dodging people as he jogged through the terminal trying to make his connecting flight.

***

Just then, a slow moving golf cart, with a flashing yellow warning beacon, came into view carrying some older people to their flight. Cooper was running out of time and he knew it, but he reminded himself that it was better to be late, than draw attention to himself. He could see the attendant by the departure gate look around then call out again for the last chance to board to London.

Cooper turned to the side and avoided the cart, but Brandt had to move quickly to get out of the way. In doing so, he turned right towards Cooper without looking where he was going and that made Cooper nervous.

***

As the cart moved past, Brandt turned quickly and collided with the old man. The old man was almost knocked down and he dropped his magazine, passport, and boarding pass. The Deputy caught him, stopping his fall, and then steadied him. He apologized, then quickly picked the mess up off the ground, handed it back to the old man then turned away continuing his search.

***

Cooper waved to the attendant as he saw her start to close up the entrance to the tunnel. Under the watchful eyes of the two officers at the gate, he handed over his boarding pass and passport. The attendance examined them quickly then sent Cooper down the tunnel to the plane. The two guards at the gate gave him little notice as they looked around at the sea of people moving about.

***

Brandt frowned and then looked back at the old man and saw him entering the tunnel. He arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side curiously. He thought it odd that the old man had no carry-on baggage. He also thought it odd that even though he walked and looked frail, when they’d collided with each other, the old man’s body was surprisingly solid and his face had few wrinkles.

Is there something wrong, sir? The young officer noticed Brandt’s curious expression.

Brandt didn’t answer. After a long pause, he shook off the thought. He had an urgent job to do. A fugitive was on the loose, and he had to keep his head in the game. A moment later, he drew his attention back to looking at faces and the hunt for his prey.

***

Cooper slowly walked down the ramp. Just before boarding the plane, he turned and looked back up the tunnel. He afforded himself a quick triumphant smile, and then squashed it just as quickly. It was dangerously foolish to celebrate.

The game was just beginning. For the moment, the rabbit had slipped past the wolves. But it was only a matter of time, he knew, before they picked up his scent again. Hopefully, by the time they did, it would be too late. Stepping onto the plane, he disappeared as the door closed behind him.

* * * *

Chapter_1

New Life ― Old Demons

San Fruttuoso, Italy

February 2001

The dark shadow of a blacktip shark slowly emerged from the deep darkness of the Mediterranean Sea. Blue-grey with a white underbelly, its sleek body blended in perfectly with its surroundings. The shark’s long pointed snout moved back and forth as it cruised slowly in search of an easy meal.

The figure of a man, standing on the coral reef, caught the shark’s small, black emotionless eyes and it turned to investigate. As the shark approached, the man stood motionless with arms and face raised towards the surface sixty feet above. Small schools of colorful fish darted about in order to evade the menace, although the shark ignored them. The man never flinched nor did his expression change as the shark circled. He simply stood stoic as beams of sunlight shot down from the surface, washing over him in streaks of bluish illumination.

Il Cristo degli Abissi – ‘Christ of the Abyss’ was an eight-foot tall bronze sculpture of Jesus put in place in 1947. With head and hands raised, He offered a silent prayer for the peaceful protection of the people of the sea. Incrusted with barnacles, this moss-covered image was favored by sailors, fishermen and especially appreciated by divers.

A moment later, streams of bubbles erupted from the darkness below and raced towards the surface, disturbing the shark’s search for food. With a snap of it’s tail, the shark shot like a missile back into the dark from which it had come. Two hazy shadows slowly kicked their way up from the deep, stopping to float in front of the statue.

Though the winter waters of the Mediterranean were considered warm, as compared to those in other parts of the world, the divers were equipped head to toe with full neoprene gear. They were completely black, except for the neon yellow stripe up either side of their wetsuits and the silver air tanks on their backs. The mirror finish on their facemasks reflected the image of the statue as they continued to stare at it. Only the sound of their bubbles disturbed the silence while hovering in place admiring the image.

Finally, one of the divers checked his watch, made the Sign of the Cross, and then kicked his feet. He resumed his upward path leaving the other diver behind. The second diver just hung there, staring into the eyes of Jesus. A lot of things weighed upon his mind, and this place always caused him to pause and contemplate his life.

However, the diver had spent too much time in the deeper waters and his air supply was now low. There was no time to linger, so he too gave a quick kick and headed towards the surface. As he looked upwards, he could see the silhouette of his dive partner reach the gentle waves of the surface.

The first diver broke the surface and pulled the regulator from his mouth gasping for air. For as much as he loved diving, there was nothing like real air over compressed gas and the taste of rubber in his mouth. Salvatore Bianchi lifted his mask, resting it on his forehead and waited.

Over the span of the last few months, he’d gotten used to waiting for his current student and dive partner while here in this particular place. Salvatore, the thirty-year old dive fisherman turned instructor, was raised in the nearby fishing village of Spezia. Making a meager living by diving for lobster and spearing game fish, he couldn’t believe his luck when he was offered the chance to run a dive boat. It wasn’t exactly what he’d thought it would be, but he wasn’t about to complain.

From a young age, it had been his dream to own a large boat and take tourists out to dive parks. He had expected the usual industry set-up where a dive captain took a dozen or so experienced divers at a time to locations such as this for day trips. After the trip, the tourists would move on and the dive captain rarely saw them again.

This particular set up was completely different than he had imagined. He had only one customer. It was the same one almost every day for more than six months. This customer had absolutely no experience until he hired Salvatore. But he was dedicated, learned quickly, and most importantly was filthy rich. There were occasional breaks, usually a week every month and the weekends, but other than that it was constant work. It was good work and exceptional pay, so Salvatore didn’t mind a bit.

The second diver finally broke the surface and he too took his regulator from his mouth and breathed hard. Did you see that Moray eel, Sal? the second diver lifted his mask to his forehead, leaned back, and floated on facing the sky. It was the biggest one I’ve seen yet.

Salvatore just smiled, glad his boss appreciated the richness of this area.

And that stingray was amazing, he continued with excitement as he rested on his back taking in the fresh air. Salvatore’s boss was Blake Garrison. The wealthy owner of a Dutch underwater salvage company, Garrison owned the one-hundred and ten-foot luxury dive yacht the Serenity. Anchored just fifty-yards away, the Serenity had been their home for the last several months. As always, everything was spectacular, he continued with the excitement of a child looking through the window of a candy store.

We should be getting back, Salvatore looked towards the yacht and waved. They were a little behind schedule and he knew his worried father, who worked as cook, mechanic, and over all handyman, was on the top deck with his binoculars. Giovanni, Salvatore’s father, wasn’t a diver and never got used to his son’s favorite past time and profession. Although he would never admit to being worried or watching out for them, Salvatore knew his father would mysteriously show up on the stern when they arrived to help them out of the water and attend to their gear.

The two divers bobbed among the small waves, working their way towards the boat. Salvatore did so silently doing the breast stoke, while Garrison kicked on his back, contemplating the clouds and continuing to rave about what they’d seen on the reef. Another smile crossed Salvatore’s face. It was always this way with his boss and he truly enjoyed working for such a man. He was a good boss– easy to like, paying and treating them very well.

Salvatore’s employer continued to kick, not really watching where he was going, but instead unconsciously staying near his partner, matching his pace and direction. Salvatore’s boss was known to him as Blake Garrison. This same man was also known to the residents of Lewis County, Washington as their former sheriff Jim Harper. To the FBI, DEA, and all other US Federal law enforcement agencies, he was known as the infamous D.B. Cooper.

The divers were within feet of the yacht’s stern dive platform, when a portly Italian man with graying hair appeared and greeted them with a smile and a wave. After they had pulled themselves onto the platform and unbuckled their tanks, Giovanni grabbed each tank, one at a time, and hauled them onto the stern deck. Each of the divers then removed their remaining gear and carried it up the two steps and onto the deck.

Giovanni reached to take the rest of Harper’s gear from him.

Misour Garrison, it’s almost time for your business call. He pointed to his watch. I made your dinner and left it on the third deck, where you usually take your calls. It was going to be a nice evening and he knew that’s where their boss would want to be.

Harper looked at his watch and nodded. They had started their dive late and stayed down longer than planned. Normally, Salvatore and he would clean, check out, and stow the gear together. Then all three would eat as a group in the galley before he retired to his favorite spot on the top level of his tri-deck yacht. However, he had arranged to make a phone call at a specific time and didn’t want to be late.

Thanks, Giovanni. I appreciate it. Jim flashed him a thoughtful smile, and then turned to Sal. Sorry, I can’t help with the gear, but I can’t miss this call.

No problem, Salvatore confirmed. It’ll take me a just a few minutes. Only after they watched their employer turn and begin walking away, did father and son exchange a look and a smile. They knew it wasn’t a business call that their boss had been making almost every evening since they’d known him. But if that’s what he wanted them to believe, they were happy to respect his privacy and play along.

Jim walked through the narrow center hall of the main deck, through the galley, and to his spacious main cabin towards the bow of the boat. Normally, the tight spaces of standard boats tended to make him feel claustrophobic, but this boat was huge! The main deck was twice as large as his house back in Lewis County. The second deck, occupied by his two companions, was two-thirds the size of the main deck. The third deck, which was almost exclusively his domain, was then again half the size of the main deck. His yacht was the finest and most advanced money could buy.

According to the salesman who sold him the boat, it was called a surface-effects catamaran. The salesman, who reminded him of a snooty French waiter, rattled off all the ways that this boat was superior to any other. It was constructed from two ‘V’ hulls, each with their own twin power plants, and separated and connected by a wide deck. It didn’t roll or heel over as most boats do and had a shallow draft.

Jim remembered several other terms as well. He remembered, to his own amazement, such things as high lateral stability, static and dynamic roll stability, and parabolic hull form stability. He still had no idea what any of that meant, but anytime the word stability came up when talking about boats, he knew it was a good thing. Come to think if it, every time the salesman said that word, the price seemed to go up ten percent!

To Jim, and every other non-engineer on the planet, a catamaran was easy to understand because he could see it. Basically, it was two standard boats on the bottom with three huge decks stacked on top. Twin power plants meant that each hull had two diesel engines, or rather four engines total for the boat. He still remembered the condescending look and tone the salesman gave him when Jim had no idea what any of that had meant.

A catamaran had the advantage of having the largest cabins above the waterline. To Jim, that meant that he could look out his many large ceiling-to-floor windows, which were three whole sides of his cabin, and look down at the water. In standard single hull boats, the main cabins were below the waterline and you looked through tiny circular portholes as the waves washed over them.

Surface effects meant it was designed to significantly reduce the bobbing up and down and tilting side to side that most boats experienced. It also meant that it could be big and fast at the same time. Everything else? …well, he had no clue, but he was sure it was worth it. In the end, it was exactly what he wanted, because it was as close to living on land as anyone on the water could get.

He appreciated how comfortably it rode on the waves, especially his first couple of weeks on board, before he got his sea legs. Jim had been so sick that he couldn’t keep anything down, not even water. Totally frustrated by his condition, he almost gave up the idea of living on the boat and seriously considered taking the greater risk of mingling more with the general public.

Jim rushed into his cabin. He had just enough time to take a quick shower to wash the salt off of him before it was time to make the call. Peeling off his wetsuit, he hung it in the shower and sprayed it down. Next it was his turn. Under the steaming shower head, the water felt great on his tired body.

After stepping out of the shower, he patted himself down with a towel, then wiped the mirror and looked at himself. Under close scrutiny, he didn’t look too much different than he had a year earlier, but his hair, skin color, and weight made him less likely to be recognized at a glance. He had let his hair grow out a few inches and colored it a summer blond– light on top, yet darker near the roots. The warm humidity of the Mediterranean added a natural wave to it.

His dark tan seemed to come naturally. Even during a cloudy winter, there was enough sun and reflection off the water that a tan was easy to maintain. He was trying to blend in and this look was fairly common to seasoned boaters and those living near the coast in this area.

Jim grabbed the handful of thick skin at his waist and frowned. Even though he was active every-day, he’d gained weight each month since he bought the boat. Actually, the weight gain was Giovanni’s doing. He was a fabulous cook, and Jim was finding that authentic Italian food was simply irresistible! He couldn’t seem to get enough. But he was also depressed and eating great food was an escape that he was growing all too used to.

Jim looked sideways at himself and shook his head with disgust. He had easily put on ten pounds, he thought as he did a full turn in the mirror. Okay, he thought honestly with a heavy sigh, perhaps it was fifteen pounds― but no more. The scale was just feet away, but he didn’t really trust it. After all, he wasn’t sure what the problem was the last time he stood on it, but it was clearly wrong. It had to be.

I mean, he thought to himself, trying to apply common sense. Five pounds of double chocolate fudge moose cake doesn’t turn into ten pounds of fat. Right? Am I missing something? It’s impossible. Right? Obviously it is, so the scale must simply be broken and it would be worthless to stand on it to see what it reads. With that, his mind was made up. Mind over matter, he nodded to himself in the mirror. He was sure he’d only gained ten pounds.

A quick look at his watch told Jim that he had to hurry. Moving into his stateroom, he tossed on a pair of loose fitting shorts, an oversized t-shirt, and flip-flops. He then headed for the stairs and to the third deck. When he reached the top, Jim rushed to the small table where his dinner laid, and snatched up the satellite phone Giovanni had left for him. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had a few minutes. So he walked to the railing and peered out over the water towards the shore a couple of hundred yards away.

They were anchored in a very secluded area, just off a deserted rocky beach surrounded largely by forests. They were, however, close to the tiny village of San Fruttuoso. He could see the white steeple of the community’s church above the trees in the distance.

They were in what’s known as the Riviera di Levante region, or the eastern part of the Italian Riviera. The entire Riviera was popular for its mild climate. However, as you moved from east to west the culture and population changed dramatically. This eastern part was his favorite of them all because it was rugged, largely forested, and still preserved much of its original character. The villages consisted of tall white and orange stucco houses huddled along narrow cobblestone streets that wound their way up the side valleys.

The low stepped hills surrounding the communities were the homes for abundant growth of pear, apple and fig orchards. Still higher areas were covered with rows of grapes on the south slope and olives on the north. Both filled the air of the valleys with spectacular aromas during harvest season.

There were few large hotels so tourists were kept to a minimum and had little impact on the culture. In some respects, the people here remind him of those in Lewis County. They were just simple, family folk where everyone knew each other as they made their way in the world. Jim loved strolling through the streets, taking in the atmosphere. When he did, he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

But eventually reality had set in and the ruin of his life came crashing down on him. Standing at the rail of the boat, peering out over the water, he sighed heavily. He’d stood here so many times. Almost everyday, since he’d gotten the boat, he stood at this very rail staring as he was now, playing his life over in his mind... over and over and over and never once understanding any of it.

How did he get here? How did the choices in his life bring him to this rail every evening? He could put all the physical aspects together that got him to this place, but not how his choices had. This was not what he would’ve chosen had he known the outcome of the accumulation of all the choices he’d made. So how did he get here? He kept asking himself that, but couldn’t come up with an answer.

He was Jim Harper, former Sheriff of Lewis County, Washington. He was friend, shepherd, and protector of a community of people. He was a simple man with a simple life in a quiet town, and he liked it that way. That was all he ever really wanted.

Well, he thought to himself honestly. That wasn’t all I wanted. He was also a man in love and he wanted to be with the woman he loved, Nikki Taylor. But now, all of his past choices were keeping them apart and maybe would forever. Perhaps his past choices would cause her to stop loving him. The last time they were together he saw how his choices had hurt her deeply. So much so, that she couldn’t even look at him as he left.

As a boy growing up, Harper always had a knack for being unpredictable. He enjoyed doing magic tricks for his friends and, when playing hide and seek, he’d astonish them by disappearing in one place and emerging in another.

He was a trickster. Simply put, a trickster was someone who through magic, tricks, or games bent or broke the rules to create a desired outcome. Tricksters can be cunning or foolish, and in his case, both. As a kid, the trickster part of him was just another aspect of who young Jim Harper was.

He really perfected this skill while at war in Vietnam. There it was a matter of survival. What had once been just a small part of who he was had suddenly become something more. It became something new and distinct, in and of itself. In fact, it became his second self, his alter ego. The differences between his two selves became so distinct that he actually gave his alter ego a name– Dan Cooper.

He felt he had to name this new persona in order to protect himself. In order to protect who Jim Harper was, who Jim Harper is. That’s the only way he was able to keep it all together.

He needed to clearly identify the two different selves so that he wouldn’t go crazy wondering who he is becoming. Cooper is growing, becoming more independent and demanding. This alter ego overshadowed Harper more and more and he became afraid that this other self could eventually take over and erase Harper all together.

Cooper was someone Harper had to become in order to survive. When in danger, Harper would turn into Cooper. It

Reviews for Runner

[rottie_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Under Suspicion: The Legend Of D.B. Cooper by Olszewski, James I thought all along who D.B. Copper was and he ended up being the person I thought he was at the end. I enjoyed the book it was well written and a good read. It was hard to put down. I only wish you would have ended it a little different it keeps you wondering what happened next. Or is there a series? Or follow up book? I would read it.