Eight's Warning: The Past Hunts: West's Ghost Ranch, #1

By Aidan Red

Without warning, twenty-one year old Emli Collingsworth, in an effort to escape an unwanted marriage arranged by her abusive and overbearing father, disappeared from college without a trace. Her father launched an intense, but fruitless manhunt to find her. Then, eleven years later, Howard Collingsworth sees a picture of look-a-like Charlie Basset in a newspaper aviation article, relighting his temper's fuse. Now the hunt is on again. Howard has blood in his eyes and Charlie's secrets must remain hidden.

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Charlie Basset lived each day in fear, always looking over her shoulder for any stranger that might show up looking for her. She buried herself in her work, the life she had built affording herself some privacy and isolation, hiding in the many hour of secrecy the solitude of flying gave her. Then, after ten years of effectively blending in with her background, successfully evading detection by those in her distant past, two insignificant, yet key things happened.

First, Charlie gave a man a ride to pick up his new airplane. Everything about the flight was normal except this flight took Charlie to a very secret airfield, West's Ghost Ranch, where she would meet the equally reclusive owner, Glen West. This chance flight and meeting would completely change Charlie's life for a second time.

Second, Howard Collingsworth, an unscrupulous business man in Detroit, renewed his search for his long missing daughter, fueled by his promise to provide his daughter, Emli, for an arranged marriage in exchange for significant funds and construction allowances for his business. A message from the recipient of his promise, reminded him either he surrender his daughter or they would kill him for failing. Howard knew he had to find Emli, or maybe someone that looked like her...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aidan Red
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946039088

Book preview

To a great IP whose passion taught me the love of aviation and whose knowledge and patience taught me the skills necessary to fly and survive in an airplane: my dad.

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My many thanks to my editors.

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Content Editing by Trenda London,

http://ItsYourStoryContentEditing.com

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Copy Editing by Amy Jackson,

Copy Editing and Proof Reading, http://AmyJacksonEditing.com

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Cover by

Aidan Red and David Lundblade

THE PAST HUNTS

Charlie Bassett, a thirty one year old blond, a pilot and a mechanic with dark secrets in her past, takes a job working for West’s secret Ghost Ranch helping to restore Second World War fighters. She settled cautiously into the security and serenity of life on the ranch, happy, safe and for once, she allowed herself to hope.

But a picture of her at the Alamosa, Colorado spring fly-in, circulated in an airshow newsprint booklet and was noticed by a vile man, Howard Collingsworth. Disregarding what was written in the paper, he decided the woman in the picture was his long missing daughter Emli; the daughter that had run away ten years before, leaving everyone to believe she was dead.

Howard had plotted and schemed ever since she disappeared, and now, with fiendish determination, he set his plans in motion.

Chapters

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One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Phonetic Alphabet

Glossary

Books by Aidan Red:

About the Author

One

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This was the last night of Emli Collingsworth’s Christmas break from Yale University’s law college. She had spent her two weeks visiting with her sister and her mother in her parents’ home in Canton, Michigan. Her father, now white-haired and fifty-one, was away on business as usual. He did not come home, nor did he acknowledge her visit for the holidays. He still seemed to have but only one loyalty: International Opportunities, his multinational commercial land development and construction company. He had not changed since before her high school years and she did not miss him.

Growing up, he had called her Defiant Emli. She was the complete opposite of her sister’s quiet acceptance of whatever their father wanted or decided. Emli was young when she first realized the things her father had planned usually did not sit well with her. She never thought of herself as defiant, just saw her life unfolding differently. Her desires, her wants, her happiness needed something completely opposite from what her father demanded. And this visit would have been another war of wills had he been there.

She worried during the trip from New Haven, and from the moment she stepped into the house, that she might let her secret slip out. She knew there was no way she could tell him that flying had become more important than law school, that before Thanksgiving she had already earned her private pilot’s license, or that she had added almost a hundred hours of flying time since. There was no way she dared tell any of her family about this success. They would not understand, much less accept her choice, so she had simply decided to keep it a guarded secret. It was a most fortuitous decision.

She packed her suitcase after dinner to be ready for the morning trip back to Yale, knowing they would have to leave early to make the flight to Kennedy. Then, with a layover and a commuter flight, she would make it to New Haven by midafternoon. After that, she would not have to worry about her secret slipping out for nearly another year.

Almost ready, dressed in her pajama top and long-legged bottoms, she threw on a robe and started down the stairs for a cup of hot cocoa before bed. She heard her mother and sister talking in the dining room off the bottom of the stairs, and stopped when she caught their hushed, almost guarded tone.

...but it isn’t that bad, Catherine, her older sister by two years, said. Monte tries to be a good husband. Yes, he works a lot and he provides, so I guess I have nothing to want for.

Catherine and Emli could have been twins if they were the same in age, except for their hair. They were the same height, five foot four, and weight, one hundred twenty pounds, give or take a few. They had the same oval face, button nose, curious blue eyes, and timid smile. Catherine had shoulder-length, light brown hair with a moderate amount of natural curl, while Emli’s was a dirty mix of light browns and yellows, a less pleasant dirty blond to most people, with even less natural curl. She preferred to wear it permed and long.

When am I going to get grandchildren? their mother, Mary, asked pointedly.

Not for a while, I think, Catherine said. I’ll have to like him first. Monte has talked about having children, but says he wants to get his business settled down so he can be home more and spend more time with me when we do.

He’s had three and a half years to do that, and for you to get to like him. But children will make things easier for you, Mary said. I would’ve thought he’d want to spend your time together, before children.

We don’t. Not like he says he wants to, anyway. Catherine sounded sad at the lack of attention. Then wishfully, she continued. Sometimes I wish I was more like Emli. Making things happen. Doing the things I want.

But you said you want for nothing?

Yes, I did, Catherine sighed softly. But Emli’s off to law school, making a name for herself, and will be a big, fancy attorney someday, probably handling million-dollar cases. She’s so very smart, Mother, that sometimes I envy her. I envy the experiences I think she’ll have.

Well, smart or not, Mary said, your father figures he will still pair her up with a suitable beau when she graduates. Then, if she’s so smart, she can help the family as well as themselves.

Startled, Emli could not believe her ears. That was not the agreement she had made with her father! She thought about her mother’s words and tone and could not decide if her mother actually sounded happy with the situation or if she was just stating the facts. But one thing was certain: her mother would not help her; she would not oppose whatever Emli’s father decided to do.

Catherine sighed. I thought he’d given up on that, but I guess it could be worse. At least she’ll have a great education and a great job potential and then, married to the right man, she’ll have nothing to want for. When is Father planning on telling her?

Not until she graduates, Mary said. He’ll probably start watching the kinds of friends she keeps and make sure she doesn’t form any lasting relationships.

Does he have someone in mind?

I think so, Mary said. He’s mentioned a couple of family names, but he hasn’t said he’s settled on one in particular.

Emli was stunned and stared at the bottom step, wondering if what she was hearing was reality or her imagination. Her father had wanted to marry her off as soon as she was out of high school, but she had begged for and gotten his agreement to let her go to college instead. Only, he had picked her pre-law major at his preferred school and whisked her away before she knew what was happening. But in spring, during the last semester of her first year, one of her school friends had taken her with him to the local airport so she could see what it was all about. And that had started a complete, all-consuming love affair between flying and her soul.

Now, she realized as she slowly crept back up the stairs to her room, all of that was in jeopardy. It seemed her father had only agreed regarding her education to again further his business, to make her more valuable for his needs. Her anger flared as she paced around her room, slowly trying to form a plan. She knew how controlling and narrow-minded he could be, and she had to do something to save herself. Suddenly she knew what she had to do.

Two

Tuesday, July 12

Eleven Years Later

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Charlie led Carl Henry across the Beecher Air Services ramp on Pueblo’s Memorial Airport to the waiting Cessna Turbo 210. She carried her small duffle with a change of clothes, like Bob Beecher had instructed the night before.

Bob said you have the directions to West’s ranch, Charlie said as she stowed her bag in the baggage compartment and turned to take his small suitcase.

Yes, Carl confirmed. I take it you’ve never been to West’s place.

This is the first time. She led him to the passenger door and opened it. I’ve heard about it, its secrecy, but all I was told is that it’s somewhere in the ‘mountains.’ I’ve actually looked for it, wandering about a little on different trips, but never saw it.

Carl chuckled as she closed the door and made sure it had latched before motioning for him to lock it. She turned and glanced over the airplane to see if there was anything obviously different since she had done her walk-around inspection just before Bob had brought Carl to the open hangar door.

She noted the clear sky and the morning sun, already high above the horizon by a number of hours, along with the absence of the normal breeze. Beautiful VFR day, she thought to herself. Probably have a few bumps, but shouldn’t be too bad.

Bob said you wanted to be off by nine thirty. Do you have a particular arrival time? Charlie asked as she settled on the pilot’s seat and buckled her lap and shoulder straps. She double-checked Carl’s straps and his door lock, glanced around the cockpit, and touched the various switches and controls as she followed a mental checklist.

Between a quarter ’til ten and a quarter after. He smiled as he followed her movements and glanced at his Breitling wristwatch.

Charlie finished her prestart checks and glanced around the ramp, looking for anything that might interfere with the movement of the plane. She grinned in anticipation as she donned her headphones and started the Continental TSIO-520 engine. She had made many flights in the years since she began flying, and still to that day, the routine of preparation and getting started gave way to the soul-catching awe and excitement of actually leaving the ground, to soar like the birds and feel the freedom of being suspended simply on air.

She set the radio frequency and called, Pueblo Ground, Seventeen Sierra is ready to roll with Bravo, identifying them to the tower by the last digits of the airplane’s registration number and informing them that she had the latest airport traffic advisory information, Bravo. She glanced at Carl. He had his headphones on and she knew he was hearing the conversation as Ground directed her to Runway Zero Eight Right for an intersection departure to the east.

It was a short taxi from Beecher’s ramp to the hold stripes on the diagonal taxiway, and she was ready by the time they got there.

You ready? she asked when the tower gave her clearance.

And able, he said with a wink as she turned onto Runway Zero Eight Right, lined up, set the heading pointer in the horizontal situation indicator to match the magnetic runway heading, zero eight zero degrees, and added power.

Off at nine twenty-eight, Charlie announced as the nose rose gently and the harsh sensation of tires against the concrete and asphalt runway was replaced by that of wings floating on air; they broke ground, leaving the 4,729-foot elevation airport behind. The initial thrill of reaching out and pulling oneself into the air never dimmed; it was always a welcome greeting with a comfortable old friend, a long-awaited step back into a wonderfully different world, and Charlie relished each and every arrival.

She slowly turned right out of the pattern and reached up and turned off the transponder, temporarily severing the last of their connections with the world below.

Heading one forty-six true. Carl gave her the true compass heading as he checked a small notepad he took from his shirt pocket. Or one thirty-eight magnetic. Eighty-eight nautical or one hundred and two statute miles from Pueblo.

Charlie curiously looked at him, wondering if he was taking them on a roundabout route. There aren’t any mountains on this heading. Not real mountains.

Charlie climbed to seventy-five hundred feet on the heading as she accelerated to one hundred and eighty-five knots.

Twenty-eight minutes and a few tenths should get us to your eighty-eight nautical point, she said absently.

Bob told me you’ve been flying for about ten years.

Charlie assumed he was making small talk, like most of the guys she met did; always about her credentials first, then her personal life.

Yeah, she answered in a flat tone, and recited the specifics with a complete lack of enthusiasm and the slight taste of bitterness for being asked, again. Twelve years and nine thousand six hundred hours flying time, Commercial and Instrument Ratings. Qualified in twenty-nine different aircraft, plain, complex, and multi. And an A&P with Inspection Authorization. She looked aside at him as she adjusted the mixture. Anything else you’d like to know?

Sorry, Charlie, Carl said with a slight smile. I heard you were a bit touchy, but I didn’t mean anything by the questions. I built time quickly also and had my share of probing questions. I’m just very glad you’ve had the opportunity to accomplish as much as you have.

She pondered his response for a long moment without answering. She knew from her internet search that Carl had means and was an experienced pilot himself. He owned and operated a business associated with petroleum and refineries in the Texas panhandle and based his company in a Dallas suburb. He had two restored warbirds in a hangar in Addison and flew a Citation Ultra for business meetings. But the day before, Bob had said Carl was coming to pick up a new ride and she was taking him to it. Her curiosity was piqued, wondering what his new ride was as well as the unexpected opportunity to visit the mysterious Ghost Ranch, a place known to a chosen few and speculated about by the unknowing many. She smiled and decided to lower the walls a little.

I guess I am a little touchy. Sorry, she admitted. I just get tired of everyone thinking I somehow skipped something in my training, or that a woman couldn’t get to be a pilot and mechanic on her own skills—you know, without sleeping with a lot of men along the way to get there.

Well, Carl said, and smiled, for what it’s worth, I know you are both, and that you didn’t. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be sitting beside me doing the flying. I like to know the company that I keep and I don’t like to take avoidable chances.

Charlie smiled again. Thanks. I do my best.

She nodded and relaxed, enjoying the view of the empty country that drifted by a couple thousand feet below them. The weather was CAVU, to the initiated, an acronym meaning clear and visibility unlimited. The expansive prairie stretched out below and had turned to the tawny brown of midsummer. She took heart in the calm solitude of separation, drifting above it all, and smiled as she watched the dark edges of the mesas on the horizon grow into vertical black rock walls as they drew nearer. At seventy nautical miles out of Pueblo, Carl glanced down at the GPS and then pulled his mobile touch screen phone from his pocket. He tapped an icon.

I’ll activate the beacon and the ILS for the active of the day. Then you can follow it to the field, he instructed.

Charlie glanced at his movements as he selected an app and logged in. He tapped an icon on his touchscreen.

This is not where I expected to find West’s elusive ranch, she admitted, and Carl chuckled.

It isn’t. He held the phone for her to see. Here’s the approach frequency and a plot of the airstrip. It’s like the old flying fields, a large field without specific runways delineated. Only this one’s on top of a mesa. Looks like we’ll be landing to the west today.

Isn’t the natural prairie grass a bit rough for airplanes?

When West started constructing the airfield, one of the first things he did was to replant the mesa with a less clumpy grass from other parts of the state. It won’t be too rough.

She nodded and entered the frequency into the navigational radio, the localizer immediately swung the course needle, telling her she needed to fly to their east to intercept the radial. She adjusted the runway heading input to set up the actual intercept and inbound leg.

Field elevation is fifty-eight forty, Carl said softly, giving her the mean sea level field elevation as she followed the needle, setting up a ninety-degree intercept. Almost a thousand below the top of the mesa twelve miles to the northwest.

Thanks, she said absently, then glanced around for any traffic and slowly reduced power. Nine minutes out.

Here’s the com frequency. Carl put the phone in front of her again. May I? He gestured to the radio.

Sure, she agreed, and Carl switched frequencies.

Suddenly the radio crackled.

Ghost Ranch, Six Six Tear Whiskey is inbound with a situation, the speaker announced.

That’s Bobby Hill and the Devil’s number, Carl said, and listened more closely.

Tear Whiskey? Charlie asked.

Six Six Tear Whiskey. Ghost Ranch here. A pleasant woman’s voice filled the cockpit. We’re expecting you, Bobby. What’s your situation?

Gear problems, Helen, the voice in Six Six reported. Right’s stuck in the well. I figured if I’m going to break something, I should break it where West can fix it. Got room for another wounded bird?

Certainly, Bobby. Helen paused for a moment then asked, How far out are you?

About twenty. John’s with me in Greetings, Bobby said. I see the approach is already lit up. You have other traffic?

Yes. A Cessna T210 inbound from Pueblo. Helen’s voice was calm, factual, and without any signs of anxiety. Do you need for them to stand off?

Not necessary, Helen, Bobby replied confidently. The Devil’s running fine except for the stuck right main. Let them land and then I’ll slide in behind them.

All right, Bobby. Helen’s smile came through the words. Ratchet and the boys will be waiting. They’re all up top with West.

It’s the World War II phonetic alphabet, Carl said in the pause. It’s different than today’s Tango Whiskey.

Charlie nodded and listened to be sure the chatter was over, and then announced their arrival on a wide right base. She told Helen she had heard the conversation with Six Six.

Seventeen Sierra, Helen cautiously inquired. Is this your first time to the ranch? I don’t recognize your number or voice.

Yes, ma’am. I’m Charlie from Beecher’s Air. Transporting Carl as requested.

Welcome, Charlie. Helen’s voice sounded a bit warmer. There are no runway markings, so land on the localizer and taxi to the hangars ahead of you to your right. The localizer will put you down about two thousand feet east of the hangars.

Thank you. Charlie started the pre-landing checklist and configured the airplane for landing. Turning final.

She studied the wide, uninterrupted plain across the top of the lower mesa. Short brown grass covered the expanse, and in the distance she could see a long, squat mound that formed a line to the right of her approach.

Those look awfully short to be hangars, she absently remarked as the Cessna settled into a lengthened approach. At a hundred feet, she started a slow flare and held power, drifting about halfway to the buildings before she let the plane settle.

They do look distorted, don’t they? Carl chuckled. For midget airplanes, maybe? His eyes twinkled as she looked at his smile.

The long mound became six low mounds joined together as they taxied closer. In front of one of the wide, dark opening in one of the low mounds stood five men, and Charlie could see the buildings were partially buried with dirt and the indigenous mesa grass for their roofs. One of the men waved for her to taxi close to them. She turned the 210 in front of an unopened, nondescript mound to face the landing field, stopping beside the men. Then, quickly, she went through the shutdown checklist. Carl unbuckled, opened his door, and greeted a man in a worn chambray shirt. They exchanged a warm handshake and slapped each other’s backs as Carl stepped out. The other four men ignored their arrival, watching the approach.

Charlie got out and unloaded their bags as Carl and the man joined the others. She set the bags beside the gear leg before stepping in front of the T210 to watch as well.

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CHARLIE WAS SCANNING the area north and east of the airstrip, looking for the telltale dots of the approaching planes, when Carl nudged her shoulder.

Charlie. I want you to meet West, our host.

She turned away from the vista as the man in the chambray shirt smiled and extended his hand. She looked at his welcoming gesture and then forced herself to accept. It’s just a greeting, she told herself. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. Then she looked at the rest of him, finally letting her gaze reach up to his pleasant face, chiding herself for her presumptions; the man before her was not the older businessman image she had had in her mind.

He was about her age, maybe a little older, with a definitely pleasant (although slightly crooked) smile and bright, curious eyes. His brown hair was neatly combed, but longer than she had expected. Trimmed above his shoulders, with a part on his left side, it surrounded a clean-shaven, smiling face. His square shoulders and narrower waist hinted at a body toned by honest work and an active lifestyle, emphasized by his worn jeans with a hole in the right thigh. She sensed an inner strength, a confidence in his presence as she shook his hand, his short-sleeved shirt exposing well-developed arms and a muscular strength she felt in his gentle, controlled grip. She stood five foot four in her bare feet, so she knew West had to be a few inches over six foot if he was an inch.

Pleased to meet you. She looked up at him and shook his hand in greeting. I’m Charlie.

It’s nice to meet you, I’m sure. He slowly released her hand and continued. Welcome to the Ghost Ranch. I’ll give you a tour in a bit, after Bobby and John get down. He gestured to the east.

She was about to mention that he looked vaguely familiar, that maybe she had seen him around Bob’s place at some time, but his gesture interrupted her train of thought. Charlie followed his point and saw the two dots, getting larger as they approached. Then she realized they were both P-51s, and someone said the one with both gear down was a C model and the other a D model, but only one gear leg was where it ought to be. The planes passed slowly over them and started a gradual left pattern turn, climbing back up for the approach.

He’ll get a prop blade, said a taller man with a flat-top haircut, standing beside West, but maybe the wingtip will survive without a lot of damage. Lenny, get the jeep and the fire bottles.

Charlie thought the man was slightly older than West, with definite signs of military training in his voice and stance.

A man, also near her age, she estimated, thin and blond, in mechanic’s coveralls sporting a Ghost Ranch logo, quickly turned and sprinted down a ramp into the nearest squat building. Charlie turned to watch as he ran, and slowly realized access to the half-buried hangar was down a ramp and under the doors, which were folded up to form a ball cap visor over the wide opening. She shook her head and smiled at the arrangement, turning back to the two Mustangs when Lenny started the jeep and drove up the ramp.

The crippled Mustang lined up and floated slowly toward them, its long left strut mere feet above the ground as it slowed more and more. The second Mustang hung in the air beside it, following it down. Finally, hanging on the prop, the first’s engine suddenly fell silent and the plane settled onto the single extended landing gear. The pilot held the wing up as long as he could, and as the speed quickly bled off, the wingtip settled onto the dirt and the Mustang slowly ground looped to a dusty stop in front of them.

Barely noticed as they ran toward the grounded Mustang, the second Mustang added power and started