Chapter 27: Nuclear Radiation?

"Wendy? Where's your plane?" David asked.

"Um ... at the lake, I think," Wendy responded. "Why?"

"Let's go see." David suggested.

"I can call." She said.

"I'd rather we went to see for ourselves." David replied. "Has anything been like it was when you bought the valley?"

"What do you mean?"

"All this." He swept the Wal-Mart, Costco complex that was along the highway. "Was it here ten years ago?"

"Ah ... I see. No. Durango was a sleepy little town shedding population like dandelion poofs. Every time the wind blew there'd be 10 families leaving town. There couldn't have been five thousand people here. I expected it to be a ghost town by now."

"How about the train?" David asked.

"There'd been an avalanche that destroyed a huge section of track. A million tons of cliff wiped out the bridge. The state said it was a local problem. There wasn't a tax base big enough to pay for repair. The narrow gauge was going to have to close."

David explained, "It's running now ... it's a favorite scenic tour. What happened?" David continued, "I took a drive through town, new construction of quality homes is sky high. The University has new buildings. The airport is freshly paved, there's only 58 planes based here. We didn't take 160 because it was narrow and dangerous. It's a freeway now. Something is going on."

"Ok. I'll just tell Jesse where we're going."

"Wendy? I'd prefer you didn't, please." David was worried. "Don't tell anyone."

They walked over to the Merc and pulled up to the pump. Grandpa stepped out and started to fill the tank.

Jesse stuck his head out from under the Ford and watched, just for a second. He bent down under the hood again ... there was one bolt he ... couldn't ... quite ... get. "OW!"

"Shit! That's gonna fester for sure." He swore. Wrapping his hand in a greasy rag, he hollered, "Wendy, can I get a ride to the emergency room? I cut my hand a good one." Gramps pulled the nozzle out of the tank.

There's not room for three in the Mercury, unless you're really friendly. David and Jesse weren't remotely friendly, so David hopped out, cautioning Wendy about not mentioning the trip to anyone.

She left. David pulled the Dodge up to the pump. Grandpa was standing there, gas nozzle in hand looking miffed.

"You might as well fill it. No sense wasting a good pump."

"Going somewhere?" Grandpa asked.

"Thinking about the road to Montrose."

Grandpa sniffed the air, "You should take this. It might snow."

"I'll think about it." David asked, "How's Jesse doing with the engine swap?"

"I have no idea ... he doesn't tell me shit. Go look ... I'll fill it and check the oil. I noticed a wet spot under her."

While David wandered over to the Ford, Grandpa filled both tanks and checked the oil. He was under the hood a long time. When he came out from under he had a small box in his hands. About the size of half a penny box of matches, it was warm to the touch. He walked over to David.

"The wet spot was from spilled oil. How much are you using? I've never noticed it smoking."

"I must have a leak, it takes a quart every month."

David had his head under the hood ... just looking. Grand dad held up the little box, just as Wendy came sliding in. She got out and walked to the pair of men.

"Jesse has quite the cut. He's going to call when they're done with him."

She saw the box.

'I know what that is, ' she thought to Dave.

'Me too. What do you want to do with it?'

With absolutely no thought, she stuck it in the underside hood bracing.

She said, "Well, what do you think? I've got a pair of brand new Zora Arkus-Duntov heads for the flattie and there's a main bearing saddle for a 180 crank..." She kept up the chatter as she directed the pair to the Dodge. "Let's take this one."

Four wheel drive over a road above seven thousand feet in the spring is a pretty good idea. It can snow any time in the mountains but spring and fall are sure to catch unwary travelers.

160 east to Bayfield and Co 501 north to Doc's Marina took them to Wendy's Widgeon. It was a 1944 Coast Guard amphibian so she had had it restored to wartime Coast Guard colors ... one of very few Widgeons in warpaint.

"Let's go see your Dad. You're going to need a good lawyer for this."

They hopped over to Denver Stapleton, filled up and headed east to Springfield, Missouri. Pottie break, dinner and a motel ... two rooms. Up first thing in the morning, kick the tires, and off to Lansing. Landing at the airport, Wendy taxied over to Franklin's Restoration. Harold, Ben's son, met them in the office.

"You look so much like your dad," Wendy told Harold. "It's like I'm still talking to him."

"Franklin's has been working on aircraft restorations for your family for what... 36 years? You put me through college." They all laughed. "What can I do for you this time? Something good I hope. I need a new car."

"Major on the engines, please." Wendy had a pensive look. "I hate to say it, but I think the Rangers have had it. Want to do a major mod?"

"Oh goody! A new Corvette!" Harold rubbed his hands together, "Lycomings, Continentals or radials? Those Russian radials are great motors." He held a blank contract to his forehead and closed his eyes. "I see dental work for my daughter."

Wendy laughed. "Jill does NOT need dental work."

By now all the hangar personnel were in the office. Harold's daughter Jill, was one of natures masterpieces. Her smile had graced several magazine covers. Her frame was featured in a few foldouts.

"Get me a Corvette too, Daddy ... Hi Wendy. We doing something expensive for your Widgeon?"

"Hi Jill, yeah ... something expensive. Lycoming six please, Harold ... maybe we should try turboprops? No ... I've seen one the Guard had done. Turbos make a pretty aircraft ugly. Yup ... geared Lycomings... 340 horse."

"Gimmie bags of money, Wendolyn. Those are running 30 thousand each."

Wendy dug into her ubiquitous duffle and hauled out half a million. She slapped it down on the desk. "How long?"

"Couple months. Need something else to fly? We just finished a total restore on your Dads B-25. He can't fly it now: He lost his license. Talk him out of it."

"Lost his license? What?"

"Failed his last physical. He's 59 years old, Wendy. You know the men in your family have bad hearts."

"But Grandpa... ?"

"Charles doesn't fly ... you know he's 86. Still drives ... when his driver lets him."

"Can I use your desk phone, I'll call Daddy. I need to consult him professionally anyway."

Wendy's dad picked them up. On the trip to the house Senior gave Wendy the 25.

"I'm getting an LSA. A factory built Kitfox with a Rotec Radial R2800. You're the oldest and you should have my B-25. The rest of the warbird classics are being donated to the appropriate museums."

"Thanks daddy, I love you."

When they got to the house, Wendy asked for advice.

"You know I won't represent you in court?"

"I know that. Family needs outside representation." She grinned, "I don't know how many times I've heard you say that ... to the boys. I never did anything wrong." The both started laughing.

Young David looked at them like they were crazy.

Senior said, "You don't want to know." Wild riotous laughter. They settled down.

"Daddy, I have a problem. Someone sold my land in Colorado."

"You sure?"

"David? Show him the papers from the assessor."

Phone calls ensued. Questions asked, answers given.

"No ... she's sitting right here in my office."

"We can vouch for her presence at the time of the supposed sale."

"Wendy? Where were you on the day of... ?"

"Working in Florida. I have paystubs."

"You heard that?"

"That address is on the bottom of an impoundment."

"Yes, there's been a Wildlife Flyway Lake there since 1977."