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They stayed in that position for the remainder of the flight. Neither pilot tried to engage them in conversation, but respected their need for privacy. Pertinent questions could wait.
“You’ve drawn quite a crowd.” Mike glanced at them over his shoulder and nodded toward the ground as they approached the airport, which was small when compared to metropolitan airports, but large enough to accommodate jet aircraft.
Rusty and Cooper saw that the airport below was teeming with people. The milling crowd was showing no respect for restricted areas of the tarmac. Vans labeled as portable television-broadcast units were parked end to end. In this remote area of the Northwest Territories, such media hype was virtually unheard of.
Cooper muttered a curse. “Who the hell is responsible for this?”
“The plane crash made big news,” Mike told him with an apologetic smile. “Y’all were the only survivors. I reckon everybody wants to hear what y’all’ve got to say about it.”
The instant Pat set the chopper down, the crowd of reporters surged forward against the temporary barriers. Policemen had a difficult time forcing them back. Several official-looking men ran forward. The helicopter’s twirling blades plastered their business suits against their bodies and slapped their neckties against their faces. The rotors finally wound down.
Mike jumped to the concrete and helped Rusty climb down. She cowered bashfully against the side of the helicopter until Cooper jumped down beside her. Then, after profusely thanking the twin pilots from Georgia, they moved forward. Their hands were clasped together tightly.
The men who greeted them were representatives of the Canadian Aviation Safety Board and the National Transportation Safety Board. The U.S. agency had been invited to investigate the crash since the passengers involved were all American.
The bureaucrats deferentially welcomed Cooper and Rus
ty back to civilization and escorted them past the squirming, shouting wall of reporters whose behavior was anything but civilized. They bombarded them with questions fired as rapidly as machine-gun bullets.
The dazed survivors were escorted through one of the building’s employee entrances, down a corridor, and into a private suite of offices that had been provided for their use.
“Your father has been notified, Miss Carlson.”
“Thank you very much.”
“He was delighted to hear that you are well,” the smiling official told her. “Mr. Landry, is there anyone we should notify for you?”
“No.”
Rusty had turned to him, curious to hear his reply. He had never mentioned a family, so she had assumed that there was none. It seemed terribly sad to her that no one had been waiting for Cooper’s return. She longed to reach out and lay a compassionate hand along his cheek. But the officials were crowded around them.
One stepped forward. “I understand you were the only two to survive the crash.”
“Yes. The others died immediately.”
“We’ve notified their families. Some are outside. They want to speak with you.” Rusty’s face turned as white as the knuckles of her fingers, which were still linked with Cooper’s. “But that can wait,” the man said hastily, sensing her distress. “Can you give us a clue as to the cause of the crash?”
“I’m not a pilot,” Cooper said shortly. “The storm was a factor, I’m sure. The pilots did everything they could.”
“Then you wouldn’t blame the crash on them?” the man probed.
“May I have a glass of water, please?” Rusty asked softly.
“And something to eat,” Cooper said in that same clipped tone. “We haven’t had any food this morning. Not even coffee.”
“Surely, right away.” Someone was dispatched to order them a breakfast.
“And you’d better bring in the proper authorities. I’ve got the deaths of two men to report.”
“What two men?”
“The ones I killed.” Everyone froze. He had succeeded in winning their undivided attention. “I’m sure someone should be notified. But first, how about that coffee?” Cooper’s voice rang with authority and impatience. It was almost amusing how it galvanized everyone into action. For the next hour, the officials flapped around them like headless chickens.
They were brought huge breakfasts of steak and eggs. More than anything on the tray Rusty enjoyed the fresh orange juice. She couldn’t drink enough of it. As they ate, they answered the endless rounds of questions. Pat and Mike were brought in to verify the location of the cabin relative to the crash site. While the weather was still cooperating, crews were dispatched to view the wreckage and exhume the bodies that Cooper had buried.
In the midst of the chaos a telephone receiver was thrust into Rusty’s hand and her father’s voice boomed into her ear. “Rusty, thank God. Are you all right?” Tears filled her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t speak. “I’m fine. Fine. My leg feels much better.”
“Your leg! What happened to your leg? Nobody told me anything about your leg.”
