UnAlaska

14. Compliance

Morning, August 27th, outskirts of Dutch Harbor Alaska

Rusty Kowalski came to in his recliner, his head throbbing. He looked down and saw his hands tied with zip ties and his ankles tied with duct tape. His left nostril whistled, his mouth duct taped shut. His living room looked about the same, minus the two quiet Russians still lurking there.

Aleksandr nudged Bogdan with his elbow. "He's awake."

Bogdan stood up. He walked over slowly and bent down to Rusty's face. "I'm going to take your tape off. You know better than to scream." He peeled off a corner and then tore the duct tape off with one fast swipe. Rusty grimaced and saw copper colored clumps of his mustache stuck to the tape.

Rusty took a few deep breaths through his mouth, waiting for the burning on his face to subside. Aleksandr got up and walked to the kitchen. Rusty could hear cabinets opening and closing. Improbably, he heard the gulp, gurgle, and hiss of his old coffeemaker. The smell wafted into the living room. Moments later, Aleksandr came back with three chipped porcelain mugs of coffee. He set them down on the small coffee table.

Aleksandr looked at him earnestly. "How is your head, friend?"

Rusty shook his head. "Not your friend, pal. It's sore, but I'm OK. Bright lights might be a challenge."

"Ok. Good. I thought some coffee might help you get back to speed. We need you in flying shape. I can untie your wrists if you won't try to fight us again."

Rusty nodded. Aleksandr slipped a pocket knife between his wrists and cut the zip ties. Rusty thought back to last night. He remembered they wanted a ride to the Cecaelia for god knows what. He shuddered. I've flown aerial photographers, ran surveys for power lines, flew small cargo, and taught lessons, but I've never dealt with this shit, thought Rusty.

"It won't be my best day, but I think I can manage." He leaned forward and grabbed a mug of coffee, warm between his hands. Angry red rings circled his wrists from the tight ties. "You want to land on the Cecaelia?"

"Yes. The two of us, with a bag. We need to land with your normally scheduled tour arrival. We need to avoid causing any suspicion. We won't be on the ship for long. Then, you can fly us back here. We won't cause you any trouble, if you don't cause us trouble." He rested his hand on his handgun, tucked into his waistband. "Sound OK?"

"No, it doesn't." He shook his head. "But I don't have a lot of choice in the matter. We need to get moving soon, my tour should be arriving on deck before lunch."

Bogdan nodded to Aleksandr. Aleksandr grabbed his jacket, and walked out the door while Bogdan untied Rusty's ankles. A draft of damp, cool, morning air blew in behind him. He came back a few minutes later, carrying a heavy looking black nylon duffel bag over one shoulder.

Bogdan jerked his head toward the door. "Let's go. You can drive us to the airport."

They climbed into Rusty's old Chevy short cab work truck and sat side by side on the bench seat, shoulders touching awkwardly. Aleksandr perched the large duffel on his lap. They bounced down the gravel road toward the air field, heads bobbing in unison over potholes filled with muddy rain water.

They parked in the gravel lot next to the small private airfield, surrounded by a chain link fence. The gate was left open and the guard station sat quiet and empty. Their boots crunched on the gravel, and their breath trailed away in clouds in the cedar and pine scented air. Rusty led the way to his Robinson R66 helicopter, past a few small quonset huts.

Rusty unlocked the doors and started his pre-flight inspection. He shook his head. Why the hell am I even doing this, if I'm being hijacked? Then he thought, I may as well, the thing costs more than my house.