The sound of an aircraft engine grew louder. The lookout was clear of the lake, and the men from the truck looked to the west. A float plane with all lights extinguished was approaching, but only visible as a shadow, obliterating the stars. At the last minute, a landing light flared on as the plane was on a straight-in approach to the lake. The pilot chopped power and splashed down in the water, quickly extinguishing the landing light as he increased power to taxi the plane to shore, guided by two lighted wands held by the lookout. The pilot nosed the plane to the bank and shut down the engine.
While the men on shore pulled the back of the plane to the shore and secured the float, front and back, to the two anchor posts, the pilot jumped down from the plane and walked to the truck.
Detective Summers was excited. The plane was a Beaver, and its color and markings matched the description of the Romson Industries aircraft. The N-number, close but different, could have been changed. Nervous, she looked over at the sheriff, waiting for him to make a move, but he just lay there watching intently. He lifted a hand slightly, signifying to wait. They watched, silent, as the cargo door of the plane was opened and the truck backed almost to water’s edge. The truck’s loading ramp was extended, but instead of putting it on the ground, the end was extended into the hold of the aircraft. Two men pulled bales of marijuana from the plane and carried them across the ramp into the truck. A third man jumped into the back of the truck and re-emerged a moment later, pulling a hose with which he started refueling the airplane.
The pilot nearly ruined the whole setup. He walked into the woods, seeking to relieve himself, and almost stepped on the sheriff. Startled, with a shout he started to run back to the plane, but Sheriff Larson reached out and tripped him.
“Take them down now!” he said into his radio.
Detective Summers jumped on the pilot’s back, pinning him to the ground with a knee on the back of his neck, and yelled, “You are under arrest. Let me see your hands.”
Each of the deputies jumped up and shined powerful, handheld spotlights on the smugglers. Sheriff Larson called out on a bullhorn, “You are under arrest. Get on the ground now!”
The deputies converged on the suspects as engines and sirens could be heard and flashing lights could be seen as squad cars raced down the access road to assist.
Only one suspect tried to flee. He ran for the woods but was promptly tackled by a deputy. All of the smugglers were cuffed and gathered at the truck where their rights were read.
Detective Summers walked to the plane. Climbing into the cabin she checked the ID numbers, and her heart sank with disappointment. She knew the odds of it being the right plane were slim, but she had still hoped. Climbing out of the cockpit onto the float, she looked at the fuel hose in the tank and then followed the hose back inside the truck, where she saw two fifty-five-gallon drums of avgas and an electric pump. So that’s how they did it!
By the time the prisoners were processed and the crime scene secured, the sun was up and the day well begun. Detective Summers shook hands with Sheriff Larson and thanked him for allowing her to participate. She had not found the plane she was looking for, but she had some answers to other questions. Though tired, she knew she was way too keyed up to sleep. She would try to get some miles behind her before getting a room. She also needed to call and touch base with the chief. She would wait, though, until she returned home to talk with the Romsons and Charles Sitton.