The Sanctuary II: Lost and Found Read online

  Other books by Larry Richardson:

  The Sanctuary

  Desert Heights

  The Big Horn*

  Showdown at Yellowstone*

  The Treasure of Bitter Creek*

  The Gold Train*

  The Cure for the Common Sermon

  *with Tom Richardson

  Book descriptions, sample chapters, and a sample audio chapter available at www.lkrichardson.com

  © 2021 by Larry Richardson All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief passages used in a review.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Richardson, Larry, author.

  The Sanctuary II: Lost and Found / by Larry Richardson.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7357334-2-5

  1. Modern fiction 2. Drama 3. Romance

  4. Richardson, Larry

  Dos Hermanos Publishing Company

  790 Eagle Ridge Drive, Billings MT 59101

  *

  acknowledgements

  I am grateful to Don Davenport for his essential critiques of narrative, dialogue, and plot development during the preparation of this manuscript. I especially express my gratitude to my wife Patty for her support, encouragement, patience, critical eye, and keen sense of timing, pace, and story.

  *

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 1

  South China Sea 1971

  The bombing run successfully destroyed all of its targets. Lt. Commander Charlie Davis in his A4-C Skyhawk led his squadron of four back from Cambodia to the USS Enterprise, parked 90 miles off the coast of South Vietnam – code name Yankee Station. Now, if they could just make it back to the carrier on the fumes left in their tanks, they’d call it good. The distance from the carrier to the Cambodian enemy strongholds pushed the limits of their effective range, especially with all the ordinance they hauled. They figured once they dumped their load, fuel requirements would greatly diminish. The Cambodian bridges and roads served as a vital supply line for North Vietnamese troops, and had to be reduced to the Stone Age. But now, with 90 miles of ocean to fly over, their gas gauges all read empty. Lt. j.g. Lynwood broke radio silence.

  “Viper 1, this is Viper 3. I forgot to bring my swim trunks, so I hope we’re not going to have to make a water landing.”

  “Viper 3, this is Viper 1, just maintain your heading and knock off the chatter,” LCDR Davis snapped back. At 25 years of age, LCDR Charlie Davis had worked his way through the ranks to become a respected Naval aviator, with keen wits, excellent pilot skills, and bulldog determination. When asked the difference between Air Force pilots and Navy pilots, he often smiled and said, “the ability to fly.”

  Now, he checked his watch. At their air speed, he figured another 10 minutes to reach the carrier. Nobody wanted to ditch a half-million dollars of military equipment in the South China Sea if at all possible.

  “C’mon, baby, just a little further,” LCDR Davis said as he patted his fuel gauge. Within minutes the squadron arrived within range to notify the command bridge.

  “Viper squadron requesting permission to land,” LCDR Davis radioed.

  “Roger, Viper squadron.” The command bridge prepared to receive the squadron. It began by requesting the fuel levels of each jet, called out in thousand-pound increments, so it could stack the jets in the proper order for landing.

  “Inbound squadron, 402, say state.” Lt. j.g. Lynwood saw his chance to jump to the head of the line.

  “This is 402, low state – 0.1. Like to go first.” The control tower obliged.

  “402, enter the pattern. You are clear to land,” the tower said. Lynwood abruptly banked his jet into position, ahead of the others, and brought it in. LCDR Davis grit his teeth at Lynwood’s lack of consideration for the other pilots, who were just as low on fuel. The command bridge stacked the remaining three jets in an oval racetrack pattern, according to their declared fuel levels, with the lowest reading taking priority position. LCDR Davis took the last slot, circling the carrier three extra times. The other two pilots took their turn leaving the holding pattern and heading toward the stern of the ship. Davis’s fuel gauge read empty. He knew he was sucking fumes, and expected his jet engines to flame out any time now. Finally, the tower cleared him to land.

  “502, enter the pattern. You are clear to land.” Immediately, Davis replied.

  “502 – Roger.” Davis banked his jet into position – only seconds now from reaching the deck.

  “C’mon, baby, we’re almost home,” he whispered. He knew his jet’s arresting hook had to snag one of the four wires laying across the deck. If he missed all four, he would have to take off again at full throttle and make another pass around the ship to attempt a second landing. He knew he did not have enough fuel for that, and would end up ditching into the ocean and ejecting out, which would require a helicopter rescue. He would never live that down. All those possible outcomes weighed on his mind as he approached the undulating deck, heaving up and down from ocean swells.

  “Let’s go,” he coached himself. “You’ve done this a million times.” He came in snug and tight over the carrier’s stern, then slammed his landing gear onto the deck with a teeth-jarring thud. His arresting hook grabbed wire #2 and his body snapped forward from the jolting stop. He throttled down, retracted his arresting hook and wing flaps, and taxied out of the landing area. “Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered.

  Charlie cornered Lt. j.g. Lynwood outside the shower room.

  “Lt. Lynwood, what the hell did you think you were doing up there, deciding on your own that you had to be first in line?”

  “Sir, my tanks were dry, and I…” Lynwood began, but Charlie cut him off.

  “We were all sucking fumes. You think you were the only one who didn’t want to ditch?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did we draw straws or take a vote about landing sequence that I didn’t know about?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you in charge of the squadron?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, Lieutenant, this is not an ‘every man for himself’ Navy, and you don’t get to decide who goes first. Today you put your safety ahead of the safety of your fellow pilots. By doing that, you pose a danger to this outfit.” Charlie paused for a moment to let those words sink in. Then he pronounced sentence. “You’re off the team.”

  “Sir - ” Lt. j.g. Lynwood tried to plead his case, but again Charlie cut him off.

  “That’s all,” Charlie said, and he turned and walked away.

  Back in his quarters, Charlie pondered his abrupt canning of Lt.j.g. Lynwood. He sat at his desk staring at his bookcase, second guessing his action, which now struck him as hasty and heavy-handed. He rubbed his eyes and felt that aching fatigue finally deman
ding payment. He sank into his bunk. Random thoughts strayed to his own childhood back in Billings. He remembered that day when the family went to the county fair. He was nine years old and his younger brother, Seth, was five. Their father entered one of their steers in a competition at the stockyard. While he waited for the judging, Charlie’s mother took the two boys to the midway carnival, where exciting rides beckoned kids of all ages.

  Seth needed to go to the bathroom, so Charlie’s mother took them both to the public restrooms and put Seth’s care in Charlie’s hands.

  “Charlie, you need to take your brother to the restroom and keep an eye on him. When he’s done, you bring him out here and stand beside this trash can and wait for me. I’m going to go over to a booth that’s selling hats and scarves to see what they have. So, if you don’t see me right away, just stay here. I’ll be right back. Do you understand?” Charlie understood perfectly. He’d just been assigned wet nurse duties with his kid brother, a task he loathed. When Seth finished his business in the restroom, the two returned to the designated trash can and stood watch, waiting for their mother. They waited and waited, as the milling throngs passed by. Little Seth began to worry.

  “Where’s Mom? Why isn’t she here?” Seth asked.

  “I don’t know. She just told us to stay here. So, that’s what I’m doing,” Charlie grumbled.

  “Maybe we should go find her?” Seth suggested. That gave Charlie a devious idea.

  “Well, if you want to go look for her, go ahead, but I’m staying here.”

  “Where did she go?” Seth asked. Charlie pointed to the long row of merchandise booths that lined the midway.

  “She went down there somewhere.”

  “Ok, I’m going to go see if I can find her,” Seth said bravely.

  “Go ahead,” Charlie said. Seth turned and disappeared into the ocean of humanity. Charlie grinned with mischievous delight.

  “He is going to get into so much trouble for disobeying Mom,” Charlie thought. “And I’m going to be rewarded for doing what I was told. I might even get a big cotton candy.”

  About ten minutes later Charlie’s Mom arrived, delighted to see Charlie standing beside the trash can, as requested.

  “Charlie you are such a good boy for doing what I asked. Where’s Seth?”

  “He went looking for you,” Charlie said.

  “He what?” Charlie’s Mom gasped in horror. “And you let him go?” Suddenly Charlie’s ingenious plan self-imploded. His mom’s eyes frantically scanned the immediate area for any sign of Seth.

  “How could you do that?” She said.

  “I told him that you told us to stay here, but he wouldn’t listen,” Charlie said in his own defense.

  “You just stay here, I’m going to look for him,” his Mom said. Charlie stood in the hot sun for another 15 minutes, while his mother made a wide sweep of the fair ground. She returned with a carnival employee, describing Seth’s hair color and clothes.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am, were going to find him,” the young attendant said. “You’ll need to go to the lost and found tent and wait for us. We’ll bring him there.”

  The next three hours felt like a life sentence to Charlie, stuck in a cramped tent when he should be riding the Ferris wheel. He resented all the loving attention flowing to Seth, who seemed to Charlie the villain of the story. He didn’t really expect Seth to be captured by gypsies and sold into slavery, he just wanted to be rid of babysitting duties.

  “Don’t you leave this tent,” his mother commanded. “I’ve got to go tell your father what’s happening.” Now Charlie knew he was in deep doo-doo for sure. His mother’s disapproval was one thing, but suffering the reproof of his father send a stab to his heart, and forced him to rethink life’s priorities. Long about dinner time Mom, Dad, and little Seth all returned to the Lost and Found Tent to collect Charlie.

  “I think we’ve seen enough of the county fair for one day,” his father said. “Let’s head for home.” Charlie felt the weight of ruining the day for everyone. He sat in tortured silence the entire ride home, staring out the car window in quiet agony, imagining his fate at the hands of his father once they got home. When they pulled in the driveway, Charlie’s mother took Seth inside to get him ready for bed.

  “Charlie, let’s you and I sit on the front porch swing,” his father said. They got comfortable and sat still for a moment as Charlie’s father gathered his thoughts.

  “You know, when I was about your age,” his father said, “I was itchin’ to be treated like a grown-up, so I could stay up late, come and go as I pleased, and not have everybody tellin’ me what to do. So, I’ll bet you probably feel the same way.” Charlie did not reply, but deep down he agreed.

  “So, one day I asked my dad. I said, ‘Dad, when will I be a grown-up?’ And his answer stuck with me forever. He said, ‘You’ll know you are grown-up when you do what you’re supposed to do, even when no one is looking.’ ” He paused to let that concept sink in to Charlie’s head, then he continued. “You see, out here in the west, before it got overly civilized, there wasn’t anybody around to make sure you behaved. Lawmen were few, and folks who lived in the wide-open spaces had to make up their own rules to live by. Eventually those rules came to be known as the code of the west. You ever heard of that before?”

  “Yeah, I heard of it, but I never knew what they were. Was it kinda like the ten commandments we learned in Sunday school?” Charlie said.

  “Kinda,” his Dad said. “The Good Book is full of rules to live by. But the reason I bring this up is that one of those codes of the west requires that we look after the weak among us – and that not only includes those that are older than us, but also those that are younger than us.” Charlie suddenly felt the full sting of his transgression. Rather than protecting his little brother, he turned him loose into the wild of humanity. “You understand what I’m sayin’?” his Dad said. Charlie just lowered his head in shame and nodded.

  “That’ll be all,” his Dad said. “Now get yourself ready for bed.” For an instant, Charlie thought he was home free with just a mild scolding.

  “Oh, and Charlie,” his dad added. “Tomorrow I want you to weed all the hedge row fences before lunch. That’ll give you time to think about the code of the west.”

  Now, lying in his Navy bunk, Charlie recalled the gentle chastening from his father compared to the harsh sentence of expulsion he imposed on his own subordinate. At the officers’ mess, Charlie spotted Lt. j.g. Lynwood in the chow line, and waved him down. The two stepped into the hallway.

  “Lieutenant, I’ve given some thought to my outburst in the locker room – that’s the only way I can describe it. I landed on you pretty hard and I believe I was out of line. I’m just dog-tired and bone weary. So, just forget what I said earlier. I need you on the team.” Charlie extended his hand to shake. “No hard feelings?” Lt.j.g. Lynwood smiled and shook hands.

  “We’re good, Commander.”

  After dinner, Charlie sat at his desk and realized he had not requested leave for over 18 months and was due a full seven days if he chose Hawaii for R&R. He put in the request to his CO, who cornered him in the hallway a few days later.

  “Lieutenant,” the CO said, “You’ve been approved for seven days shore leave in Hawaii.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Charlie said.

  “There’s a C-2 Greyhound leaving the ship this afternoon for Honolulu – be on it. When you arrive, check in at Fort Derussey for your quarters. We’ll see you back here in a week.” Charlie saluted.

  “I will, sir. And thank you.”

  Chapter 2

  Billings, Montana 2021

  Phil Branson, the Executive Director and part owner of The Sanctuary, eyed his wristwatch as he took a sip of coffee – 7:30 a.m. He set the empty mug on the counter. The mug read “Rangeland” the name of the new TV series that Annie Belmont, his fiancée, starred in. The show premiered in September with 20 episodes in Season One. Principal shooting began in May, and by the
end of September they were ready to shoot the season finale, which would air in December. It called for more exterior shots than usual, weather permitting. Otherwise, they secured alternate sites in New Mexico and Texas to impersonate Montana. This year the weatherman cooperated, with only a few scattered snow flurries that left patches of white at the lower elevations.

  Phil locked the front door to his three-bedroom ranch house four miles east of Billings, on his way to work. It had only been a year since The Sanctuary made headlines around the country, when Phil thwarted an assassination attempt on one of his retirement center residents from a vengeful New York City crime family.

  Just as he turned the ignition key, his cell phone rang. He checked the screen to identify the caller, then smiled and pressed “TALK”.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “When did you get up?”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” Annie said. “I had to get to makeup before sunrise. I think I left around 5:00.”

  “I’ll be glad when this first season is over. I miss having breakfast with you,” Phil said.

  “Are you coming today? We’re shooting the big stampede scene,” Annie said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Phil said. “See you soon.” Phil logged off and sighed. He put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. He loved Annie dearly, with an urgency matched only by his first wife, whose death in an untimely car wreck crushed his reason to live. Now, fifteen years later, Annie mended his battered heart, and gave his life new meaning. Even then, he nearly lost her to the clutches of Hollywood when she snagged the leading female role in the new modern western TV series called “Rangeland”. Fortunately, the production company moved the show’s setting to Montana rather than Wyoming, which gave their romance a chance to take root and grow.

  He hesitated popping the matrimonial question too soon. Hollywood marriages are so damned fragile, he thought. Better to ride out the first season, then assess. Sure enough, the first few months took a toll on their romance. Endless media interviews, meet-and-greet cocktail parties, contract negotiations, script delays, creative disputes, budget feuds, and squabbling between the production company and studio heads all threatened to derail the show before it could get the pilot episode in the can. Phil saw no reason to throw a wedding proposal into the mix, like tossing a pipe wrench into a machine already sputtering.