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41.
The drive to Borrego was a pleasant one, and ran through a cross-section of San Diego County's varied landscape. Both Cleve and Linsey were long-time County residents with back-East roots. No matter how long she lived here, she thought, she'd never cease to marvel at the place with its various micro-climates—most areas containing high, arid mesas and sharply dropping, winding canyons filled with brush, palms, and trees—oak, eucalyptus, manzanita, and many more species. Linsey told Cleve as much about the Anaconda matter as possible. She held back a bit, because rightfully she should first discuss it as a top secret matter with Louise. No matter what Jack wrote or to whom he blabbed, she must cover her behind. So she let herself enjoy the ride quietly. Both she and Cleve were tired after a long day's work, and he wasn't too talkative at the moment.
* * * *
Horizontally, there are five major climate areas (and too many small ones to know them all). There is the arid coastal strip, about five to eight miles wide, with the mild, sunny weather for which the city is best known. Second are the inland valleys, like La Mesa and El Cajon, which are generally hotter and drier in the summer. The transition from coastal to inland, in the Mission Valley area, occurs around the 1,000 foot high Fortuna Mountains as Friars Road runs east from Mission Gorge and climbs to Golfcrest, followed by a sharp drop in to the slightly more extreme climate in Santee. Third is the mountain area, starting about an hour's drive from the coast. The mountain ranges generally run north-south. Fourth are the high deserts on the eastward slopes of the mountains, whose stony formations have that bluish tinge full of crazy shadows and twists. Further out are the low deserts, like Anza Borrego, sun-baked expanses of mostly flat, grainy sand like broken glass studded with well-spaced, hardy survivor plants. The whole region millions of years ago was the bottom of a shallow sea filled with ocean and lagoon-dwelling beasts from the dinosaur age. One of the richest areas for such fossils is right in the heart of Chula Vista, a coastal city between San Diego proper and the Mexican border.
Vertically, there are also several climate zones. One begins with the valley floors and canyons, which tend to be overgrown and sometimes even lush. The San Diego River runs the length of it, meandering west from the mountains around Julian near Borrego and Volcan Mountain to a smallish coastal delta emptying out of Mission Valley. Downtown San Diego lies on the coast, south of the coastal plains and marshes.
A second vertical tier might be the half-mile zone, like at Julian. This is a former mining town, now a touristic community about 2400 feet above sea level, whose major export are delicious home-grown and baked apple pies. Julian has four seasons, including colorful leaf changes in autumn and some snow in winter. Weather forecasts in San Diego in the winter inevitably mention 'snow levels,' and 2400 feet means snow in Julian. There is considerably more rain at this altitude than near sea level. The third and final tier is in the mountains up to just over a mile high. That includes Mount Palomar, Mount Laguna, and Mount Volcan. The climate at the one mile range is more like that of the Pacific Northwest rainforests—at least ten times that of the lowlands along the coast in a wet year.
Linsey drove a little over two hours to reach the desert area around Borrego Springs. She passed through Mission Gorge, past the rolling green hills of Mission Trails Park; crossed over the dark Fortunas with their covering of enormous caramel boulders, through the lowlands of Santee and Lakeside. She drove north on Japatul Road (Route 79), gradually climbing, and winding through tree-shaded mountain roads toward Julian. Beyond Julian, the landscape continued to be more forested, but tapering gradually into the bluish twisted fantasies of the high desert. In the next half hour or so, the twisting road took her down toward the low desert around Borrego with their sandy flatlands. Instead of going into Borrego Springs, however, she followed a complex map that Cleve managed to locate and download from the Web onto their computer display. She wished these cars had Global Positioning, but that was beyond the City's current broken budget. They followed a narrow private road about five miles through some mountain passes with oak forest on one side and steeply dropping granite and sandstone cliffs on the other. Thus, they came to a rise in the road overlooking a small valley. A gate-fence blocked the road. Signs warned No Tresspassing, and Private Property, and XenoX RainMaker R&D, a subsidiary of Anaconda Chemicals, and finally: For Sale. In keeping with the For Sale theme, the buildings below looked deserted. Loose papers blew along the rusting metal fence posts. The place had a general air of abandonment and disrepair.
"So," Cleve said as they sat unable to drive further. The rusty chain and padlock on the gate looked terminal.
"Yup," she said. "There's the airstrip." They looked out over a square mile of green grass and grayish-brown scrub in a roughly square valley. At the far end were a number of sand-colored buildings with black numbers painted on white squares. The way the buildings were numbered, they had that flavor of huge corporation. Running north-south, perpendicular to the road, was a modest macadam strip. To their right, toward the southern rim of the valley, was a hangar. The hangar had a roof but no sides, and two one-engine Cessnas filled its interior. Parked outside, with their wheels chocked and their wings tied to ground anchors, three more Cessnas. All bore the round XenoX logo with protruding legs like Saturn's rings.
She walked up to the fence and put her chin against it, between hands gripping the wire."There are the planes."
Cleve looked through binoculars. "That's got to be them. Do you know—the logos are a nice dark green, and they are back on the planes, as are the real registration numbers. Take a look."
She accepted the binoculars and looked. She saw the green logos and the real registration numbers. "If those are the planes…yes, I think I see streaks that could be where they've been repainted on the tail wings and fuselage. That's a smoking gun. Now we have the problem that, if we've been spotted, whoever is down there can be destroying evidence."
"We should boogie on out of here," Cleve said.
"I agree. We'll come back with warrants and a search team."
"Did we say spotted?" Cleve said.
"Huh?"
"Look." Cleve pointed to a white SUV laboring along the inner perimeter along the fence line. "Security."
The vehicle looked dusty, and its windows seemed opaque in this light. There was a thick layer of dried mud all around the bottom. It labored to a halt in the middle of the road.
"Let me do the talking," Linsey said. "Stand your ground."
Two security guards in khaki got out. They carried side arms and spray, along with handcuffs and night sticks. Brown baseball caps and jet-black sunglasses completed the uniform. Their badges were stainles steel squares with Anaconda Plant Police engraved in curving letters top and bottom. In the middle was a logo, a green circle with Xx in the middle. "Can we help you?" the driver said in a curiously accented and flat tone. Both men seemed to be from some foreign country. They had dark gray skin, and moved somehow just a hint stiffly. There was a curious, very faint mothball smell about them.
"Can we help you?" the driver repeated as the two neared the fence. They didn't come too close, however.
"We're sort of lost," Linsey said cheerfully. "Cool place you have here."
"What are you looking for?" the passenger guard said.
"We are," she said thinking fast, "from Animal Control. We are monitoring endangered species. Today we are counting green condors. Have you seen many around?"
The two private cops looked at each other, then at Cleve and Linsey. "We do not recognize that species," the driver said.
"That's just it," Cleve injected. "They have become so rare that you don't see them around anymore. It's a tragedy."
"Are you taking photographs?" the passenger guard said.
"Heavens, no," Linsey said. "The flash would scare them. We just try to sneak up on them, where they may be nesting…"
The driver grew louder. "There are none here. You should leave the area before there is trouble."
"Absolutely," Cleve said. "They get nervous when there are more than one or two humans around. We're just on our way back to town, and we won't bother you again."
Linsey added, waving, as they backed away to their car. "Bye now. Sorry to have bothered you."
They glared for a minute, then returned to their SUV.
Cleve took the wheel, and Linsey quickly buckled up as he wheeled the car around. She took one more sweeping look before they left. Through the binoculars, she could see exhaust vents behind the wings and along the fuselage. Probably for dropping cloud-seeding chemicals, she thought as she lowered the binocs. On a small, rusting metal sign tucked out of sight among weeds near the gate, she noticed also the address of the parent company outside of Brawley. That might be a good place to visit sometime soon.
"Hey look," Cleve said as he slowly drove away from the gate. He pointed to a row of cars. "I wonder what those are."
"Privately owned cars," Linsey said. "Pull over a minute. Let's get the license plates."
"Yeah," Cleve said, "what I find unusual is that they are all covered with dust. Around San Diego, that happens to any car that sits for a day or two, because it's basically an arid climate and there is a lot of dust in the air. You can see those cars have sat for a few days, because there are dew streaks in the dust."
"Good observation," she said, writing models, makes, and registration numbers down. For good measure, she got out and copied down the Vehicle Identification Numbers or VINs on a metal strip under the right corner of each windshield on the driver side. "If nobody works here, and these look like expensive cars, they could only belong to the guards. But the guards would park inside the plant." There were easily a dozen dirty cars in a row. "Tthey'd take their cars home each night. These cars have a lot of dirt on them as if they'd sat here a good while. "
"How many planes are there down on that strip?"
"I think I counted five. Maybe six." Cleve slapped his forehead. "The pilots! But why haven't they come back to get their cars? Why not drive home when the job was done?"
"Maybe they're dead," Linsey guessed wildly, almost petulantly. "What do I know? There is some huge mystery here, and we need to clear it up fast. Tipping our unknown opponent off by raiding this place isn't the best policy right now."
Louise Trost would have the best answer to that question once they got back to the office.
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