Mike Doogan - Lost Angel
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- Book:Lost Angel
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- Publisher:Putnam Adult
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- Year:2006
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Lost Angel: summary, description and annotation
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The icy interior of Alaska is the setting for this breathtaking first mystery from the winner of the Robert L. Fish Award for short fiction. L ost Angel is an astonishing debut novel from Mike Doogan. In the tradition of Nevada Barr and C. J. Box, Doogan explores the darker side of mans nature against the backdrop of stunning natural beauty. Moses Wright founded the Christian commune of Rejoice. The rough-and-tumble interior of Alaska may seem a strange place for such a community, but for twenty years it has served as a beacon in the wilderness. Two decades later Moses granddaughter, Faith, is the star of the younger generation. Pretty and intelligent, shes the first teenager in the town to choose to experience the outside world. When Faith disappears, the elders of Rejoice look beyond their village for help. Ex-cop Nik Kane lost his faith long ago-dissolved in a bottle. A few drinks, a dark night, and a shooting led to seven years in jail for a crime he didnt commit. Nothing can give him back his career or his family, but the search for Faith may restore his soul. By turns lyrical and hard-edged, Lost Angel is a remarkable first novel from a powerful new voice in mystery fiction.
Mike Doogan: author's other books
Who wrote Lost Angel? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
Mike Doogan
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Suellyn Wright Novak Colonel USAF RET
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist without the efforts of Pat Dougherty, Howard Weaver, and Gretchen Legler, who helped me learn the craft of writing; Dana Stabenow, who strong-armed me into writing mystery fiction; Kim Rich and Sue Henry, who helped me find the way to publication; my agent, Marcy Posner, whose suggestions made this a better book; Tom Colgan, my editor, who shepherded this book, and me, through the process with patience and humor; and, of course, my wife, Kathy, my reader and editor of first, and last, resort.
And the Lord God planted a garden, eastward in Eden....
GENESIS 2 : 8
THE SINGLE-ENGINE BUSH PLANE STAGGERED ACROSS the sky, rocking and rolling on the air currents that rose from the jumbled land below. Nik Kane clenched his teeth and cinched his seat belt even tighter.
Saint Joseph protect us, he muttered. Then he smiled. Some things we learn as children never leave us, he thought.
The pilot, who looked barely old enough to shave, gave him a pitying shake of the head.
Dont worry, Pops, the pilot shouted. These river valleys are always a roller coaster.
Kane could barely hear him over the engines clatter. They had been flying north and east from Anchorage for almost two hours, and the trip included all the things Kane hated about flying in Alaska.
The cabin heater blew gas fumes into the cockpit, which made Kane regret the bacon and eggs hed had for breakfast, but didnt raise the subarctic temperature. Kane was wearing high-tech boots, insulated coveralls, and a wool cap, and he was still cold. He had a fat Air Force- surplus fifty-below parka behind his seat, but there was no way he could put it on in the tiny cabin. Unless he shoved the pilot out of the airplane first.
The airplane banged its way through another set of air pockets, lurched sideways, then dropped like it was falling off a table, straightening out again with a jolt that set off a cacophony of shrieks and rattles. Kanes forefinger stroked the scar that ran from the corner of his left eye to his chin. Im accumulating quite a collection of nervous habits, he thought.
Thats some scar, the pilot said. Howd you get it?
Kane gave the pilot a look that made the younger man shrink back in his seat.
Cut myself shaving, he said.
Hey, I didnt mean nothing, the pilot said.
Just fly the plane, Kane said.
He used the edge of a gloved hand to scrape at the frost on the small window in the passenger door. The washed-out winter landscape below was white, with streaks and patches of brown or gray.
Looking at so much empty space made Kane feel light-headed. I got used to small spaces inside, he thought.
To the right, he could see a flat, snowy, meandering, bluff-lined track that he took to be the Copper River. A little farther along, a smaller river angled away to the left.
That the Jordan? he asked, pointing.
Yeah, the pilot said sullenly.
The pilot slouched in his seat, one hand on the yoke, like a kid cruising a low-rider down a boulevard. He had sharp features dotted with acne scars and long, curly blond hair that needed washing. He was wearing a leather jacket over a Slayer T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. He seemed not to notice the cold.
The plane gave a series of sharp shudders. Kane cursed and gripped the sides of his seat with both hands.
Easy, Pops, the pilot called. Youll give yourself a heart attack.
Heres a guy who doesnt stay down for long, Kane thought. I could strangle the little snot, but whod fly the plane?
The bouncing continued for another ten minutes, then Kane began to see clumps of lights: a small patch on one side of the Jordan River, a small patch on the other, and farther along and higher up, a blaze of bright, industrial lighting.
That would be the Pitchfork mine, Kane thought.
Even though it was not quite noon, the winter day was dark enough to make the lights stand out sharply. Kane knew that the Glenn Highway ran through one of the groups of lights, but he couldnt make it out in the dim light.
Almost there, the pilot said, sitting up and putting the small plane into a steep bank.
Three sharp gusts of wind tried to stand the airplane on its head, but the pilot got it around, around again, and lined up with an unlighted runway that had been carved out of the snow. He floated the little plane down and bounced it to a stop next to a Chevy Suburban that was idling at the side of the strip.
Rejoice, youre in Rejoice, the pilot said, killing the engine.
Kane unclamped his hands from the seat, pushed open the door, and climbed unsteadily down onto the ice and snow. It seemed warmer at ground level, so he left the parka where it was.
A man got out of the Suburban. He was taller than Kane and bundled up.
Mr. Kane? he asked, putting out a gloved hand. Im Elder Thomas Wright. His voice was soft and gentle after the engines racket.
Pleased to meet you, Kane said, shaking the gloved hand with one of his own. Their breath formed small clouds that hung in the air between them.
Wrights eyes fastened on Kanes scar, then slid away. Kane was used to that. Most people were afraid to say anything. But they all looked.
We should all get in out of the cold, Wright said. He climbed into the drivers seat. Kane got in next to him. The heater whistled and blew hot, dry air over him. The pilot sat behind. Wright turned the Suburban around and headed for some lights about a mile away.
Youre probably wondering why we asked you here, Mr. Kane, Wright said.
I am, Elder Wright, Kane said. But the fellow in the back is my charter pilot, not my partner. If you want to keep our business private, you might want to wait until were alone.
I will wait, Wright said. He looked in the rearview mirror. No offense meant to you, sir.
No problemo, the pilot said. But its lunchtime, so I was hoping to find something to eat. And I dont want to let my bird sit there in the cold too long.
Well stop at our cafeteria, Wright said. Ill arrange lunch for you. When you are finished, Ill have some of our brethren take you back to the airstrip with a canvas cover and a propane heater to keep your aircraft from freezing up.
Sweet, the pilot said. To Kane, he said, We cant take much more than an hour, or we wont have enough light to get back to Anchorage.
The road had been cut through a forest of scraggly black spruce and thin, ghostly white birch. Nothing grew tall or stout. Its like God ran out of gas here, Kane thought.
Nature is not hospitable in interior Alaska. The climate is rigorous: sixty below zero in the winter and ninety above in the summer. Not many living things can adapt to that. But the real problem is not enough water. The coastal mountains block moisture. Much of the interior is little more than high desert. Damn cold at times, but desert nonetheless.
A hodgepodge of buildings stood in clearings cut along the road: new wooden structures, ATCO construction trailers, mobile homes, even a few log cabins. Overhead electrical wires ran to most of them.
The buildings stood on a bench of land that began at the river and swept away to the north, rising gently to meet the foothills of the Alaska Range.
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