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Mystery Lights of Navajo Mesa

1994, 2021 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.

A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188

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All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise marked, are from The ESV Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version), copyright 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

The characters and events in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

Cover design by Mike Harrigan

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ISBN 978-1-64607-051-0

Build: 2022-01-19 10:31:06 EPUB 3.0

Ambrosia, Arizona1994

T WELVE-YEAR-OLD M IKE F OWLER sat in the pilots seat of the old B-17 bomber and heard the rattle of machine-gun fire as bullets zipped by the cockpit. Turning sharply to peer over his shoulder down the interior of the plane, Mike watched as his best friend, Ben Jones, maneuvered his weapon in the waist-gunner position.

A voice that sounded like movie star John Waynes warned, Eighteen Mitzi attack bombers three points to your right about fifteen thousand altitude!

Mike saw Ben swing the twin machine guns to intercept incoming fighters. He heard a loud banging on the fuselage.

Mike! Were hit! Ben yelped. They blew our left wing off!

Mike concentrated on controlling the bucking B-17. He shouted at Ben, No, they didnt blow our wing off! The plane cant fly if the wing is OFF! If they blew our wing off, were going to die five minutes into the movie and thats it!

Ben paused to think it over. Oh... oh yeah.

Mike reached behind him and turned up the volume on the combination TV/VCR that was playing the John Wayne movie Flying Tigers.

Dont try to win this war all by yourself, Wayne said. Stick close to element formation... DING HOW!

Ding how! Mike shouted.

Ben responded with the same phrase, and both boys returned to their mock battle, the movie providing the sound effects. The banging continued on the outside of the plane. Then Mike heard the voice of his Navajo friend Wynona Whitefeather.

Hey! Let me in! she shouted. Come on, you guys! Mike Fowler! Ben Jones! You open up or Ill...

Mike and Ben chose to ignore her until the battle was over, then both turned to watch the screen as John Wayne exited his plane.

Winnie was still yelling: Come on, guys! Let me in!

Mike and Ben looked at each other and shouted in unison, Wynona! Ben ran down the length of the fuselage to let her in.

Why didnt you let me in? she yelled at Ben. Ive been knocking out there forever!

Gee, Winnie, Ben said innocently, I guess we didnt hear you.

Dont gimme that, you overgrown sack of pork rinds!

Ben stepped back and looked to his pilot friend for help. Honest. Huh, Mike? We thought you were enemy flack or somethin, didnt we, Mike?

Nope, Mike said, and Ben sank into a chair when his alibi disappeared. But you were late, Winnie, so we started without you.

Winnie accepted Mikes explanation with a shrug.

You didnt think wed open the hatch at fifteen thousand feet, did you? Ben asked.

Mind your own business, Ben. Winnie stomped her foot down.

Ben thought she was going to hit him, and he jumped, almost knocking over the chair.

Just then there was another knock on the outside of the plane. The Navajo girl turned and opened the hatch. Hey, Spence. Come on in!

Spencer Martin entered the plane and headed straight for the radio operators table and started tinkering. Hed been set on fixing the old radio ever since the first time hed been aboard the Lady Liberty. It was proving to be a difficult task.

Mikes grandfather, Pop Fowler, had flown the Flying Fortress bomber in World War II. In the fifties, Pop had bought the old plane. It had been Mikes dads clubhouse when he was a kid, but in recent years, Pop had restored the Lady Liberty from nose to tail. When Pop wasnt working on the plane or flying it, Mike, Ben, Winnie, and Spence used it as the headquarters for their detective agency. They called themselves the Last Chance Detectives.

Any good cases today? Mike asked, taking his usual place in the cockpit.

Winnie, very businesslike, opened her leather-bound notebook and reviewed her notes.

Mike glanced outside just in time to see the sheriffs patrol truck pull up on the airfield. It stopped next to the twin-engine Beechcraft, which Mikes grandfather had just finished fueling.

Sheriff Smitty had lived in Ambrosia all his life. Everyone in the town knew him. He was a big man, middle-aged and graying. Though he had no children, he thought of the Last Chance Detectives as his own and was very close to the Fowler family. This closeness explained why he felt he could ask Pop Fowler for a big favor.

Smitty shut off the engine of his truck. He straightened his uniform, brushing off some flecks of dark red dust, and headed for the door of the hangar.

Pop Fowler met him halfway. How are you, Smitty? Pop asked with a smile in his voice. Mike could hear Pops voice drifting up through the open window of the B-17.

Oh, Im doin okay, Smitty replied, chewing his gum.

Long before, Pop and others had figured out that Smitty always chewed gum when he was thinking, and the harder he chewed, the deeper were the thoughts. Right now the sheriffs jaw was working rapidly.

Well, come on over to the diner, Pop invited, and Ill get you something.

Smitty declined the suggestion. Im sorry, Pop. Strictly business today. Come to ask you a favor.

Anything... except loan you money. Pop chuckled at his own humor. The lines on Pops wrinkled forehead crinkled beneath his white hair.

Naw, nothing like that. I need you to run me up in the Liberty. Ive come into some business that I cant take care of on the ground.

Thats no problem, Pop said eagerly. You know Im always lookin for an excuse to fly er.

All right then, Smitty said, Id like to get crackin ASAP, but I cant explain more nowsorry.

Mike heard Pop call him.

Hey, guys, Pop said as he appeared standing in the hatch, visible from the waist up, Ive got to take Smitty up in the plane, but well be back in about an hour. You can have the clubhouse back then.