Valley Of Hope -- Chapter One

2008-7-22 05:03:00

Valley Of Hope

by Ted Dewey

Chapter One

The man behind the wheel of the old Ford glanced up at the overhead freeway sign:  TWENTY FOURTH ST., SKY HARBOUR AIRPORT. He gave a right-hand signal, then turned off the freeway.

He stole a quick glance at the briefcase lying on the seat beside him. The sudden turn had moved it close to his knee. He reached down and gave it a gentle pat. In it were all the drawings and assembly instructions of his invention.

A faint smile came to his weather-beaten face. Maybe in the near future his dream would become a reality! Ventures Unlimited, a New York corporation, was sending a man all the way to Phoenix to come and take a look. They seemed to be mighty interested in his project.

He took a swift glance at his watch -- 12:30. He would be there about a half-hour early. "A lot better than being late," he told himself.

Five minutes later he arrived at the airport, pulled into the parking lot and paid the attendant at the gate. With the briefcase tight under one arm he locked the car and headed for the main entrance.

The Arizona sun was bearing down. Although it was early in the day, the mercury had climbed well above the one hundred mark and would go much higher before the day was over. The man ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar and opened the door.

Inside the building it was much cooler. He looked around and located a sign, which read;  Eastern Airlines. He walked over to the desk and smiled down at the pretty blonde girl that was seated behind it. "Hello, my name is Henry -- Henry Bower. I am supposed to meet a man. He's coming in on Flight 127. Where do I wait?"

The girl glanced at the monitor on the wall. "You are just a bit early." She pointed at a broad flight of stairs. "Just go up there to the waiting room. All the passengers must come through there."

Henry thanked her and climbed the short stairway. There were a number of empty seats scattered about. He selected one and made himself comfortable. He then opened the briefcase and drew out a large white envelope. For a moment he set staring at the object in his hand. No need reading it again, he decided. He had memorized most every word.

According to this letter and a telegram that followed, a man by the name of Oran Thomas was due to arrive in a few minutes.

In the letter was also a description of this man. It was as follows:  Age, about 50; tall and dark. Would be wearing a cream colored jacket with a flower in the lapel.

He should have no trouble picking him out of the crowd.

Henry Bower was a man in his late sixties. The tan complexion and wrinkles around his eyes suggested that he had spent a lot of time in the hot sun. He had dark brown eyes and a slightly crooked nose. The once dark hair now snowed quite a sprinkle of white. He stood five foot, nine inches tall, and tipped the scales at 180 -- and every pound was still in its proper place.

It was only a few weeks ago that he had answered the ad that was in a section of the Sunday newspaper. In big black letters was the following. HELP SOLVE OUR ENERGY CRISIS. IF YOU HAVE ANY GOOD IDEAS, CONTACT US. Note: Not interested in atomic power.

Henry had sent in a brief description of his invention. In a few days he received an answer asking him to send more details.

At first, he had hesitated. Were these people really on the level? Maybe they were nothing more than a bunch of crooks!

He had consulted a patent attorney. To get protection through the orthodox patent procedure would cost a small fortune. He must find another way.

There seemed to be only one answer to this problem. Take a chance! After all, this company from New York just might be on the level! There are still a few honest people left in this old world.

He had sent them a copy of his drawings. Now, three weeks later, they were sending a man all the way to Phoenix to make him some sort of an offer. He would keep his fingers crossed.

His eyes wondered back to the watch on his wrist. Time sure drags when you are waiting for someone, he thought. Maybe he should slip into that cocktail lounge and enjoy a good cold beer. He would get a seat close to the window, and could keep an eye on the passengers as they came through the checking station.

He was on his second bottle of Bud when a voice came over the loud speaker. Flight 127 had just come in.

From where he was sitting, he could see everyone as they passed through the checking station. No need to leave this nice cool spot until his man arrived, he decided.

It was several minutes before the passengers came walking up the narrow ramp. Then suddenly he spotted his man. At least the description fit. He drained the almost empty beer glass, then made his way through the crowd toward the tall, dark stranger who was wearing a cream-colored jacket -- with a flower pinned to the lapel.

Henry moved up close to the man and extended his right hand. "By any chance, would you be Oran Thomas?"

The tall, dark man nodded. "Right you are. And I presume that you are Henry Bower, the man I have come to see."

The two men shook hands.

"Welcome to Arizona." Henry was all smiles. "And now that you have arrived safe and sound, where do we go from here?"

"I have a reservation at the Hilton. I suggest we go there. Do you have a car?"

Henry nodded. "It is in the parking lot. We will pick up your luggage and I will take you there."

"Good. The sooner we get started on this thing, the better."

"Suits me fine," said Henry. "We are on our way."

  

-- End Of Chapter One --