The Unsolved Hijacking of Flight 305: How Justice Was Denied

Copyright © 2013 by Burt H. Slaughter.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4931-2996-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4931-2995-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Special thanks to Felix Heilmann, photographer extraordinaire, of Berlin, Germany, for the great photo of the Boeing 727-100 on the front cover.

Except for Chapter 16, this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 12/21/2013

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Contents

FOREWORD AND DISCLAIMER

Chapter 1:       Saturday, June 17, 1970, Near Spanaway, Washington

Chapter 2:       The Past History

Chapter 3:       Back to the Present—June 17th, 1970

Chapter 4:       Puyallup, WA. Friday, June 16, 1970 (one day earlier)

Chapter 5:       Spanaway, WA., Monday, June 19. 1970

Chapter 6:       A New Beginning

Chapter 7:       Meeting Melita

Chapter 8:       A New Line of Work

Chapter 9:       Falling in Love—The Motivation

Chapter 10:       Deportation

Chapter 11:       The Airplane

Chapter 12:       Flight to Texas

Chapter 13:       Tragedy in Ciudad Juarez

Chapter 14:       The Need for Money

Chapter 15:       Planning and Preparation

Chapter 16:       The Hijacking of Flight 305

Chapter 17:       The Search, Seattle Washington, November 24, 1971

Chapter 18:       U. S. Border Patrol, Fabens, Texas, November 25, 1971

Chapter 19:       The Chihuahua Cartel South of Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico November 25, 1971

Chapter 20:       The Escape, November 24, 1971

Chapter 21:       The Plane Crash

Chapter 22:       Pact with El Diablo

Chapter 23:       The Drug Destination

Chapter 24:       Maria’s Death

Chapter 25:       The First Delivery

Chapter 26:       The Payments

Chapter 27:       The Source

Chapter 28:       More Payments

Chapter 29:       The Love

Chapter 30:       Preparations for Monterrey

Chapter 31:       Making an Ally

Chapter 32:       Borrowing an Airplane

Chapter 33:       The Trip to Monterrey

Chapter 34:       The Hospital Stay

Chapter 35:       Back in Ciudad Juarez

Chapter 36:       The Search Continues

Chapter 37:       United States Border Patrol, Fabens, Texas December 30, 1971

Chapter 38:       The Plan for Redemption

Chapter 39:       The Bust

Chapter 40:       Welcome to Texas

Chapter 41:       A New Beginning

Chapter 42:       Seeking Revenge

Chapter 43:       Preparations for the Wedding

Chapter 44:       Finding Danny

Chapter 45:       The Last Man Standing, De Leon, Tuesday

Chapter 46:       The Wedding

Chapter 47:       The Final Chapter

Author’s Biography

Author’s Request

Preview: THE KISS OF DEATH

With acknowledgment and thanks for the encouragement, editing,

and proof-reading to the wonderful ladies in my life:

My wife Laura, and my daughters

Melissa, Marcy, and Julie

FOREWORD

AND DISCLAIMER

Except for Chapter 16, this book is a work of fiction. Any similarities (other than Chapter 16) to actual persons (living or dead), places and/or events are entirely coincidental and a figment of the author’s imagination. There are some locations mentioned which exist, and now and then, you may find a nugget of truth in the text, but don’t hold that against me.

In Chapter 16, I have attempted to tell the basic story as factually accurate as possible while taking a little literary license to fill in the blanks.

The details of the hijacking of Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 305 by a man who came to be known as D. B. Cooper on that fateful day, November 24, 1971, are presented by Wikipedia and other reliable news sources, eg., CBS NEWS, ABC NEWS, and others. In their article (taken from the Wikipedia website June 1, 2012) Wikipedia references a great number of other sources of information. Most of the information contained therein is undoubtedly reasonably accurate. It should go, without saying, however, that one should not assume that everything you read is, in fact, true.

It is my belief that some honest errors may have been made in the extrapolations and calculations about when (and therefore where) D. B. Cooper exited the Boeing 727-100 on that stormy night. Having some experience as an aircraft pilot myself gives me reason to believe the area where the authorities were searching may not have been anywhere near his actual landing site.

Any normal person might ask: Who was D. B. Cooper? What was he like? What caused him to risk his life for $200,000? Did he really survive the jump from the aircraft? If he died in the jump, why wasn’t his body or the parachute ever found? If he did survive, how did he manage to escape? Where did he go to? Why was only a small portion of the money ever found?

So many unanswered questions are partially responsible for the decision to write this book.

What follows is, I believe, a plausible story, and I hope an entertaining read!

Enjoy!

Burt H. Slaughter

Chapter 1

Saturday, June 17, 1970,

Near Spanaway, Washington

Dan Wilson, slightly stooped from his full height of five feet, eleven inches, stood gripping the overhead support strap that encircled the belly of the metallic beast. His weight had been recorded by the jump master’s ground assistant as 180 pounds. To prevent overloading and balance issues, all jumpers, along with their gear, were required to be weighed.

One hundred eighty pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal, that’s what Claire, his ex-wife, had called him during their first pillow talk. His muscles were chiseled from the tortuous training received while in the military and he had worked at staying fit. His brown hair kept short, almost military style, complimented his brown eyes and dimpled chin. He kept his eyes on the jump master, along with the other 19 eagle wanna-bes, for a sign that jump time was near. Some of the jumpers nearby fidgeted in nervous anticipation.

Each jumper wore two parachutes; the main ’chute on their backs, the reserve on the front. They all stood together, holding the support straps which dangled from the overhead with one hand, like they were all riding the subway. These two packs they wore were the difference between life and death. Most of the jumpers had packed their own ’chutes. Some were trusting enough to allow others to pack it for them. Danny always packed his own.

Danny thought about the jumpers. Most were in their late twenties or early thirties. A few were women. He had noticed how the women seem to fit into a particular type: the masculine type who wouldn’t take any shit from anybody. They were packed in here now like sardines, thought Danny, separated only by the bulges in front and backs. The main entry door had been removed as part of the modification, which allowed considerable fresh air to enter the cabin, along with the noise.

The jump plane was an old converted military C-47 affectionately known as the Gooney Bird. Because it had a history of being one of the most stable, reliable, and economical aircraft available, this particular old military aircraft had been modified to become a jump plane. The passenger seats in the main cabin had all been removed to allow room for the jumpers and their gear. The main door had also been removed to allow easy entrance on the ground and easy exit while in the air.

They were now climbing in a lazy turn, circling over the drop zone and nearing the jump altitude of 10,000 feet ASL (above sea level). The temperature at the jump altitude was near freezing, about 38 degrees Fahrenheit. Dan slipped on his gloves and got ready to jump out into the freezing cold. He loved parachuting almost as much as he loved flying small planes. In fact, he loved everything about flying… . always had, ever since he was a little boy. He liked night flying as well or better, than daytime, when all the scattered lights looked like stars.

What he didn’t like was the noise in this place and mentally kicked himself for forgetting his ear plugs. He wondered to himself, jeez! . . . are those pistons swapping holes up there? And the turbulence! Damn! Between the ninety miles per hour blasts of cold air and the overall noise from this bucket of bolts, he could hardly hear himself think!

He said to himself, with this wind it’s a good thing nobody’s wearin’ a wig! It’d be a goner, for sure! Prob’ly look like a flying squirrel! He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

Suddenly, the jump master shouted, TWO MINUTES! LAST CHECK! HAVE YOUR RIGHT HAND ON THE RIP CORD FOR YOUR MAIN ’CHUTE, OR THE LEFT, IF YOU’RE A LEFTY, AND BE SURE YOU CAN REACH THE CORD ON YOUR RESERVE ’CHUTE. AFTER YOU HAVE CLEARED THE DOORWAY, COUNT TO 5! DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT PULL THE CORD UNTIL YOU HAVE REACHED 5! UNDERSTOOD!? Most everyone gave an affirmative sign like a thumbs up, or a YEP or OK.

Showing his somewhat perverse sense of humor he yelled, "BREAK A LEG!" Retracting his statement quickly he shouted,

SORRY. THAT’S ONLY GOOD IN SHOW BUSINESS. GOOD LUCK, AND I’LL SEE YOU ON THE GROUND!

The last minute instructions having been given it was time to go. One by one, the jump master herded the jumpers to the doorway. After a 2-second safety delay, each jumper received a slap on the shoulder indicating the time to jump.

Dan reached up, pulled his goggles down over his eyes, adjusted them for maximum comfort and was ready to go. While inching toward the exit point, a fleeting memory of his paratrooper training flooded his consciousness. He began to feel the familiar rush of adrenaline now coursing through every fiber of his being. He was on a natural high. A slap on the shoulder brought him back to the present. He swallowed hard and without hesitation leaped out into bright sunlight and the cold emptiness of space.

He shot through the slipstream and quickly stabilized himself by extending his arms and legs. Being an experienced jumper with 61 jumps to his credit, Dan wanted to stay in free-fall longer than some of the others. This was the time when he sometimes wished he’d been born with feathers.

At an altitude of 5,000 feet, Dan pulled the ripcord for the main ’chute. The drogue ’chute came out and with it the main ’chute… . but something was wrong! The shroud lines were tangled and wouldn’t allow the main canopy to catch air. He was twisting and turning and falling fast… . way too fast! The ground was coming up to meet him!

His descent rate had slowed a little, but he was scared… really scared… for the first time in a long time. The twisting and turning caused by the malfunctioning ’chute made it difficult to grasp the cord on his reserve. He almost panicked. But he knew if he did not keep a clear head he could wind up like a bug on a windshield. Thankfully, his training kicked in. He knew he had to jettison the main ’chute before he could deploy the reserve. He did so after a quick prayer his reserve would do its job. He was staring death in the face when at 1,200 feet, he pulled the ripcord on the reserve ’chute. It blossomed at about 500 feet and Dan breathed a small prayer of thanks.

He had once again defeated the grim reaper.

He hit the ground with bent knees and rolled to a halt in the tall weeds. He rose from the grass and although his knees felt a little like rubber, he never felt so alive.

Steadying himself from the landing, he rolled up his reserve parachute into a ball and sat on it to wait for the jump master’s ground assistant to pick him up and deliver him to his car parked near the landing zone. After his pulse had returned to normal, he thought about the defective parachute which had almost cost him his life. He thought to himself, I’d fire the SOB that packed that ’chute, . . . . ’cept it was me! Last time I’ll do that after I’ve had a few beers! Packing parachutes while you’re buzzed can lead to a dead end . . . . literally!

After making arrangements with the ground assistant to pick up his main parachute later, he placed the reserve ’chute in the passenger seat of his old 1960 Ford pickup and headed for home.

Chapter 2

The Past History

Home was a rented garage apartment a few blocks from the Spanaway Airport, about 10 miles south of Tacoma, Washington. Conveniently, this was where the old gooney bird was based.

A few houses down and one street over was the home where he was born and raised. After going through a somewhat bitter divorce from Claire, his wife of nine years, he had moved back to the neighborhood to be near his ailing parents. He would be close enough to help out but no way could he live under the same roof with them… . that was a no-go. Since having left home, he valued his independence too much for compromise.

Daniel James Wilson was born March 20th, 1933. The son and only child of Joseph and Julia Wilson, he often wished for a brother or sister to play with, but it didn’t happen. His mom didn’t work when he was very young. She returned to the workplace as a physical therapist when Dan was about 10 years old. His mom felt he was old enough to not need a babysitter and, consequently, was gone a lot when she started working, so Dan was alone quite often. As a result he became an introvert… . a loner, as he would later be described. He was also a stubborn kid… . determined to succeed. Some said he suffered from OCD, (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). Especially adept at solving problems… there were no problems, only challenges, and he excelled at almost everything.

Growing up around airplanes as he did, flying became as natural as breathing. He soloed at 15, got his private license at 16, his instrument rating at 18, and his teaching certification at 19. Shortly after his 20th birthday, much to the chagrin of his father, he enlisted in the U. S. Army. After completing his basic training, he was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia, for his paratrooper training. Parachuting into rough terrain, along with surviving in the wilderness was part of the training regimen and would later be the difference between living and dying.

As far back as he could recall his father had been an A & P (Airframe and Powerplant) mechanic for an FBO (Fixed Base Operator) at the Spanaway Airport just blocks away. To say his relationship with his father was strained would have been an understatement. His father was unhappy with some of the choices he’d made, not the least being that of joining the Army paratroopers.

Don’t be stupid! Join the Air Force!, he had bellowed.

Sorry Dad, but it’s my life. Besides, I think jumpin’ out of airplanes would be a blast! I’m not giving up flying. I’ll get back to that after I get out of the service, Dan had calmly replied. And besides, I only enlisted for two years.

His mom had been supportive, so his dad had finally dropped the subject.

Near the end of his training, on jump number 40, he landed roughly and the result was a broken left arm. He was washed out of the U. S. Army 82nd Airborne Division with a Medical Discharge on June 28th, 1953. The welcome mat was out when he returned home where he stayed until his arm was completely healed.

After his discharge, he had but a short time to get enrolled at the local Community College. With a little persuasion from his mom, Danny, as she usually called him, signed up for a few basic classes; English, Algebra, etc.—just requirements to get out of the way before finishing at a major university… . didn’t have a major picked out yet—he’d decide that later.

It was at the school where Danny had met Claire. They had dated for about two years when Claire decided to go to UCLA to take the pre-requisite courses for Med School there. Her plan was to become an OBGYN like her mother.

Well, Danny got tired of sittin’ on his butt in class and wanted to get his hands dirty, so he enrolled in a nearby school that offered A & P mechanic certification. In the allotted time, certification was earned and he was content to work on, and fly, and occasionally jump out of airplanes.

The on-again, off-again long distance romance with Claire continued and in the spring of 1958 they were married in a small ceremony at a little church in Puyallup, about 12 miles away, where her parents lived. It was a beautiful ceremony with tears of joy all around.

Claire had finished Med School and had found an opening at the local hospital. Danny was working as an A & P mechanic for a charter flying service at the Spanaway Airport.

Life was good for about five years… . then the arguments and fighting began… . usually over money—Claire was beginning to make big bucks, and Danny was spending it all on flying and skydiving, or so Claire felt.

The other arguments were usually about sex. Claire seemed to be always gone or, if she was home she was too tired, or she had a headache, or she just wasn’t in the mood. And when they did go to bed without immediately falling asleep, her heart just wasn’t in it. For her, sex was a duty, not an expression of love. Or so Danny felt, and so they slowly began to drift apart. Danny believed that Claire loved him in her own special way, but both of them were beginning to feel dissatisfied, hollow, and asking, is that all there is?

They hung on for four more years, going through the motions of living together, finding small satisfactions in their own individual endeavors and persona relationships. After counseling failed, they both accepted what they already knew. At least for Claire, the spark had gone out. It was over. Claire filed for, and was granted, an uncontested divorce on the grounds of mutual incompatibility.

Chapter 3

Back to the Present—June 17th, 1970

Dan pulled into the driveway and then off to the side of the apartment and parked next to the stairway. Mrs. Conner, the owner of the apartment, was pulling weeds from her flowerbed. She looked up as Danny approached the first step carrying his rolled-up parachute.

Hi, Danny! Looks like you’ve had your head in the clouds again.

Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to plead guilty He said See you later, gave a little wave and quickly climbed the stairs. He didn’t mention the problem with the ’chute… . didn’t want her to worry. She had been like a second mother to him since his own mother had passed away about a year ago. His dad had died about two months later… the doctors had said it was from the cancer he had been fighting. Danny knew better… . he knew without a doubt it was from a broken heart.

So now Mrs. Conner. a woman of some grace and beauty, was about his only friend. She’d bring him fresh apple pies from her oven occasionally, or maybe some left-over pot roast. She had been divorced for several years and Danny could tell, she was getting very lonely. He felt something for her but not in a romantic way. Just empathy from being alone, he suspected. At any rate, he didn’t want to encourage her, or take advantage of their friendship in her time of distress.

He was very thankful she had agreed to rent the apartment over her garage on a month-to-month basis. He had moved back here after his divorce finalized in the autumn of 1967. The divorce decree provided a very small nest-egg from the net balance of the estate after the lawyers and the bill collectors came swooping in. Of course, the small equity in the home he had inherited from his parents should add to his nest egg, once it sold. It had been listed with a Realtor for about six months now. After his folks had passed away it took Danny about four months to do all the little things that needed to be done to make it marketable. He already had plans for that money… . he wanted to start his own Flight Training School!

Once inside the apartment, he dropped the ’chute in an out-of-the-way corner and ambled over to the refrigerator. He pulled out a beer, popped the top, plopped down on his old worn sofa, took a long cold swig, and slipped off his shoes. He sat there, allowing the tiredness to ooze from his pores until his beer was almost finished. He thought about having another, but then said to himself "NO! No more suds for you tonight. You have other things to do!"

He was a little distressed that the old home-place had not already sold. Of course, he knew with the housing market being depressed and all, it might take several months. The Realtor had told him that… . but still he was getting a little impatient.

It was only 4:00 PM. The Realtor should be available, Danny thought as he dialed the number from her business card. She picked up on the third ring.

Hi! Susan Baily here. How may I help you? she replied in a perky sweet voice.

Hey, Susan. Dan Wilson—wanted to ask you about the home you listed for me over on Maple Street

Okay, sure. What can I tell you?

Things seem awful slow. Do you have any showings scheduled? Danny asked.

"No, I’m sorry Dan, It is really slow right now. I’ll tell you, though, most homes sell quicker if they’re lived in. You know, it gives them that homey feel. Have you given any thought to moving back into the home until we get a contract?"

Hadn’t thought about it, but I guess I could. I’d probably have to find me a cleaning lady to keep the place dusted. You know, the place is much bigger than one person needs and I’m a lousy housekeeper. Do you know anybody you can recommend?

I’m sure we can help you with that, Dan. Let me check my records and I’ll call you Monday. Hang tight! Things should start picking up soon. Have a good weekend, Susan replied.

Danny thanked her and hung up the phone.

The one bedroom apartment was extremely plain and simple with almost no furniture. There was only a queen sized bed, one nightstand with table lamp, a recliner, a 25 inch RCA TV and a small table with two matching chairs between the sleeping area and the kitchenette. Of course, there was also a small adjoining bathroom and a closet that was about 4' X 5'. The window curtains were of a floral motif with varying size roses against a light cream-colored background. All in all, it was presentable enough for Danny to have female company without being too embarrassed.

This austerity suited Danny just fine. He had decided, at least for the time being, to live light, to not put down roots, so he could pick up and go in a flash, like a leaf in the wind, if he so desired.

Moving back into the home where his parents had lived was not something Danny was real happy about—too many bittersweet memories he’d just as soon keep buried. Too many lonely hours, too many days spent entertaining himself. But moving back to the home-place was something he could do to try to make things happen, rather than just waiting for fate and circumstance to decide his future. So the decision was made. He would move back to the old place, temporarily.

First, he gave Mrs. Conner the required 30-day notice. Then he contacted a local moving company which also happened to have a rental division that specialized in staging a home to maximize its sales potential. They agreed to move his few things the following Wednesday and make an assessment about what furniture was needed for making his home more salable.

Those arrangements having been made, Danny decided to call it a day. He headed for the shower and then straight to bed.

The sun was high overhead and streaming in the windows by the time Danny had one eye open. He lay there, willing his body to move, first wiggling his toes, then his feet, then his legs, and finally flexing his hands and arms. By the time he was finished, he had both eyes open enough to stumble into the kitchen and put on the coffee pot.

He had not slept well last night. Dreams of Claire and the failed marriage had infected his subconscious and occasionally had caused him bouts of depression. He often wondered if Claire was interested in someone else. She never admitted it, but all the signs were there. He wondered if there was anything he could have done differently to make her happy. In retrospect, having no children had been a good thing, although Danny would have liked to have had kids. Claire had wanted a career more, so she kept putting it off.

Nothing much was planned for today and he was not scheduled to work tomorrow, so Danny decided to update his resume, just in case finding another job was necessary.

The company he worked for had just lost a big contract with a Fortune 500 company, ferrying their executives around the country, so he was almost sure he would be laid off.

Chapter 4

Puyallup, WA. Friday, June 16, 1970

(one day earlier)

Melita De la Cruz, age 29, wiped the sweat from her brow as she finished mopping the floor in the master bathroom of a huge four-bedroom house. She could feel a trickle of sweat creeping down between her ample breasts, and she was sure her deodorant had played out long ago. She felt like all 130 lbs of her was one tired muscle. Her dark eyes were somewhere between brown and black and the shoulder-length raven hair had been gathered into a pony-tail. Her skin was a creamy, dreamy, tan, free of any kind of blemishes. By anyone’s standards, she was a knock-out. But now, with an unconsciously furrowed brow, she just felt wiped-out.

It was 7:00 PM and she was almost finished cleaning her second house for the day.

Time was not terribly important to Melita as she had no place to go, no place to be—just back to the little apartment she shared with her parents, Jose’ and Maria. She was going through the motions of the daily mundane tasks with her body on autopilot but her thoughts were of her parents. She wanted to see them have a better life, but that took a lot of money… money she didn’t have. She was working hard to help them as much as she could. If only there were brothers and sisters to help out… but there weren’t any.

At an early age, she had begun working with her parents in the fields to harvest the vegetables and fruit. Melita had never married but there were suitors, and shortly after her eighteenth birthday at a party she had been persuaded by a dashing young man to take a stroll away from the crowd. The moon was bright and with so much romance in the air, she had become pregnant. Two months later through some fluke of nature, she miscarried. She was devastated but eventually she recovered from the emotional storm that had been raging within. She decided after then to not give her heart to anyone and devote her life to her parents.

She arrived home, greeted her momma and papa, ate a little of the tortilla soup her mother had prepared for dinner, took a quick shower and then went to bed. Every muscle was so tired. While she lay there, waiting for sleep to ease the burden of a bone-weary body and a heavy heart, she thought about the great hardships her parents had faced. She remembered the story of how they had crossed the Rio Grande (big river) years before she had been born. Her dad swam across while pushing her mom, riding on an old used inner tube from a truck tire. She’d heard tales of how they eluded the U. S. Border Patrol and finally made their way to central California where there were plenty of jobs on the farms around Salinas.

Like so many others before them, Melita’s parents had come to the United States to find work, and a better way of life. There simply weren’t any jobs around the poor little ranching area of Chihuahua just south of Ciudad Juarez in northeastern Mexico where they had grown up. They wanted their children, if they had any, to be born in the land of opportunity: the United States of America!

And so they had found a coyote to help them get across the border. Like the hundreds of thousands of others over the years, they came to forge a new life in the land of the Americanos, where all things were possible.

Melita lived in constant fear that her parents would one day be deported back to Mexico because they had no papers… no legal right to be here. She knew it and cried herself to sleep that night, as she had done so many nights before. Her heart ached and she longed to do more for the ones who had sacrificed so much for her.

Jose’s cousin Miguel had followed the crops north, was now living near Puyallup, WA. and found work as an auto mechanic. In 1965, he told Jose’ about the need for a janitor at a small hotel in town. So Jose’, Maria, and Melita moved to Puyallup, and Jose’ was hired