The Disappearance
By David Barth
Written November 2007, following the disappearance of the great adverturer and airman, Steve Fosset.
I think Steve's Fosset's wreck might be found, someday, under a tree or a ledge. The initial search was very
thorough, with volunteers flying, hiking, and examining satellite images, combing them for clues.
Steve was a world-class aviator. Although he was flying a light-weight, Citabria Decathalon, it was an aerobatic
aircraft, built very strong. It is nearly incomprehensible that Mother Nature could have taken his plane down.
That is why I consider that if I were a millionaire and wanted to "disappear," how would I do it? Well, I'd probably
go fly where Steve did, low and under the Norad/ATC radar, in a nearly inaccessible and uninhabited area. I'd land
at some site that I'd already found that had a tree and a ditch nearby. I'd taxi the plane under the tree to hide
it from airliners and satellites.
At nightfall, I'd pull the wings off, roll the plane into the ditch, drag the wings into it, and with a shovel,
leisurely cover the plane and wings with dirt. Sure, it would take a while to bury it, but I'd have all night,
and I wouldn't have to bury it deeply – just enough so that it couldn't be seen from above. I'm assuming that
satellites with IR imaging wouldn't be programmed to look in this area and spot me covering the plane. If they
had been, maybe Steve's wreck would have been found by IR before the ambient heat of his body and the engine
temperatures dropped to the surrounding air temperature.
After covering the plane, I'd walk to where I had a four-by automobile parked under a tree, drive to an old shack
where I'd have lodged a Mexican plastic surgeon a few days before. The surgeon would be in on my story, but he
would be paid handsomely to keep his mouth shut. Oh, and with a few threats thrown in, if he talked. I would have
hidden millions of dollars in the desert.
He would do the work on my face to change my looks and remove my finger prints. After he did the work, it would take
a few weeks to heal, so I'd drive him back to civilization. No one would recognize me in my bandages. I'd drop him
off at an airport, give him a nice big tip, over and above what I had already paid him, and he'd fly back home. I'd
hole up in a hotel for a few weeks to recover using an alias. I'd just be some rich guy who had some lacerations on
his face, was recovering, and did business on a cash basis.
After recovery, I'd get a birth certificate, driver's license, social security card, and a passport, easy enough to
get if you have the money to pay for them. Basically, I'd be in the same boat as an illegal alien. Of course, the US
treats them so well, that if the surgeon made me look a bit Mexican, shucks, I could just fall in with that crowd to
get a legal social security number, driver's license, and passport!
And what about my millions? After coming back into the world with a new face, a fake driver's license made with my
new face and an alias. I could slowly move money from where I had buried it into my account so as not to arouse
suspicion about where all that money came from. I would open accounts at many banks, putting most of my money offshore
where "mum's the word."
Now, with a checkbook, a credit card, and a passport, I could go anywhere and do just about anything. Remember the
story about the job applicant whose resume showed that he graduated from a college that had burned down, and all of
its records were destroyed in the fire? Along this same line of thinking, if I could, use the identity of a deceased
street bum, that could work well. It would make me "real." Perhaps this has been done before, to the great detriment
of a street bum or two.
If Steve Fosset's body has not been found as you read this, I believe it will be discovered someday.