“What’s happened?”
“I need your word.”
“You don’t have to ask for that.”
“Your word.” He heard his dad sigh.
“Okay, I give you my word.”
It took five minutes for Nathan to tell the story and describe the plan going forward. He knew with certainty the news of the Ortega conspiracy to entrap the Bridgestones by selling them Semtex both shocked and angered his father. The only thing that surprised Nathan was how good it felt to know his dad hadn’t been in on it.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Stone asked when Nathan had finished. “I mean, absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
“You think you know someone. Frank and I were in Korea together, fought side by side. I can’t believe this whole thing is about revenge against Ernie Bridgestone.”
“It hurts, I know. Harv feels betrayed too. There is some good news. We recovered most of the missing Semtex. Nearly three hundred pounds.”
“That’s good news.”
“Leonard still has ten bricks and some blasting caps.”
“What can I do to help? Name it.”
“We need satellite images of the location where they stashed their cash.”
“I’ll get to work on it right away. Do you have exact coordinates?”
Nathan rattled them off. “I need twenty-four by twenty-four-inch prints at three meters per inch, ten meters per inch, and one hundred meters per inch. Radial from point zero. Did you copy that?”
“Yes, I’m writing it down.”
“Get me a fourth print at five hundred meters per inch. We’ll be airborne within the hour. Communication will be critical. My cell’s tied into the NavCom of my helicopter. It usually works over urban areas, but in the more remote locations, all bets are off.”
“Nathan, it’ll be hard to keep this under wraps once the military’s involved.”
Nathan didn’t respond.
“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
“Do your best, Dad, that’s all I can ask. I think Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana is our best bet to download the images.”
“I know Malmstrom well. We put our first Minutemen silos up there.”
“Listen, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”
“Nathan, thank you for trusting me. I’m sorry for the things I said to you the other night.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I have something to report.”
“Tell Mom I love her, okay?”
“You can tell herself when this is over.”
Nathan said nothing. He didn’t have to.
“I’ll tell her,” Stone said.
After dropping off Harv, Grangeland, and Bridgestone at Sacramento Executive Airport, he returned to the Hyatt and cleaned himself up as best he could. There was nothing he could about his head-turning trek through the lobby. He grabbed the duffels, returned to the sedan, and drove back to the airport. Grangeland looked concerned and asked about his arm. He told a white lie and handed her the medical supplies he’d stopped for on the way over.
“She ready to go?”
“Ready,” Harv said.
“This is everyone’s last chance for a pit stop. We’ll be in the air for several hours.”
Grangeland looked around in an exaggerated manner. “Hmm, no restroom.”
Nathan nodded to the hangar buildings.
She jogged over to the hangars and disappeared around the corner.
Nathan turned toward Ernie. “What about you?”
He shook his head.
Harv removed their duffel bags and Nathan’s aluminum rifle case from the Crown Vic’s backseat and secured them in the baggage compartment.
“Listen up, Ernie,” Nathan said. “I’m willing to cuff your hands in front for the flight provided you behave yourself. Do we have an understanding?”
“I ain’t gonna make no trouble,” he said.
Without being asked, Harv pulled his Sig and pointed it at Ernie’s chest. Using the handcuff key Grangeland had given him, Nathan re-cuffed Ernie’s hands in front of his stomach. Even though he had it coming, leaving the condemned man’s wounded hands cuffed behind his back for the long flight seemed cruel, especially with his dislocated shoulder. Harv pushed Bridgestone into the right rear seat, behind the pilot’s position. He fastened Ernie’s seat belt and shoulder strap.
Once Grangeland returned from her business, Nathan pulled her aside and kept his voice low. “I cuffed Ernie’s hands in front for the flight. Guard your weapon closely, okay?”
She nodded and strapped herself into the left rear seat.
“What about the Crown Vic?” Harv asked.
“Yeah,” Nathan agreed. “Park it over by the hangars with the other vehicles.”
“There’s Semtex in the trunk,” Harv said.
“Grangeland can relay its location once we’ve landed at our first fuel stop. We’ll just have to risk that no one steals the car within the next few hours or so. As a precaution, we’ll take the blasting caps with us.”
“Good thought,” she said.
When Harv returned from parking the sedan, he secured the blasting caps into a duffel bag and handed Grangeland a Bose headset with a boom mike. He plugged it into the console over her right shoulder. Bridgestone didn’t receive a headset. Although engine and slipstream noise would be loud, it wouldn’t be overly so, but more important, it allowed Grangeland, Harv, and Nathan to communicate without being overheard, which was far more important than worrying about Bridgestone’s ears. Besides, he wouldn’t need them much longer anyway.
While Nathan went through the start-up checklist, Harv connected Nathan’s cell into the audio interface that would allow them to patch calls through their flight helmets. Harv entered the GPS coordinates Ernie had given them into the Garmin G600 NavCom. The glass avionics in Nathan’s helicopter were state-of-the-art. Along with flight-control data on the left screen, the G600 employed built-in terrain and navigation databases on the right screen, providing a precise moving map of where they were at any given time and where they were going. With the GDL-A data-link receiver, they could access high-resolution weather information anywhere within the United States.
“While you were at the hotel, I did some rough flight planning,” Harv said. “It’s a three-leg trip. Winnemucca, Nevada, Idaho Falls, Idaho, then into Great Falls, Montana. Our destination coordinates are close to a town called Dupuyer on Highway Eighty-nine. We’ll fuel up in Great Falls. I checked the airport listing binder. At each airport, self-service pumps are available if the jet centers are closed. All of them have Jet-A available, night or day.”
“Good job. We might be landing at Malmstrom Air Force Base instead of Great Falls.”
Harv consulted the charts. “That’s…. no problem. It’s only a few miles to the east.”
Within two minutes of starting the engine, Nathan had the two-and-a-half-ton Bell 407 in a stable hover.
“Clear on the left?” Nathan asked.
“Clear,” Harv answered.
They were on their way.
Chapter 25
Minutes after their stop in Winnemucca, Nathan’s cell rang. It was close to 7:00 am. Harv patched it through the NavCom.
It was Stone McBride. “I’ve got the satellite intel all set up for you.”
“Great work, Dad. Thanks.”
“I’m glad to do it. When you get within one hundred miles of Malmstrom, change to this frequency and announce your call sign as Civilian Delta.” Stone rattled off the numbers and Harv programmed the frequency into the ninth preset on the NavCom unit.
“Got it,” Nathan said.
“An Air Force Black Hawk will intercept you and escort you onto the base. It would be useful if I could tell them when to expect you up there.”
“Wait one,” Harvey said and began scrolling through menus. “We’ll be crossing Interstate Ninety in approximately… four hours, assumin
g our fuel stop in Idaho Falls goes as expected.”
“Got it,” Stone said. “Once you’re at Malmstrom, they’ll fuel you up and give you the latest photos of the area. They’ll probably be twenty-to-thirty minutes old by then, but that’s the best they can do. Also, if anyone shows up at the location after you leave Malmstrom, they’ll radio you.”
“Perfect,” Nathan said.
“Major General Mansfield is the base commander. I told him this is a classified operation on a need-to-know basis. The number of people involved is minimal. He assured me there will be no leaks or quote, ‘heads will roll.’ Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Bridgestone isn’t worth your life, or Harvey’s.”
“Thanks for your help, Dad. I’ll call you later.”
“Be careful, Nathan.”
* * *
After a quick refuel and head call in Idaho Falls, they were on their way north again. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky, and it looked good all the way to the Canadian border. Nothing was forecast for the next forty-eight hours. Nathan wondered why he hadn’t flown up this way before. It was truly beautiful territory. He made a mental note to go camping up here. River-washed valleys and rocky canyons dominated the landscape. In the distance off to the west, snowcapped peaks lined the horizon.
Harv worked the NavCom. “We’ll be coming up on Interstate Ninety in about twenty minutes. That’s a good place to call our Air Force escort.”
“Sounds good.”
“How’s the arm?” Harv asked.
“A little sore, but the bleeding has almost stopped. Thanks for the TLC, Grangeland.” She’d insisted on changing his bandages at each fuel stop.
“You’re welcome, I wish I could do more.”
“How’s our passenger doing?”
“About the same,” she said. “He’s been staring out the window the whole time.”
Not surprising, considering what lay ahead for him. One way or another, this was a one-way trip for Ernie Bridgestone.
* * *
At I-90, Harv pressed the ninth preset button for the frequency Nathan’s father had given them. He toggled the transmit trigger on the cyclic control. “This is Civilian Delta on heading zero-one-zero crossing Interstate Ninety at eight thousand five hundred.”
The response came back immediately. “Civilian Delta, squawk three-two-two-five and ident.”
Harv repeated the instructions, entered the numbers into their transponder, and pressed the ident button.
The metallic voice came back. “Civilian Delta, radar contact confirmed. Maintain current heading and speed and await further instructions.”
They flew for another ten minutes before the controller came back. “Civilian Delta, your escort is five miles at one o’clock. Maintain heading and speed. Advise upon visual contact.”
Harv repeated the instructions. “You got him yet?” he asked Nathan.
“No, but we’re closing fast. We should see him in the next minute or two.”
“There he is,” Harv said. “One o’clock high.”
Harv’s eyes were better than Nathan’s. It took him another ten seconds to find the tiny black spec. “Got him,” Nathan said.
Harv called in the visual contact and for the third time, they were told to maintain heading and speed. The black speck grew into the recognizable shape of a gray UH-60 Black Hawk. It began a sweeping 180-degree turn, dropping altitude as it formed up off their port wing.
“Impressive sight,” Harv said.
Grangeland leaned forward to look out Ernie’s window. “He’s awfully close to us,” she said.
“He’s just looking us over, making sure he likes what he sees.” Their escort was about one hundred feet away, matching airspeed and altitude. Harv gave the Air Force pilot a crisp salute, which was returned.
A different voice came through their flight helmets. “Civilian Delta, this is Air Force Escort Five. Maintain position off our starboard side.”
Harv copied the instructions.
This was the first time Nathan had ever flown in formation with another helicopter. He liked it. Forty minutes later, with Great Falls off their port side, they were approaching Malmstrom Air Force Base. Their escort handled all the radio communication with Malmstrom’s tower and they were given clearance to land. The two helicopters made a straight-in approach from the south. Malmstrom’s huge runway ran diagonally from the southwest to the northeast. They crossed it and settled into controlled hovers over a large expanse of concrete near some off-white hangar buildings. Once on the tarmac, Nathan went through the shutdown procedure, flipping switches and turning off avionics. After the engine had cooled, he shut it down. Harv opened Grangeland’s door and she climbed out, keeping her attention sharply focused on Ernie.
An Air Force sedan parked between the two helicopters and a major climbed out to meet them. The pilot’s door of their escort Black Hawk swung open and a two-star in flight fatigues began walking toward them. Major General Mansfield, no doubt about it. Out of habit, Nathan and Harv issued salutes. Mansfield, a six-footer with cropped gray hair and pronounced crow’s-feet at the edges of his hazel eyes, returned their salutes. “At ease, gentlemen. Welcome to Malmstrom.” The general introduced his aide as Major Reid and handshakes were made all around.
Nathan looked at the Black Hawk and then back to Mansfield.
Mansfield smiled. “Would you like to give her a test drive?”
The Black Hawk was significantly bigger than his own ship and far more powerful. He’d love to strap her on for a spell. “We’re in a time-critical situation, sir. May I have a rain check?”
“That’s a promise. Your father’s a good friend to the military. He fights for every red cent we get.”
Nathan nodded.
Mansfield addressed his aide. “Top off Major McBride’s fuel tanks.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nathan asked Grangeland if she’d guard their prisoner for a few minutes.
“Who’s your handcuffed passenger in the backseat?” Mansfield asked. “He doesn’t look real happy to be here.”
“For your ears only?” Nathan asked.
“My ears only.”
“Ernie Bridgestone.”
“You’re kidding. He’s been all over the news. I heard he escaped from the Fresno truck stop. That was some show. The live news clips looked like a napalm attack.” Mansfield addressed his aide. “Major Reid, you didn’t hear any of this.”
“Hear what, sir?”
“The FBI leaked his escape to the press,” Nathan said. “We’re hoping to collar his brother, Leonard. That’s why we’re here. Leonard needs to think Ernie got away. We think they’re planning to meet at the coordinates my father gave you. We figure he’ll be arriving in about two or three hours.”
Mansfield noticed the blood soaking through Nathan’s shirtsleeve. “What happened to your arm?”
“I took one at the truck stop.”
“You were shot? You flew six hours with a bullet wound?”
“It’s not bad. It went clean through.”
“Major Reid, get a medic over here double-time.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide climbed into the driver’s seat and made a radio call.
“General, I’m fine. Really.”
Mansfield held up a hand. “Don’t argue with me, son.”
Nathan zipped it. You didn’t argue with general officers. Ever.
Mansfield pulled a large envelope from the passenger seat of his gray sedan. He spread the color photos on the hood. They were oblique shots taken from the south. “These are fifteen minutes old. I had my aide look them over. As far as we can tell, there’s no one in the area. We didn’t spot any vehicles or any engine or human heat signatures on the infrareds. It’s harder to detect them during the day, but sometimes we can. They sure chose a remote location. These coordinates are just south of the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. They were wise to stay off tribal territory. The Blackfeet are protective of their land.” Mansfield pointed to a dirt road. “T
his is Dutch Creek Road, it connects to Highway Eighty-nine several miles to the east. This track up here is Sweet Dam Road, it also connects to Highway Eighty-nine. It’s probably why they chose this location. They could approach the coordinates from the north or south. It also gives them two possible routes of escape.”
“This is perfect, General. Just what we need.”
Mansfield bent over the photos a little. “Point zero looks like some sort of spire-like rock formation on the south wall of the canyon. You can see its shadow here.” He stabbed a finger on the most detailed photo, the image at ten meters per inch.
“It’s easily recognized from the ground,” Harvey said, studying the other photos. Nathan knew his partner was scoping potential shooting locations and looking for an LZ to set their chopper down.
“What else can I do to help?” Mansfield asked.
“Just keep us updated if anyone approaches the coordinates.”
“We’re on that. Right now we’re checking with NORAD to see what birds we’ve got overhead. There might be some dark intervals. In all honesty, we won’t be able to reposition any of them. They’re needed over the Gulf.”
“We’ll make do, General.”
“Ernie Bridgestone,” he said slowly. “Public enemy number one. I’m glad you caught the son of a bitch. That Sacramento bombing was cold-blooded.”
“Yes sir, it was. Special Agent Grangeland probably needs a pit stop. We all do. Harvey and I also need to change into our MARPATs. Can we trouble you for some chow and coffee?”
“It’s no trouble.”
Mansfield told Reid to round up some sandwiches and coffee from the dining facility on the double. Reid jogged back to the sedan and sped away.
“Should be about ten minutes.”
“That’s fine, General, thank you.”
As they walked back over to Nathan’s helicopter, he was acutely aware of the passage of time. Although he didn’t think Leonard could get up here in less than twenty-two hours, he wasn’t 100 percent sure. A sense of urgency seized him. Did they really have time for this? If Ernie had lied about Leonard’s departure time from California, it could cost them their lives. Although the satellite images were devoid of human activity, it didn’t mean Leonard wasn’t already there, cash in hand, planting Semtex charges and trip wires. How long would he wait? A few hours? Longer? Or would he wait at all? The Canadian border would be whispering his name.
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