“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. “This 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.
A gray aviation fuel truck pulled up to Nathan’s helicopter and the driver climbed out and attached the ground wire to a skid. Nathan made sure Jet-A was being fed to his machine.
Mansfield nodded over his shoulder. “There’s a latrine and locker room in the hangar.”
Harv and Nathan helped Grangeland extract Ernie out of the Bell and followed Mansfield to the hangar. General Mansfield carried Nathan’s duffel.
Mansfield’s medic arrived at the same time Reid returned with lunch. She sat Nathan on the lunch table where he received eighteen stitches in his arm. Nathan refused a local anesthetic, claiming he didn’t want any part of his body numb. Occasionally wincing, he endured the tightly spaced stitches while eating a turkey sandwich. The medic wrapped his lower calf wound as well. Thankfully, she didn’t comment on the crisscrossing network of scars on Nathan’s torso, even after doing a fairly shocked double take. When he noticed Grangeland staring, he feigned innocence and asked, “What?”