There were a million and a half places to dump a stiff out here. Blind luck had led to Kramer’s body being seen as it went into the water. What were the odds? Maybe not all that bad. There were probably hundreds of impromptu campsites along the shorelines with many of them outside designated areas.
“Let’s climb to five hundred AGL. This light isn’t great for spotting power lines.”
“No problem,” Harv said.
“We’ll be over the marina in a few minutes. We’ll reconnoiter the area before landing.”
“You want the controls?”
“You’re doing fine.” He refolded the Denver sectional chart, putting Bullfrog Bay in the middle of his knee board. “Fly a heading of… zero-three-zero. That should take us directly to the marina.”
“Zero-three-zero,” Harv repeated. “Our FBI escort should be there by now.”
“Yep.” He dialed in the UNICOM frequency and pressed the transmit button. “Bullfrog Basin, helicopter eight-zero-five-bravo-tango is five miles southwest of the airfield at four thousand three hundred inbound for landing. Bullfrog Basin.”
No response, but he didn’t expect one. Bullfrog Basin encompassed uncontrolled airspace. If any other aircraft were in the area, they would’ve responded.
They overflew a long finger of water with a small island. “There’s our destination, the thriving metropolis of Bullfrog Bay, Utah.”
“It’s not so bad. Looks kinda quaint.”
“Let’s climb a little. We don’t want to be rude.”
“The airstrip’s at twelve o’clock, up on the bluff beyond that cliff face. This is beautiful territory. The sunset is making the landscape even redder.”
“Let’s make one orbit.”
There wasn’t much to Bullfrog Bay. Two large boat launch ramps flanked either side of the marina. Looped trailer parks and campgrounds shared the higher ground with several condo projects. The marina itself hosted hundreds of slips with about half of them covered. Harv was right. It looked peaceful, but crowded. The lower parking lots supporting the launch ramps were packed with SUVs and pickups. This place could handle a ton of boat traffic, and from the looks of things, did.
“Let’s head up to the airstrip and see if our FBI friend is there. I’ll tune in the AWOS.” He dialed in the frequency and listened to the automated weather conditions. Next, he transmitted their intentions on the UNICOM channel. Again, no response.
Harv made a flawless approach to the south end of runway 01. A few single-engine planes occupied a small transient parking area. A man standing next to a dark sedan waved.
“Our FBI escort,” Nathan said.
The light breeze from the south wasn’t a factor, so Harv set the ship down as far from the fixed wings as possible. Rotor downwash created a huge dust cloud, but the paved surface didn’t stir up much.
“Nice landing,” he said.
“Thanks.”
They removed their helmets and went through the shutdown checklist together.
The FBI special agent waved again. Nathan waved back. At least they were off to a friendly start.
Four minutes after touching down, they climbed out and stretched. The breeze felt warm, but not overly so. He gave his helicopter a pat on the fuselage and nodded to Harv.
They met their contact halfway.
To his credit, the FBI agent didn’t register any outward reaction to the scars on Nathan’s face. He’d probably been warned. Sometimes no reaction was a reaction. “Mr. McBride, Mr. Fontana, I’m Special Agent Jeremy Duns.”
They shook hands. Duns had a friendly smile and casual demeanor. Medium build. Dark hair. Probably in his early thirties. He wore his fieldpiece in a compact holster over tan Dockers. His green shirt had FBI embroidered in small gold letters. A class act. Nathan liked him.
“Let’s use first names. This is Harvey, I’m Nathan. My friends call me Nate.”
“Will I be calling you Nate?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Jeremy smiled. “I’ve arranged for your lodging down at the marina. It’s nothing special, but I think you’ll be okay with it. Is that your helicopter?”
“One of them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Harvey owns one too. We think of them as community property, though.”
Jeremy’s brow furrowed.
“We’re not.”
“I wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, you know, it wouldn’t matter if you were.”
“Don’t worry,” Harvey said. “We get it all the time.”
“Are you guys hungry? There’s a diner at the marina.”
“Now we’re talking,” Harv said.
“I took the liberty of contacting our houseboat’s owner through the park rangers. He’s expecting us tomorrow morning. I didn’t want him conveniently disappearing.”
“Good thinking,” Nathan said.
“Are you guys packing?”
He exchanged a quick glance with Harv, then motioned toward the helicopter. “We’ve got a duffel bag with some essentials. A couple of suppressed Sigs, Predator knives, field glasses, night vision goggles, and a handheld thermal imager.”
“You guys expecting a war to break out?”
“You know what they say. It’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.”
“You okay leaving your essentials in the helicopter?”
“We’d rather not,” Harv said.
“We can secure your bag in the trunk.”
Harv walked back to the helicopter.
“Thanks for not staring,” Nathan told the FBI man.
“I must admit to a certain amount of curiosity,” said Jeremy. “Those scars definitely give you a rugged look, a don’t-mess-with-me expression. I know a little about you guys. One of our Monticello agents went through the academy with Bruce Henning. They’ve kept in touch over the years.”
“Henning’s a good man. We didn’t exactly hit it off very well when we first met, but he came around, and so did I. It was my fault we got off to a rocky start. I appreciate you meeting us.”
“I’m glad to do it. This isn’t exactly the center of the universe. The lack of action is more than made up for by the scenery. But still.…”
He pointed to his face. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“What happened? Can you talk about it?”
He shook his head.
Jeremy remained silent for a moment. “I guess I’m fine with mostly paperwork.”
“A wise choice.”
The diner offered unhealthy food and typical marina decor-lots of brass and rope. Vacationing families, sunburned boaters, and weathered fishermen occupied most of the tables. The dim lighting offered adequate privacy from prying eyes, but a few patrons did double takes at Nathan’s face.
Harv ate an entire pizza, not one of those little designer jobs, but a full-blown, sixteen-inch combo with the works. At one point Nathan and Jeremy stared in awe. The man had a hollow leg.
An hour later, they were checking into a modern condo overlooking the marina. Jeremy told them the entire area’s lodging had been sold-out since early spring. The condo project’s owner had graciously tendered his own three-bedroom unit to accommodate them. Of course, pocketing three times the normal rent might have swayed his decision a tad. The FBI had its share of faults, but a lack of resourcefulness wasn’t one of them.
The following morning broke bright and clear. Another scorcher in the works. Nathan and Harv took a twenty-minute jog around the marina. Three S’s later and they were ready to meet old Mr. Houseboat.
Jeremy parked in a dirt lot to the east of the uncovered slips. “I’m not expecting our man to be real cooperative. The park ranger told me he was a first-class jerk.”
“He won’t be a problem,” Nathan said.
“If you say so.”
They walked across a connecting bridge onto the dock. “I might need you to play along with us. I want him to think you’re on his side, so do a little acting if we need it.”
Jeremy smiled. “Good cop, bad cop?”
“Something like that.”