Granger regarded him briefly, and then turned to watch a large rumbling dozer clear the chopper pad where his Bell remained half immersed in snow. Somnolent and dusky with winter’s near onset, the cloudless sky under which they stood seemed entirely incapable of spewing the fury it had heaped upon the coast for the past three days.

“Flying isn’t the problem,” Granger said. “It’s ground conditions that won’t be the same now. Depending on what the camp teams need in the way of assistance, we could be stuck for hours every time I put her down.”

“I can wait, give you a hand,” Nimec said. “Our side trip won’t take that much time.”

Granger stood thinking his thoughts, his gaze following the bulldozer as it made a slow rolling circuit of the pad.

Nimec tried to understand his sudden hedging.

“Listen,” Nimec said. “I realize you’ve got bosses with their own priorities. And that they must be edgier than usual because of the storm. But we can send them one of our own pilots if that’s what it’ll take for you to be available.” He paused. “If Megan calls them, makes an official request, I guarantee they’ll listen.”

Granger watched the dozer’s lowered scoop fill with snow and push it up high into one of several building mounds.

Nimec didn’t press, giving him a chance to think things over.

About a minute later Granger faced him again.

“It’s better she doesn’t talk to the top dogs . . . you know how even the easiest solutions can get picked apart,” he said. “We ought to stick to how we already worked things out.”

Nimec looked at him.

“You saying we’re on again?” he said.

“On,” Granger said. “And keeping it between ourselves.”

Nimec nodded. He didn’t care how they did it, just as long as they were going.

“Whatever works for you,” he said.

Bull Pass

Burkhart listened to Granger over their black phone line—and when Granger stopped talking, did not waste a moment telling him what needed to be done.

Granger wasn’t surprised. In fact, he seemed quite ready.

“I set this up, take care of this thing, it’ll be dangerous for me afterward,” he said. “You’ll have to get me away from here. Off the continent . . . maybe to South America. And I’m going to need money. Geld. Plenty of it. We can decide on a figure later. What’s important is that everything has to move very fast. Sehr schnell. That’s how you say it in your language, right?”

Burkhart rubbed a fingertip over the mark on his cheek. The pilot was a low creature of venality and deceit. But then, where was his own claim to gallantry?

“Execute your task,” he said. “I will see to the rest of the arrangements myself.”