“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.