“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.”