Harvey hovered over, set the ship down, and started the shutdown procedure. Since General Mansfield was coming with him, he didn’t want to risk the helicopter vibrating itself down into the moist sand by leaving its engine idling. It took an endless two-and-a-half minutes before the engine was cool enough to cut its fuel for shut down.

“Nice landing,” Mansfield said. “Not bad for someone without a rating. Let’s go find your friend.”

With General Mansfield following, Harvey thrashed his way through the brush at the creek’s northern bank and approached the fallen oak, but Nathan wasn’t here. Panicked, he looked around. Nothing. But this had to be the place. Then he saw something, something out of place. Nathan’s Predator knife, sticking straight up with its blade driven into a large branch attached to the fallen tree trunk. Harvey approached the knife and saw Nathan’s Sig Sauer handgun tied to the top of the same branch. He frowned. A fishing line was attached to the trigger and looped around the butt of the knife. On the ground next to the branch lay Nathan’s ghillie suit with a crude wooden cross inside. A broken pair of field glasses was attached to the crosspiece. A second fishing line, also attached to the crosspiece, was cleverly looped through a V-shaped area of one of the fallen oak’s branches. Harvey now knew that Nathan had set up a dummy decoy, and from the look of the shattered binoculars, Leonard had taken the bait.

From over Harvey’s shoulder, General Mansfield looked at the setup and whispered, “I’ll be damned.”

The two fishing lines were running out to the southeast, following the trunk of the fallen tree. Harvey worked his way along its length, maneuvering himself over and under dead branches until he saw a prone leg and combat boot screened by a boulder. He also saw blood, lots of it.

No. Dear God, no!

Harvey ran the remaining distance, thrashing through the underbrush.

His lifelong friend was lying at the base of a huge root ball. Not moving. Two bloody spikes of bone were protruding through the material of his MARPAT just below his right knee. The fabric was soaked with blood, so was his right shirtsleeve and the upper half of his shirt.

“Aw shit, Nathan.” He crouched down and held Nathan’s head with his hands. “You can’t be dead. You can’t be.”

Nathan spoke without opening his eyes. “Harv, what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna give General Mansfield the wrong idea.”

“Damn you, Nate, you scared the shit outta me.”

“I feel terrible.”

“You look terrible.”

“Grangeland okay?”

“Yeah, she’s gonna make it. You were right about her. She’s tough as nails.”

Nathan slowly brought his left arm up and looked at his watch, then let it fall. “You’re early.”

“So sue me.”

“Did I get Leonard?”

“Yeah, you got him.”