“Believe it. You didn’t join the FBI for the money. There’s a million jobs out there with better pay and fewer hours. Well, maybe not a million, but you know what I mean. You want to look back on your life someday and know that you made a difference, made the world a better place. Hold on to it, Holly. Hold it close and never let it go.”

“Like I said, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“I’m no one special. I made a choice not to dwell in the past. Everyone has tragedy in their life at one time or another, it’s how they deal with it that defines them. I don’t hate the Nicaraguan people for what happened to me. I used to, but I don’t anymore. Should a rape victim hate all men for the rest of her life? Anger and bitterness are normal feelings, but they’re like cancer if you can’t control them.”

“I’ve never been tested. I can’t honestly say how I’d deal with it.”

“No one can.”

The rest of the ride from Oroville into the mountains went by quickly. Highway 70 followed a steep river canyon. They crossed bridges and navigated through short tunnels blasted through solid granite. Areas of smooth water reflected the moonlight. On the opposite side of the canyon wall, railroad tracks paralleled the highway. Every so often, they passed a small hydroelectric power plant, their square forms contrasting the random shapes of the rocky terrain. Although he was tired from all the flying and lack of sleep, he found conversation with Holly relaxing. She had a good sense of humor and despite the situation with Ortega’s grandson, kept a positive outlook.

“This is a beautiful drive in daylight,” Nathan said. “Harv and I drove it the day of the raid.”

“I’ve been up here a few times. It’s a designated scenic highway.”

The road continued a gradual climb into the mountains, winding its way up the rocky canyon into a pine forest.

Her radio crackled. It was Henning. “We’re coming up on the turn. We should kill our headlights.”

“Copy,” she said.