Nichole groaned through the tape covering her mouth.

He lowered his voice and leaned over her. “This won’t act as quickly as an intravenous injection, but in a few minutes you should feel better.” He placed the syringe on the table and leaned into the camera. “Mr. Dalton, you and I are now going to discuss our situation. I trust our conversation will remain confidential?”

“Yes.”

“Do I need to remind you what will happen otherwise?”

“No.”

He inserted a thumb drive and opened the record program on his laptop computer. “Very good. Shall we begin?”

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

After a fuel stop and head call in Seligman, Nathan and Harvey were on their way to Page, Arizona, near the Utah border. In Page, they topped off the Bell’s tanks and resumed their flight. Passing beneath them was some of the most beautiful territory Nathan had ever seen. The reddish-orange rock formations seemed random and yet master-planned. Truly God’s country, but a nasty place to lose an engine and crash—nothing a spatula couldn’t clean up.

After passing over the huge, concrete monolith of Glen Canyon Dam, they snaked their way up Lake Powell, staying close to its centerline. On both shorelines, dozens of narrow bays snaked their way out from the lake’s main body. Party barges and waterskiing boats occupied most of them.

There were a million and a half places to dump a stiff out here. Blind luck had led to Kramer’s body being seen as it went into the water. What were the odds? Maybe not all that bad. There were probably hundreds of impromptu campsites along the shorelines with many of them outside designated areas.

“Let’s climb to five hundred AGL. This light isn’t great for spotting power lines.”

“No problem,” Harv said.

“We’ll be over the marina in a few minutes. We’ll reconnoiter the area before landing.”

“You want the controls?”

“You’re doing fine.” He refolded the Denver sectional chart, putting Bullfrog Bay in the middle of his knee board. “Fly a heading of… zero-three-zero. That should take us directly to the marina.”

“Zero-three-zero,” Harv repeated. “Our FBI escort should be there by now.”

“Yep.” He dialed in the UNICOM frequency and pressed the transmit button. “Bullfrog Basin, helicopter eight-zero-five-bravo-tango is five miles southwest of the airfield at four thousand three hundred inbound for landing. Bullfrog Basin.”

No response, but he didn’t expect one. Bullfrog Basin encompassed uncontrolled airspace. If any other aircraft were in the area, they would’ve responded.

They overflew a long finger of water with a small island. “There’s our destination, the thriving metropolis of Bullfrog Bay, Utah.”

“It’s not so bad. Looks kinda quaint.”

“Let’s climb a little. We don’t want to be rude.”

“The airstrip’s at twelve o’clock, up on the bluff beyond that cliff face. This is beautiful territory. The sunset is making the landscape even redder.”