He walked another twenty yards and repeated the request. To his surprise, he received an affirmative nod and a wave over. Well, at least they weren’t off to a combative start. The houseboat looked a lot nicer than the floating wreck he’d expected. The man disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, Nathan saw him reappear at the bow, unlatch a gate in the rail, and slide a gangplank onto the island.

Nathan turned and gave Harv a nod before continuing toward the boat. The man, like his boat, also surprised him. He was clean-shaven and dressed in blue jeans and a black Oakland Raiders T-shirt. In his sixties, he looked fit, except for a slight gut.

“That was some damned fine flying.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said. They shook hands. “I’m Nathan McBride.”

The man studied the scars on his face and offered a nod. “Lars Stiegler. I flew Hueys for the Army in ’Nam. Two tours.”

“Thank you for your service.” Nathan placed Stiegler’s accent as Texan.

Stiegler attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite shine. The vet nodded toward the helicopter. “Bell 407?”

“Good call.”

“Your friends are welcome too. Might as well make it a party.”

“One of them is an FBI special agent.”

“Don’t matter to me. I ain’t done nothing wrong. At least not lately.” This time he did smile, for real.

“I apologize for the intrusion.”

He waved a hand. “I figured you’d come and find me, just didn’t figure it would be from a helicopter. Expect the unexpected.”

“May I ask why you left the marina?”

“That park ranger pissed me off, told me I couldn’t leave. Screw him. Is that your ship?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet it handles like a dream.”

“It does.” Nathan looked up at the canyon walls.

“Truly God’s country. I feel at home inside here… couldn’t tell you why. I just do.”

“No cell phones or Internet. Just you and the rocks.”

“What branch were you in?”

“Marines.”

“Officer?”

“Yes.”

“My father was a bullet catcher. Saw lots of action in Korea, nearly froze his ass off at the Chosin Reservoir.”

“My father was there too.”

“No kidding? You Marines are a tough bunch.”

“Thank you. We don’t need much of your time, Mr. Stiegler.”

“Call me Lars.”

Nathan turned when he heard Harv cut the engine. It would take a minute for the main rotor to wind down. “We were worried you might have a gun.”

“I do.”

Nathan waited.

“Hell, anybody crazy enough to strap himself into a flying blender, hover down this narrow canyon, and land on this rock isn’t a threat. To himself, maybe, but not to me. I have a kindred heart for helicopter pilots. Screw all them fixed-wing pussies. I couldn’t give a hoot in hell about them.”

Nathan feigned agreement. “Amen to that.”