Four of the women stepped forward. The contact looked confused. Sam clarified the names and waited.

The contact shrugged, as though to indicate she’d seen and heard it all, and this little glitch was nothing to get upset about. She didn’t extend her hand in greeting. “I’m Marsha Fielding. I’m here to escort you to the helicopter. If you’ll follow me, please. Step lively, ladies, the pilot doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Don’t leave anything behind.”

“I think we need a porter, someone to take these bags,” Kayla said, looking around as though hoping one would materialize out of thin air.

Marsha Fielding pierced them all with one steely-eyed look. “No, Ms. Rainford, we do not need a porter. Now, pick up your bag and follow me.”

Sam did her best not to laugh, as the women in their high heels struggled with the hundred-pound duffel bags. Slick was the first to remove her backless, strapless shoes. Muttering and mumbling under their breaths, the other women followed suit. Fielding looked approvingly at Sam’s loafers.

When they were outside again, the sun was just as bright, just as warm. The clouds were just as puffy, the sky possibly a shade bluer. A beautiful day.

They saw it then, their mode of transportation, and it was scary-looking. To Sam it looked like a giant black bird with a rotor on its back. She’d never been this close to a helicopter before. In fact the only times she’d ever seen one was on TV or in the movies.

Bent over with the weight of her duffel, Kayla was sputtering in what sounded like five different languages. What Sam got out of it was, “This is so unfair. I’m not a pack mule.”

“You are now,” Fielding said. “It goes with the territory. Get used to it.”

Someone who looked like a mechanic appeared from behind a piled-high luggage dolly. He handed Fielding a clipboard. She read it carefully before she scrawled her name and handed the clipboard back to the mechanic. She stepped back to a military-looking jeep that had just roared to a screeching stop. Sam watched as Fielding climbed in and waved. Then she was gone.

Suddenly the urge to turn tail and run was so strong that Sam actually took one step backward. She called herself a wuss and other assorted names before she turned around to board the helicopter. Slick reached for her arm. It was all she needed. It was too late to back out. Besides, Sam reminded herself, she’d never been a quitter.