Green nodded in resignation and turned his attention back to the deep woods that encroached on every side. Before being assigned to SOS headquarters, he'd been part of the field operations SWAT team. He had been rammed and shot at, and he'd spent short but un- forgettable times in jails no better than medieval dungeons. He had acquired a reputation for amazing aplomb under fire, and his pro- fessorial appearance disguised a tough interior. But the unnatural darkness of his surroundings unnerved Green more than anything or anybody he had ever encountered at sea.

“The road doesn't bother me. It's these damned woodsy he said, staring out at the forest. ”Damned creepy! It's the middle of the day, the sun is shining, and it's dark as Hades out there. Like something out of a Tolkien novel. Wouldn't surprise me if an Ore or an ogre

jumped out at us. Whoops, I think I just saw Shrek."

Nighthawk laughed. “I suppose the woods are a little spooky if you're not used to them.” He gazed through the windshield, but in- stead of apprehension, a look of reverence bathed his round, apple- brown features. “It's different when you grow up around here. The forest and the darkness are your friends because they provide pro- tection.” He paused and said wistfully, “Most of the time.”

A few minutes later, Nighthawk brought the truck to a halt, and they got out and stood in the cathedral gloom. Clouds of tiny flies whirled around their heads. The powerful scent of pine was almost suffocating, but to Nighthawk it was like the finest perfume. He ab- sorbed the sights and smells with a beatific expression on his face, then he and Green donned the backpacks that carried cameras and film, survival tools, water and snacks.

Without consulting a compass, Nighthawk started walking. "This way/' he said, as confident as if he were following a dotted line on the ground.

They moved in silence across the thick carpet made up of decades of fallen pine needles, weaving their way through the tree trunks. The air was hot and oppressive, and sweat soaked their shirts within minutes. Except for clusters of ferns and moss hills, no underbrush grew beneath the trees. They made good time without bushes and briars to slow them down. As he loped after Nighthawk, Green re- flected on the path that had led him from the comfort of his air- conditioned office to this murky weald.

In addition to his duties with SOS, Green taught part-time at Georgetown University in Washington, which was where he'd met Ben Nighthawk, who was attending his class. The young Indian was in college on scholarship. He wanted to use his education to save the North Woods environment, which was threatened by development. Struck by Ben's intelligence and enthusiasm, Green had asked him to be a research assistant in the SOS office.