“The police asked the same question. The lawyer said they moved on. Probably squatting on someone else's property, he said. You have to understand, my people are considered eccentric anachronisms. The police here say there is nothing they can do. I need help.”

As they talked, Green checked his calendar. “I'll have the company plane run me up there tomorrow morning,” he said. SOS leased an executive jet that was on standby.

Are you sure.

“Why not? With Marcus tied up in Denmark, I'm nominally in command, and to be honest, having to deal with all the egos and turf wars in this office is driving me bonkers. Tell me where you are.”

True to his word, Green had flown into Quebec the following day. He caught a connector flight on a small plane that took him to the town Nighthawk had called from. Ben was waiting at the tiny air- port, the truck packed with camping supplies and ready to go. They drove several hours along back roads and camped overnight.

Looking at the map by the light of the camp lantern, Green saw that the forest covered a huge area, pockmarked with large bodies of fresh water. Ben's family lived off the land, fished and hunted for a living and brought in hard cash revenue from the sport fishermen and hunters.

Green had suggested hiring a floatplane to take them in, but Nighthawk said that the heavily armed guards he encountered had made it clear that trespassers would be shot. The access road they guarded wasn't the only way to get to the village, Nighthawk said. The next morning, they'd driven a few more hours, never encoun- tering another vehicle, until they'd come to the track that led into the deep woods.

After leaving the truck, they walked now for about an hour, mov- ing like shadows in the silence of the tall trees, until Nighthawk stopped and raised his hand. He froze in place, eyes half-closed, mov- ing his head slightly back and forth like a radar antenna focusing on an incoming target. He seemed to have forsaken the ordinary senses of sight and hearing and was using some inner direction-finder.

As Green watched, fascinated, he thought, You can take the In- dian out of the forest, but you can't take the forest out of the Indian. At last, Nighthawk relaxed, reached into his pack and unscrewed a canteen. He handed it to Green.

“I hate to be a pest,” Green said, taking a swig of warm water, "but

how much farther do we have to walk?“ Nighthawk pointed toward the line of trees. ”About a hundred yards that way is a hunter's trail that will take us to the lake."

“How do you know?” Ben tapped his nose. “No big deal. I've been following the water smell. Try it.”