darkness. “Sounds close.”
Martin was already out of his bag and crawling outside. “Lights up above the headwall. Hovering right now. Sure sounds like a helicopter.”
Doug crawled out of the tent behind Martin, and looked up. The canyon headwall loomed above them, a black silhouette seen through the bare branches of deciduous trees. Bright lights flickered in and out there, one very bright, a V-shaped pattern of six red, fainter lights below it. The pattern seemed to rotate while the two men watched, and once again the bright light flashed over their tent.
Doug blinked, eyes adjusting quickly to darkness again. He pointed. “There, above that center peak. See the dark shape?”
“I see it. Helicopter, all right. A big one, and something is hanging beneath it.”
Whatever it was headed west at that instant and was lost from view, the flup-flup engine sound fading, then gone.
“Oh, boy,” said Doug.
Martin sighed. “Don’t even get started. Some kind of construction going on over there. No little green men, just a helicopter carrying a prefab wall, or something.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Why not?”
They crawled back into their sacks. Doug was bursting to talk about what they’d seen, but Martin was snoring the instant his head hit the pillow. Doug didn’t drift off for nearly an hour, his senses on high alert, but eventually he succumbed to a light sleep, once or twice barely awakening to what he thought might be helicopter sounds again, and the second time it was already starting to get light.
They slept in longer than they’d planned to, and hurriedly broke camp around nine. The tent was folded, ready to be rolled up, and they were stuffing their packs when Martin heard a crunch and looked up to see two men descending the trail from the headwall. They moved lightly and balanced, a mark of experienced mountaineers, hair long and tied in ponytails. They saw Martin and smiled, stopped on the trail a few yards from the campsite and exchanged sips on a single water bottle between them. The taller of the two spoke, the other just listened. Both men gave Martin a steady gaze with startlingly blue eyes.
“You camp here last night?”
“Yep. Came up yesterday morning. You must have come in before dawn.”
“Pretty close to it. Nice hike. I didn’t know camping was allowed in here. Beautiful place for it.”
“Pretty limited, but you can get a permit at the Ranger’s station.”
“Nice looking rock here,” said the taller man, and his partner nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to bring our gear next time. Bet it’s real quiet here at night.”
“It was last night. Slept like a baby,” said Martin, and cast a sidelong glance at Doug, who was staring at him.
The taller man capped his water bottle and stuffed it into his partner’s rucksack. “Well, you have a nice walk out, now. Couple more canyons we want to see today.”
A friendly wave, and the two men turned back to the trail, walking with a brisk pace until they were out of sight in the trees.
“Slept like a baby, huh,” said Doug.
“After a while,” said Martin, and smiled.
Martin was strangely silent on the way back, and seemed to be studying the trail all the way. Walking was easier than it had been the day before, but the trail was still spongy from all the rain. They stopped at Katchina Woman, and Doug spent half an hour meditating by the gnarled tree said to be a focus of magnetic energies in the region.
By the time they got back to the car, people were already coming in on the trail and the parking lot was full. The two hikers they’d seen at their campsite were not there. Martin dumped their packs into the four-by-four and offered Doug a drink of water.
Doug took a sip, then, “Okay, what’s going on? You haven’t said more than ten words on the trail today.”
Martin frowned. “I was studying the trail. Noticed our tennis shoe tracks from yesterday, saw some fainter boot tracks going out. Our tracks were fainter, too. Ground’s not so soft today.”
“So?”
Martin paused, then looked at Doug darkly. “Those guys we met at camp this morning didn’t come into the canyon this morning, at least not from this parking lot, and I’m not aware of any other trail in. They came in from somewhere up by the headwall. Now, I ask, how would they do that?”
“And why?” said Doug, and smiled. “I’m telling all of this to Bob Terrell before we leave town, Martin, but I promise I won’t mention your name.”
“Okay,” said Martin.
They got into the four-by-four and drove back to town to find Terrell.
CHAPTER TWO
REACTIONS
The helicopter came in at tree level and dropped towards a concrete pad surrounded by green lawn. Twin rotors synchronized and pitched for stealth, the black polymer fuselage landed gently without lights. Darkness came early in the Catalina Mountains of Arizona, and a single window was dimly illuminated in the sprawling silhouette of the ranch house. The figure of a man was standing there, looking outside.
Gilbert Norton came down three steps from the craft, briefcase in hand, and was met by two men who nodded a silent greeting and escorted him shoulder-to-shoulder to the front door of the main house. One of two guards there, dressed casually in jeans and woolen shirts, opened the door and Gilbert left his escorts behind. Inside, the foyer was in gloom; Gil passed four men who watched silently from chairs and a sofa, and walked directly to the line of small night-lights leading down a long hallway to a closed door. He knocked four times, paused briefly, and opened the door.
Log walls and a high, beamed ceiling glowed in the light from a hissing fire in the great stone fireplace. Two leather sofas, a chair and a massive oak desk were the furnishings, and two walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A man sat behind the desk. He smiled.
“Good to see you, Gil. Have a good trip?”
“I did, Mister President. Thank you. Because of your encouraging phone call the report arrived on time. I have it here.” Gil patted his briefcase with one hand.
“Good. Well, do sit down, and take off that overcoat.”
Gil took off his coat and draped it over a sofa before sitting down in a leather chair in front of the desk. The heat on the back of his neck felt like it was coming from a blast furnace. He was immediately thirsty, but said nothing. He took a thin folder from his briefcase and pushed it across the desk to his host.
The President of the United States opened the folder and began reading. Gil watched stoically, rigid in his chair. Sweat was running down the back of his neck, and his mouth was powder dry. Suddenly the President looked up at him.
“Sorry, Gil. Got the fire too hot tonight. There’s a bar just right of the fireplace. Why don’t you fix both of us a scotch with plenty of ice? We need to talk this thing through leisurely.”
“Yes,
