“Any news of the search?”
“Tell her to call me as soon as you hear from her. The Sedona police station will know where I am.”
He hung up.
It was just after noon when Cilla heard the sound. The day had turned sunny, and, without the wind, it was hot climbing. They were on snowshoes, and had stopped several times to take off layers of clothing, before shirts and sweaters got sweat-soaked and lost insulating capabilities. The stream that runs into Ammonoosuc Lake is Crawford Brook, which parallels the A - Z trail which they were on. Last night’s storm had apparently only affected the summits of the Presidential Range. Tracks would have been visible, but nowhere along the length of where they knew the brook to be could they see any signs.
The second brook, draining into the Pemigewasset River, originates in two different places on the southwestern flank of Mt. Field, at the foot of a cliff.
It concerned Cilla that Kurt had only weakly protested the change to Mt. Field. But then the reasons she gave him were pretty strong and hard to counter on the spur of the moment.
They’d taken Crawford Path down to Route 302 and crossed the highway to where the A - Z Trail began. Todd was surprised by Cilla’s insistence on bringing up the rear, but she wasn’t going to let Kurt get behind her. The sight of the rifle swinging from his shoulder made her uneasy, but she could see no way to get it from him. Would he use it? The Nutcracker had shown little antipathy to killing. Would Kurt?
It came from the east, and they heard it before it became visible.
“Chopper,” said Todd, sounding like Radar O’Reilly in the old M*A*S*H series.
It appeared suddenly from behind the mountain.
“Get behind trees!” ordered Cilla.
“The bad guys?” asked Todd with excitement. The plane was hovering a hundred yards away.
“It’s not military,” said Kurt.
“What’s that on its side? Looks like an eye.”
“I should have guessed it,” said Cilla slowly. “They’ve hijacked a traffic spotter.”
“Yeah! Sure, that’s the WEYE plane, `eye in the sky!’”
“The only kind of civilian plane allowed in the air.”
“So that’s how they’ll spread the pods,” said Kurt.
“Then we can’t stop them,” said Todd.
“Maybe.” Britton raised his rifle, sighting along the barrel.
What was he planning to shoot? Cilla grabbed the barrel, bringing it down. “If the pods are aboard and it explodes...”
Kurt stared at her but slowly lowered his rifle.
“It’s coming down,” said Todd.
“Where’s it going to land in all these trees?”
As they watched, the helicopter sank out of sight behind the evergreens.
“Let’s get up there,” said Cilla, setting as fast a pace as she could through the deep snow. The saddle floor did not lend itself to speedy travel. Snow covered blow-downs and other hazards, and in some stands of pines the trees grew so close together as to almost deny passage.
“There it is,” whispered Todd with excitement.
The copter had landed in a small opening in the woods, which appeared to have been recently cleared. Its blades had been shut down, and three figures were in conference outside the plane. The person bundled in the warmest clothes was stepping into snowshoes.
“We need to get nearer,” said Cilla trying to make out if one was Frank.
Keeping trees and undergrowth between them and the three, they crept closer. The plane had landed in an area near the foot of a shoulder of Mt. Field. Cilla had no real plan, but when they reached the edge of the clearing, she gathered them together.
“Now what?” said Todd.
“We walk up to them. We’re just a party of snowshoers. Kurt, leave your rifle here. They won’t expect any problems, and we don’t want to create any prematurely.”
She held her breath. But Britton merely leaned the weapon against a tree. As soon as her army of three cleared the woods, the men broke off their conversation. One climbed back in the plane. The other two watched the group approach.
“Morning,” said Cilla “Taking the easy way, huh?”
“What?”
“Backpacking by helicopter.”
“Oh. No, we...uh, we’re from WEYE and we’ve been checking out the traffic situation in northern New England.”
“Find any?”
“Any what?”
“Traffic.”
“Oh hell, you caught us. We’ve been going twenty hours a day. Needed a break. Crow here decided to do some snowshoeing.”
The groups were just feet apart. The speaker was young, no more than early twenties. The other was in his thirties and dressed for the outdoors. Was it Frank inside? Cilla leaned on a ski pole.
“You picked a good day for it.” She had to see that third man. The younger man was looking at Cilla with astonishment.
“Don’t I know you?” he asked.
“Maybe. I meet a lot of people.” Cilla stared back at the man with steady eyes.
“Alexandra Sturgis? Is that you?”
“Sorry. Wrong lady. Somebody looks like me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. What would Alexandra be doing here?” He wasn’t convinced.
“Where’s your equipment?” asked Todd. The two turned toward him. “You going to let Mr. Crow have all the fun.”
“Gil don’t know how to handle the back country,” growled Crow. The younger man put his head back in the plane. Cilla, who’d been watching for danger signs, was taken by surprise when he turned around with a pistol in his hand.
“Hands clear of your bodies! Check them for weapons, Crow.” He waved the barrel at the other man. “This girl is Alexandra Sturgis. They call her Loni.”
“Hold on,” said Kurt Britton. “You’ve made an error. This is Cilla Rogers. We have identification.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Todd, taking off a glove and reaching inside his parka. “I don’t know...”
Crow suddenly swung at Todd, catching him on the side of the head and knocking him on his back in the snow.
“Todd!” exclaimed Cilla. Britton hit Crow a harder blow.
“Hold it!” ordered Gil, waving the pistol. “That’s enough! Next time I use this!”
Britton let his arms hang by his sides.
“He was just reaching for his wallet!” Cilla knelt beside Todd, who showed no signs of consciousness. “He’s hurt!”
“Lady, stay away from his pockets! Stand up!”
“He needs help, you baboon!”
“Stand up or I shoot!”
Cilla faced him from her kneeling position. “An unarmed woman?”
