I grinned. "I do believe Navy pilots are the least of our problems, sir."
General Bo grinned. He was loving this. But I suddenly felt the weight of what we were about to do. The sheriffs department was twenty, perhaps twenty-five minutes from the airport. I judged we were a little less than half an hour away. This was all wrong. When I couldn't reach Tom, I should have called someone else at the sheriffs department and come clean. But thinking about Shockley made me shudder. I just want to see him and Arch again, I thought. And maybe even Jake.
We zipped along toward the airport. Since Furman County is mostly mountainous, the people who built the airport had been at some pains to find an area large and level enough for hangars and a runway. They'd eventually paid a rancher a staggering sum to move his herd of cattle to eastern Colorado. The starry-eyed airport builders had proceeded to divert a local brook, destroy two prairie dog villages, and pave over an elk migrating area while smoothing the rancher's fields. Then they'd failed to build hangars and purchase computers that were even close to within their budget range. The airport had not been profitable, and the resultant wrath of environmentalists and downgrading of the airport's municipal bonds had provided juicy material for The Mountain journal for several years.
"Hangar C-Nine," the general muttered as we came down the incline to the south gate security fence. "Now if we can just... oh, for Pete's sake." He stopped the Jeep. Ahead of us a dozen cars stood motionless while a tow truck pulled a station wagon out of a large pool of rippling water. "What the hell - "
I craned my neck. "Flooding. No one's going in or out of the south gate for at least a quarter of an hour." I pointed. "That's the brook that used to go through the ranch."
"What ranch?"
"The ranch that used to be where the airport is."
He wheeled us in a U-turn. "Is there a north en- trance to this godforsaken place? We need to find another way to C-Nine."
At my direction we raced up the state highway until we came to a sign for the small northern entrance to the airport. Like its southern counterpart, the north entrance road also sloped downward to our right.
"Ha!" exclaimed the general, triumphant. He careened the Jeep onto the road and accelerated down the hill. Just as quickly, he braked and stared at the road ahead. "Holy Mother of God." Hangar C-9 was up a hill to the right, about a hundred feet away. But the security gate and fence were underwater, claimed by the fast-rushing, no-longer-diverted brook. On the far side of the fence, the roofs of two cars were barely visible above the swirling, muddy torrent. "Damn this rain. How are we ever going to get around that?"
I sighed. "Fly."
Of course, I didn't think he'd take me literally. But I should have remembered who I was talking to. Bo turned the wheel sharply and gunned the Jeep off the road. Up and down we rocked, with Bo keeping a sharp eye on the water. Finally the road took us past the perimeter of the airport property. Abutting the highway was a small cliff that rose above the original brook. Over the centuries, the water had cut through the stone, so that on the far side of the brook, perhaps fifteen feet away, was another cliff. Bo expertly piloted the Jeep off the road, then brought- it to a stop at the bottom of the hill that led up the cliff.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No, I'm not," I replied. "Remember the last time you and I were together on a cliff over water? With all the moisture in the rock, we could easily precipitate another slide - "
"So you're just willing to let Marla go back to jail for, killing this guy who's about to split forever?"
"There must be another way - "
"There isn't. I could take a tank over that cliff: We'll make it, Goldy."
What other choice did we have? "We'd better," I told General Bo.
His face set with determination, Bo pressed the accelerator. The speedometer needle soared upward. My breath seemed permanently caught in my throat. We raced to the edge of the cliff, and then suddenly, we were airborne. My heart beat out the seconds as we flew through the air. Oh, Tom, I'll never, ever get involved in crime again. I'll -We landed with a thud on the opposite cliff. But before I had a chance to express relief, there was a deafening roar behind us. I twisted around and experienced a sight that was familiar, but still terrifying: rocks and dirt disintegrating in a landslide. Where there had been two cliffs and a picturesque brook, there was now a landfill created by an avalanche of dirt.
"Damn," murmured the general as the Jeep hurtled through the only nonflooded gate into the airport. "I just got kicked out of the Sierra Club."
Hangar C-9 was a large, pale green building with no cars parked outside. The general scanned the area, then said, "I want you to drive over to C-Seven, leave the Jeep in back. Royce might have seen this car when he ran out of the mine." He paused, his face as serious as I had ever seen it. "Goldy, I'm going to take this guy out. I don't want you involved. Watch for him from outside. Call in the troops if things get rough. I don't mean Tom, I mean the whole damn sheriff's department. Trotfield said his plane's a small jet, a Citation with the numbers four-eight-two-six Golf. I'll go into the hangar at the front. You watch for Royce or Trotfield from out here, then come in after me only if you don't see or hear Royce. If you do see or hear him, call the cops as quickly as possible. Last resort. With any luck, though, we've got at least fifteen minutes before they arrive." He checked the Glock. "Got that?"
I protested feebly, "Isn't the hangar locked?" "A numbered security lock, and I got the code from Trotfield. Don't worry. You just do your job, and I'll do mine. Okay?"
I nodded and drove the Jeep to C-7, where I parked in back. The weather was finally clearing; where were all the pilots? Probably waiting to come in through the south gate. I scanned the road to C-9 for a dark green Explorer, and saw none.
I could not let the general undertake this alone. There had to be something I could do. I hopped out and sidled along the back of C-8. I listened and waited. Not a sound. I knocked on the door to C-9 and felt dizzy when the handle turned.
The barrel of the gun was pointed straight at me. "Goldy, for crying out loud," the general said amiably. He quickly holstered his gun inside his new bomber jacket.
"I want to help."
He glared at me, then pointed. "Go stand in the office behind that Gulfstream. Stay where you can get a good look at the Citation without being seen. Don't turn the light on. Check for a phone. And please, don't get involved...." His head turned sharply to a sound that hadn't reached my ears. "Here he comes. Move."
I scooted into the office and scanned the space quickly. In the corner of the office was a shovel. I picked it up just as I heard Tony's all-too-familiar voice. "Excuse me? Who are you?" he demanded of General Bo. "How did you get in here?"
"I'm Trotfield's copilot," Bo announced genially. "Came in by the north gate. Glad to meet you, Mr. Royce."
No time to close the office door; it would make too much noise. Through a crack in the blinds, I saw Tony stride in wearing chinos and an expensive red leather windbreaker. His hair was perfectly blown dry, his mustache was evenly clipped. He was carrying a metal briefcase. The general gave Tony a huge smile. I gripped the shovel.
"Now all we need is Sandy," General Bo persisted in a jocular voice. "He's got the approach plates for Ordaz International, and our flight plan is already filed in the county's airport computer. Are the cars coming through the south gate pretty smoothly now?" He really appeared to be enjoying this. He even made a mock salute, before he turned and trod smartly toward the plane.
"It's not too bad. Look, we have some bags," Tony announced in a voice that indicated he expected the copilot to fetch them. But when General Bo continued I toward the Citation, Tony followed. He asked mildly, "You been Sandy's copilot before? How do you think he looks with that new beard?"
The involuntary, incredulous grimace on the general's face as he turned back to face Tony sent nervous ripples up my skin. But Bo instantly wiped the look off and assumed the same easy tone. "Oh, I thought he looked better - "
But it was too late. Royce had tested Bo and he'd failed. The metal briefcase sailed up toward the general's head and caught him offguard. Bo flailed backward awkwardly and went down with a thud. He grabbed for his gun, but Tony ran forward and kicked itout of his hand. The heavy gun skittered across the hangar floor.
Oh, God, help me, I prayed. I raised the shovel and leapt for the office door. Tony trotted toward the hangar entrance. When I called his name and started to run toward him, Tony hesitated, his mouth open, stunned to see me. The caterer, of all people. And armed....
Behind us, there was a shot. The general had scooted' over to his weapon, fired at Tony, and missed. Startled, Tony reached inside the red windbreaker and pulled out a small gun. He took aim at the general and fired: pop, pop, pop. Then he walked toward the general. Two more shots reverberated. I didn't think. I ran toward Tony and brought the shovel down with all my might. He groaned and cried out. As his body buckled, his gun sailed from his hand and landed near the hangar door. I swung the shovel down on his head. This time, he went down and did not move. Relief and anxiety mixed in a wave through my bloodstream. I struggled to catch my breath.
"My tellers will really miss their muffins," said a calm, cold voice behind me. I turned.
At the hangar door Eileen Tobey stood, holding Tony's gun. Sunlight silhouetted her muscular frame. I dropped the shovel.
"Don't, Eileen," I said. "You can't... I thought you hated Tony."
"Shut up. I'm just a great actress."
She held the gun aimed at me, but to my surprise, she didn't pull the trigger. I couldn't see her eyes. I slid my hands in my pockets. "Get your hands out where they're visible," she said.. "I'm just looking for my keys," I told her, fighting to keep despair from my voice. "Don't you need them to get away?" I kept my hands in my pockets and started walking toward her. "The sheriff's department is going to be looking for Albert's Explorer. They know Tony killed Albert. If you take my Jeep, you'll be able to get away, far from all this."
I was three feet away from her. I stopped, both hands in my pockets, as if awaiting her response. I assumed a puzzled look. She seemed to be struggling with what I was saying about the sheriff's department and Albert's Explorer.
"So do you want the Jeep or not? Let me get medical help for General Farquhar, and you go - "
"All right," she said impatiently. She held out her left hand, and as she did so, the gun in her right hand dropped slightly. "Give me the damn keys."
Do it, I thought. I appeared to fumble in my pocket, then whipped out Jake's leash, the leash I'd put in my pocket in the mine, and swung it at her hand holding the gun. The metal bit into her hand. Startled, she dropped the gun. I flung my whole body against her. We went down together, out the hangar door.
Fury gave me an edge. I pulled Eileen's hair and whaled away like a madwoman. As I pushed her face into the dirt I heard her curse. I pushed harder, grinding her face into the mud until she stopped flailing. If only Tom could see me now....
Tom said, "It's over, Miss G." His voice was angry, disappointed, relieved. "I shouldn't believe this, but I do."
My husband stood ten feet away from me, his.45 raised. When I gasped in surprise, he lowered his gun and signaled to the cops behind him to come get the woman I was sitting on.
Painfully, I stood up and allowed two policemen to cuff Eileen. To Tom, I said, "I'm sorry."
"I swear, you always say that." Two uniformed policemen rushed past us. Tom pointed at Tony Royce, who was clutching his head and cursing. The policemen swiftly handcuffed him. Ignoring his howls of pain, they led him outside.
Tom said to me, avoiding my eyes, "First we get a call saying Albert Lipscomb has been murdered and is up at the Eurydice Mine. The paramedics get there and radio back there's been some kind of an explosion. Then I pick up your message. So we hightail it out here. Good thing." 'Tom scanned the hangar and groaned. "Oh, Christ."
The general lay motionless on the concrete floor. While Tom barked into his radio for an ambulance, I ran over and knelt at Bo's side. Blood stained the bomber jacket and spurted to the floor. Tony had shot hin.
"You can't die," I heard myself order General Bo Farquhar. My voice rang in my ears. "You can't die. Oh, please - "
The pale, pale blue eyes that I had known so well these past few years opened. "Goldy," Bo murmured.. "Schulz... Marla didn't..."
"You did a great job," Tom told him, kneeling beside me. "Marla will be cleared. Just hold on, sir." I'd; never heard such respect in Tom's voice.
With enormous effort, Bo turned toward me. "I'm going to be with Adele...." He raised his head feebly, then let it sink back to my lap. "I... you all... very much...." And then he died.
A rescue team from the Colorado School of Mines cleared the entrance to the Eurydice Gold Mine. They' brought out the corpse of Albert Lipscomb. Tony Royce was charged with, among other things, the murders of his financial partner and the First of the Rockies teller. The investigation into the death of Victoria Lear was reopened. Eileen Tobey was charged with grand larceny and being an accessory to murder.
