Cold War - Jerome Preisler [123]
“However you choose to play it,” Megan said. “Under the circumstances—now that there’s no question we have enemies here—I thought you might elect to use one of our own pilots.”
Nimec shook his head.
“Not for the overflight,” he said. “You told me yourself that Granger knows the lay of the land better than anybody. And when I think about where those men in white came from, a big arrow pointing straight to Bull Pass flashes in my brain. If they’re down there and a bird with UpLink markings passes, you can bet they’re ducking for cover. Better they see one whose feathers they recognize and figure is harmless.”
“Which makes Russ’s NSF chopper perfect, since he does Dry Valley runs all the time.”
“Yeah,” Nimec said. “I wouldn’t have to tell him anything’s changed as far as the reason for our flyby. And it hasn’t really changed. How it looks to me now, I find the opening to a wolf den out there, I find where Scarborough’s team got dragged.”
Megan mulled that a bit, then gave him a nod.
“All right,” she said. “What’s next on our discussion list?”
Nimec hesitated.
“Before I came up here, I was in the utilidor with Waylon. Where we brought the bodies,” he said. “Waylon reminded me that we don’t have a clergyman to say anything for our man who was killed in the attack. When we send him off on the plane.”
Megan looked at him.
“Bill Sprague,” she said.
Nimec nodded.
“I promised we’d take care of it,” he said. “But I’m no good at words. And I don’t know that I’ll be back from the Valleys before the flights leave.”
Megan sat in quiet thought.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll preside. That’s how it should be.”
They fell into momentary silence again. Then Nimec gave her a nod.
“I’d better suit up and get hold of the whirlybird man,” he said, pushing back his chair.
Megan was watching him as he rose to leave. He noticed her steady attention and paused in front of her desk.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Just thinking,” Megan said.
“Uh-huh. I kind of figured.”
They looked at each other.
“Well?” he said.
“It’s something that’s probably none of my business,” Megan said.
“Oh,” Nimec said. “So whose business is it?”
Megan took a breath, released it.
“Yours,” she said. “And Annie Caulfield’s.”
Nimec stood there without saying anything.
“Pete, I’m sure it isn’t news to you that Annie’s flying out with the Senators,” Megan said. “Good with words or not, you should talk to her before you leave. Or you’ll miss your chance.”
They were both silent, their eyes in solid contact across opposite sides of the desk.
“My chance,” Nimec said finally.
“Yes.”
“To talk.”
“Yes.”
“To Annie.”
“Yes.”
Nimec stared at her, his throat going dry all at once.
“About?” he said.
Megan waited to answer, looking at his nervous face, the barest suggestion of a smile on her lips.
“That’s up to you, Deputy,” she said.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” Granger said. “I’m wishing like hell I still could help. But with the herbie slamming us as bad as it did, and our field camps trying to get their heads up above the snow, MacTown’s depending on me to check up on them.”
“You can do it when we’re out,” Nimec said. “Seems to me that was almost exactly our original plan. I ride peter pilot while you make your rounds. And you detour us into the valley south of the notch.”
Granger regarded him briefly, and then turned to watch a large rumbling dozer clear the chopper pad where his Bell remained half immersed in snow. Somnolent and dusky with winter’s near onset, the cloudless sky under which they stood seemed entirely incapable of spewing the fury it had heaped upon the coast for the past three days.
“Flying isn’t the problem,” Granger said. “It’s ground conditions that won’t be the same now. Depending on what the camp teams need in the way of assistance, we could be stuck for hours every time I put her down.”
“I can wait, give you a hand,” Nimec said. “Our side trip won’t take that much time.”
Granger stood thinking his thoughts, his gaze following the bulldozer as it made a slow