Free Forced to Kill by Andrew Peterson Page B

beached on a small island. What do you think, Harv?”
    “It’s pretty narrow in there, but we should be okay. Let’s circle back to the north and come in low. I think we can set her down just south of his position. He’s gonna be pissed.”
    “Screw him.”
    “He might have a gun.”
    “I seriously doubt he’d actually shoot, but he might wave it around. You stay on the controls after touchdown.”
    “Don’t get yourself shot, partner. He’s not worth it.”
    “I second that,” Jeremy added.
    “I’ll be okay. I can always jump in the water if he gets trigger-happy.”
    “You guys are something else. Do I want to know what you used to do for a living?”
    They answered simultaneously. “No.”
    He circled the ship around to the north, bleeding off altitude. “Power lines?”
    “Negative,” Harv said. “We’re good.” He skimmed the south wall of the inlet by no more than thirty feet and dropped down to water level.
    “Oh, man….” Jeremy said.
    “You okay back there?” Harv asked.
    “I think I left my stomach on the cliff.”
    “The worst part’s over. Harv, you see any crossings? Cables or ropes, anything like that?”
    “We’re good.”
    The target LZ was straight ahead, several hundred yards distant. They were totally engulfed by the towering red walls above them. Nathan had done some confined flying before, but nothing like this. Total focus.
    “It’s loud enough to wake the dead out there,” Harv said. “All this rotor noise must be reverberating like a freight train.”
      Nathan concentrated on a flat spot near the middle of a rocky island and slowed his approach to twenty knots. “He definitely knows we’re here.”
    “I don’t see anyone,” Harv said.
    He slowed to ten knots and looked at the water. Smooth. No wind. A slight amount of dust swirled as they went feet dry. He eased forward and hovered over the LZ.
    Total focus now. Eyes straight ahead. Ease down on the collective.
    A little more…. The helicopter shuddered slightly. They were down.
    “I think I need to change my shorts,” Jeremy said.
    “Nate’s a good pilot.”
    Jeremy pointed. “There’s our man.”
    Nathan throttled down and looked up. Their mark stood on the sundeck with his hands on his hips. Even from this distance, he didn’t look real happy. Understandable, but too bad.
    “I’m getting out. Harv, you’re on the controls.”
    “You sure about this? Maybe we should all get out.”
    “That would appear threatening. Jeremy, I want you to get out, but stay here.”
    “You got it.”
    He climbed out, removed his flight helmet, and walked across the uneven terrain toward the houseboat. Halfway there he stopped. Mr. Houseboat didn’t move.
    Nathan cupped his mouth and shouted, “May I come aboard?”
    The man put a hand to his ear.
    He walked another twenty yards and repeated the request. To his surprise, he received an affirmative nod and a wave over. Well, at least they weren’t off to a combative start. The houseboat looked a lot nicer than the floating wreck he’d expected. The man disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, Nathan saw him reappear at the bow, unlatch a gate in the rail, and slide a gangplank onto the island.
    Nathan turned and gave Harv a nod before continuing toward the boat. The man, like his boat, also surprised him. He was clean-shaven and dressed in blue jeans and a black Oakland Raiders T-shirt. In his sixties, he looked fit, except for a slight gut.
    “That was some damned fine flying.”
    “Thanks,” Nathan said. They shook hands. “I’m Nathan McBride.”
    The man studied the scars on his face and offered a nod. “Lars Stiegler. I flew Hueys for the Army in ’Nam. Two tours.”
    “Thank you for your service.” Nathan placed Stiegler’s accent as Texan.
    Stiegler attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite shine. The vet nodded toward the helicopter. “Bell 407?”
    “Good call.”
    “Your friends are welcome too. Might as well make it a