Barnaby Jones reclined on the bed in his hotel room, his fingers laced together behind his head as he stared up at the rough surface of the white stucco ceiling, unable to relax. The images of Betty and J.R., memories of their humor and their rapport, were locked in his mind as he waited for the telephone to ring.
When it did, he felt his body jerk involuntarily, as though startled by it. Swinging his long legs off the edge of the bed, he sat up and reached for the phone on the bedside table. Lifting the handset to his ear, he said, �John?�
�Yes, it�s me,� said the familiar voice of John Biddle. �I�m afraid we haven�t found them yet. Our planes and choppers have searched the area where they dropped off the radar, but there is no sign of them. They�ve been forced to terminate the search tonight because of darkness, but tomorrow they will expand the search area.�
Barnaby was quiet for several moments, thinking about that. His mind was tired, but his powers of reason remained sharp. �So they flew for a while under the radar,� he said at last, more of a statement of fact than a question.
�Appears that way. The terrain is very rough, with a lot of mountain ranges that would impede landing. They couldn�t have picked a worse place to go down. Possibly, the pilot was attempting to keep the plane in the air long enough to find a suitable landing spot, but that�s just speculation.�
�If he had done that, wouldn�t he have been in contact with the air traffic controllers to alert them to the fact that they were still in the air?�
�Perhaps he had his hands full trying to keep it aloft,� Biddle suggested. �Our rescue crews followed their flight trajectory for some time, expecting that they would come across them at some point, but there was no sign of them. The conclusion is that they flew off course.�
Barnaby�s back stiffened in reaction to that bit of news. �Off course? Why would an experienced pilot fly off course like that?�
�Again, it�s just speculation, but it could be that something was wrong with the navigation system, or if he was searching for a flat stretch of ground on which to land he may have simply drifted off his intended path. The good news about this is that if the pilot was able to keep the plane in the air for an extended amount of time, it�s possible that they managed to land somewhere without crashing.�
That thought had already crossed Barnaby�s mind. �There is always that hope, isn�t there?� he said, but the guarded tone in his voice indicated that he was reluctant to be too optimistic.
�I�ll stay in touch, Barnaby. You try to get some rest, okay?�
�I�ll try,� the detective promised.
With a weary sigh, Barnaby hung up the telephone and sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Biddle�s explanation about the reasons why the pilot could have flown off course sounded feasible, yet the fact that he had not notified ground control that they were still in the air was not sitting well with the detective. There was more to that flight than met the eye.
Night had fallen over the dry, desolate landscape of the Mojave Desert. The temperatures had cooled, allowing the stranded commuters to enjoy a reprieve from the burning hot sun that had plagued them throughout the afternoon and early evening. However, with nightfall came the realization that any rescue operation that was underway would have been suspended until daylight. That meant spending at least one night in the desert.
The two men and the woman were now lying quietly, trying to find some rest in spite of the discomfort of the rugged wilderness. Utilizing the blankets and the small pillows to provide meager cushioning from the hard, rocky ground, J.R. and Betty lay side by side on one side of the luggage, while Tyler was stretched out on the other side. The decision had been his, for he was still uncomfortable in the silently condemning expressions he continued to see in J.R.�s eyes whenever he looked at him. And he would be less likely to disturb them when he went into the wilderness to hide his cargo.
His mind in a constant state of turmoil, Tyler listened for indications that his two passengers were asleep. Betty�s steady even breathing was evidence that she had managed to fall sleep in spite of the discomfort, but as he listened carefully, he was unable to determine whether or not J.R. was still awake, or not.
Quietly, he rose up on one elbow and peered over the assortment of suitcases and the ice chest. Shadowed from the moonlight by the bluff, he could just make out the other man�s inert form lying face down on the other side of the woman, his arms folded beneath the flat pillow in an effort to make it seem larger. He watched for several moments, but J.R. did not move or offer any indication that he was awake. It was so dark, in fact, that he could not even see J.R.�s sides moving in and out with his breathing. He stared intently at his face, but in the darkness he could not see his if his eyes were open or closed. He would have been startled to find out that J.R.�s eyes were partially open, gazing back at him with suspicion, waiting.
For hours, Tyler had been wide awake, waiting for the right moment to slip away, but no longer was it a simple matter of hiding the contents of the suitcase. Lying awake for so long had provided ample opportunity to think, and he realized that getting out of this mess would not be as easy as he had initially imagined. The dealers to whom he was taking the goods would not settle for accepting the merchandise and allowing him and the others to walk. The stakes had changed. Because of the plane crash, the deal had become more complicated, and complications were something dealers liked to avoid. There would be media attention and an investigation. The FAA and the FBI would be involved in determining who had sabotaged the plane and why. He was convinced that the buyer would send out searchers to find the plane before the authorities did in an attempt to recover the goods. He had failed in his job, and if they found him alive, he knew that they would now consider him a liability. He was convinced that they would try to eliminate him and his passengers to prevent them from tracing the merchandise back to him.
His only chance was to simply walk away, to disappear into the desert, and let J.R. and Betty fend for themselves. He felt guilty about that, but he had no choice. If he was going to survive, he had to use whatever means were at his disposal. With a suitcase full of quality merchandise in his possession, he could easily find another buyer and secure enough money to start over somewhere else.
�J.R.?� he whispered. �Are you awake?�
There was no answer, and Tyler�s nervousness began to calm somewhat. Apparently, the would-be attorney was asleep as well.
Moving quietly, he stood up and gripped the handle of his suitcase. With a lingering gaze on the motionless form of the other man, he turned and started to walk away.
Listening to the retreating footsteps on the hard ground, J.R. raised his head and watched curiously, his suspicions confirmed. Tyler�s possessiveness of the suitcase had not escaped his notice, for he had sat most of the afternoon with his arm resting casually on top of the luggage, as if guarding it. Like Tyler, J.R. had been lying awake, anticipating that at some point during the night, the pilot would slip away to hide whatever was concealed inside the suitcase. He had a pretty good idea what it was.
Unaware that he was being observed, Tyler walked into the debris field and began to search among the airplane parts that littered the ground. J.R.�s brows knitted together in a puzzled frown, wondering what he was doing. Finally, the pilot found a small piece of the fuselage, a chunk of the plane�s outer shell about six inches by eight inches. J.R. could only wonder at its purpose.
As he straightened up again with the piece of the plane clutched in his hand, Tyler turned briefly back toward the bluff where Betty and J.R. lay. J.R. quickly dropped his head back to the small pillow. After a few moments, he raised his head again, and saw that Tyler was walking away from the crash site, taking long hurried strides toward the nearby mountain range.
J.R. quietly got to his feet, and gazed down at the woman who continued to sleep, unaware that anything unusual was occurring. He hesitated, reluctant to leave Betty alone, but there appeared to be no danger from either unscrupulous men or wild animals in the immediate area. That is, except for Tyler, and J.R. had every intention of keeping an eye on him. Moving quietly to avoid disturbing her, he followed the errant pilot.
Keeping his distance, J.R. tailed the other man for fifteen minutes, watching intently as he continued to walk away from him. At one point, Tyler turned around as if to verify that he was not being followed. Watching him carefully, J.R. could tell by his posture that he was turning, and instantly dropped to the ground, hoping that in the darkness he would blend in with the many rocks and boulders that littered the ground. Apparently, Tyler saw nothing in his wake that caused a sense of alarm, for he immediately turned back around and resumed his walk.
J.R. rose cautiously to his feet again, and continued to follow, maintaining his watchful vigilance on the other man�s posture. Tyler did not turn around again, apparently satisfied that he was completely alone in his nocturnal hike.
When he finally reached the foothills of the mountain range, he disappeared behind a shallow bluff.
J.R. approached quietly, his sneakers making almost no sound on the hard ground. As he neared the bluff, he slowed and peered cautiously around the edge of it.
Tyler was still visible in the faint moonlight. He skirted the bluff, crossed a small barren hill. J.R. followed him over the hill, and as he watched, Tyler slipped quietly into an arroyo that wound its way through the foothills, following the path carved out by many years of erosion.
J.R. approached it with caution, lest he alert the other man that he was being followed, and looked over the edge.
There was a sparse array of plant life in the arroyo, which obviously saw more moisture than the upper levels of the desert. A few Joshua trees clung to life on the rocky slopes, and here and there a barrel cactus had found a foothold in the dry soil.
Tyler was hurrying along the bottom of the arroyo, moving faster than before. It seemed to J.R. that he was getting desperate to get where he was going, yet every so often, he stopped and scraped the hard ground with his shoe, as if searching for something. Then, apparently not finding what he was looking for, he resumed his walk along the floor of the arroyo.
J.R. watched this unusual behavior with a puzzled frown as he carefully started down the edge of the arroyo.
Finally, Tyler uttered a low exclamation of triumph and dropped to his knees beside an outcropping of layered sandstone that jutted out of the side of the arroyo. He carefully placed the suitcase on the ground and then, using his piece of fuselage as a shovel, he began digging in the hard, dry soil, scooping out a depression beneath the sandstone. When he had opened a hole about a foot wide and another foot deep, he popped open the suitcase.
J.R. squinted through the dim light of the stars, eager to see what had been concealed inside the suitcase, but Tyler�s body blocked it from view.
Tyler reached into the suitcase, then turned back to the hole.
A rock slipped from beneath J.R.�s shoe as he made his way down the bank of the arroyo, and it clattered loudly against the sandstone as it tumbled into the crevice, instantly alerting the other man that he was not alone.
Startled, Tyler leaped to his feet as he spun around and saw his passenger completing his descent into the arroyo.
�J.R.!�
J.R. was staring at him; or more accurately, he was staring at Tyler�s hands.
Lowering his gaze, Tyler gazed at the bags of cocaine that were clutched in each hand. He knew that J.R. was fully aware that he intended to bury them beneath the outcropping. Anger replaced his surprise. �You just had to be nosy, didn�t you? You just had to come after me! Why couldn�t you have just minded your own business?�
�It all starts to make sense,� J.R. said as he approached the other man. �The reason you wanted to fly under the radar for so long. The reason you wanted to delay our rescue. You knew that this stuff would turn up during an investigation into the crash, so you had to get rid of it.�
�Look, J.R., you don�t understand what�s going on here!�
�I understand, Tyler. I understand that you�re involved in illegal drug trafficking. The question is why? You have a successful business! Why are you throwing it all away?�
�My overhead is high, J.R.! It costs a lot to keep these planes in the air, and an opportunity came up that I just could turn down.�
�Did this �opportunity� involve that Jeff guy back at the hangar?�
�J.R., you�d be wise not to get yourself involved in this. You don�t know who is at the helm of this operation.�
J.R. nodded. �I take that is a �yes�.�
�I�m serious, J.R. � He paused, trying to think of something that would convince the detective to let go of this particular event; to just forget about it, but nothing was coming to mind. By tossing him the knowledge that there were others involved had just fed J.R.�s investigative instincts. There was no way he was going to forget it. �Look, I�ve gotten myself a little bit in the hole, you know? I have high expenses, taxes, and everything else that goes along with trying to have a good lifestyle. This is just a temporary thing to make some extra money. I swear I was planning to get out of it after this deal goes through.�
�Oh, come on, Tyler! You don�t expect me to believe that! There would be a next one, and a next. It isn�t going to stop just because you tell me it is!�
�Look, J.R., I have debts. I was about to lose my house! Surely, you can understand that!�
�Maybe you�re just living beyond your means! Did you ever think of that? Huh? I�ve seen your house! Couldn�t you have simply settled for something a little more modest rather than resort to this?� He pointed to the bags of white powder.
�It isn�t that simple! I�d gotten accustomed to a certain lifestyle before my father�s inheritance ran out . . . I didn�t want to lose it.�
�It IS that simple!� J.R. retorted. �Didn�t your mother teach you that you can�t always have everything you want? In time, maybe you could have gotten it back, but this �-- This is a one way trip to prison!�
�Not if you keep quiet. I�ll complete this one deal, and then bail! I swear!� he pleaded as J.R. stood before him, shaking his head. �Just don�t tell anyone about this. Promise you�ll keep silent about the drugs. We can tell the authorities that it was probably a competitor who cut the oil line.� He shrugged at the irony. �That is the truth, even if it has nothing to do with the shuttle service.�
J.R. shifted uneasily. �You know I can�t do that, Tyler.�
�Why?� Tyler sputtered in disbelief. �I thought we were friends! Think of what this will do to my sister! My mother!�
�Turn the cocaine over to the authorities, and I�ll help you in any way I can, but I won�t lie for you. If you cooperate with the police and name your sources, I�m sure they would be willing to cut a deal. You�ll probably only get a few years, and you might even get probation.�
�The only thing I�m going to get is a death penalty!�
�What?� J.R. asked, startled, wondering if Tyler had committed another offense of which he was unaware. �What are you talking about?�
�My buyer is Albert DuHart.�
The name settled into his brain; a well known drug dealer. �I�ve heard of him. He�s some kind of big drug boss, isn�t he?�
�Yes. He�s the distributor. I�m the middle man, taking the goods from the supplier to the distributor. If word gets out that I squealed, he�ll come after me with a vengeance. He�s ruthless, and he has contacts and assassins, like the mob. If I name him as one of my buyers, he�ll set his sights on me! There would be no place for me to hide! The only way out for me is to deliver the goods to him, and then disappear!�
�Is he the one who sabotaged the plane?�
�No, I think that was probably Larry, my former . . . boss. He didn�t like it when I struck out on my own, and he threatened to get even. I thought he was blowing steam, you know? I really didn�t think the little weasel would have the nerve. But DuHart definitely has the nerve. He�s in an entirely different league.�
�The police will protect you,� J.R. insisted.
�You don�t know these guys!� Tyler�s voice rose in frustration. �They will find a way to kill me! Even if they have to send someone into prison to do it, believe me, they will do it! The police will probably be happy to let them!�
J.R. hesitated. He was more than familiar with the practice of powerful criminals slipping an assassin into jail, for it had happened to him when he had been arrested in Hawaii, an experience that was still fresh in his mind. However, that had been an entirely different situation, involving a hostile cop who would have been delighted to see J.R. murdered if for no other reason than to hurt Barnaby. �DuHart needs to be brought down. I know a lieutenant on the force. He will see that you are protected, I give you my word.�
�I know you mean well, but that�s not good enough, J.R.,� Tyler replied, his voice menacingly quiet.
�Tyler, think about all the kids who are going to get turned on to this stuff! Think of the people who could die because of it!�
�The people who could die because of it are us, J.R. The three of us.�
This caught J.R.�s attention as nothing else could have. �What? What are you talking about?�
�The fact is, you are in danger, too. You and Betty.�
�What do you mean? We�re not involved in this!�
�I�ve been lying awake all night thinking about it. As soon as Duhart heard that the plane went down, he probably started getting his assassins geared up. They�re probably out there somewhere right now,� his arm swept the vast expanse of desert wilderness, �looking for his cocaine! He knew I was bringing him a shipment, and he�ll want to find us and collect the merchandise before the authorities find it! The rescue crew has probably returned to L.A. for the night. Believe me, DuHart�s people won�t! They�ll find a place nearby, and they�ll wait until daylight, then they�ll be searching again. I wasn�t supposed to be carrying passengers, and I assure you, they won�t want to leave any witnesses to the fact that he picked up his drugs!�
J.R. knew that was probably true. He stared silently at the pilot, his tongue clamped between his lips as he tried to think. Finally, his mind found the obvious flaw. �Tyler, if they come in here and shoot all of us, that will alert the authorities right away that someone else was involved!�
�There are other ways of killing people. My guess is they�ll hit us in the head with their rifles stocks, or something, and then strap us back in the plane to make it look like we were killed in the crash. You were right, J.R.! I should have put us down at the first level strip of land � we�d probably have been rescued by now -- but I didn�t think about the consequences of going farther. All I could think about was hiding the coke! I figured I could come back later and pick it up, and complete the delivery and everything would work itself out. I realize now that this whole situation won�t end with turning the drugs over to him. DuHart won�t let any of us live.�
J.R. raised his hand to silence him. Tyler was starting to sound panicked. �Listen, we need to go back to the plane and talk about this rationally. We need to decide what we�re going to do to protect ourselves in case those goons show up before the rescuers do.�
Unless you have a machine gun hidden in your duffel bag, you won�t be able to protect yourself against them!�
J.R. stared at him in stunned silence, understanding for the first time the hidden implications behind Tyler�s trek into the desert on foot. �You were about to run out on us, weren�t you? You were going to let us face DuHart�s men alone while you hid in the hills!�
�No!� Tyler denied a little too forcefully. �I was coming back just as soon as I hid the stuff! I swear!�
�I don�t believe you. If you had intended to tell us about DuHart and his thugs, you would have done so before now. No, you were going to buy some time by letting them find and deal with Betty and me first!� He quickly ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back from his face as he tried to think. They were wasting time arguing, when they needed to be planning how they were going to get out of the mess Tyler had created. �We�ll worry about that later. Right now, we need to come up with a plan. Let�s go back and get Betty, and then see if we can find a cave in these mountains or some sort of hiding place where we can watch the plane, and see who shows up.�
Tyler was silent for several moments, his mind working furiously to come up with an alternative plan. Finally, he nodded. �All right.�
Kneeling, he returned the two bags of cocaine to the suitcase and latched it. Then, as he stood up, he swung the suitcase with all the force he could muster. It struck J.R. in the ribs; the target Tyler had aimed for, knowing that they were either bruised or fractured and the most disabling point of contact.
J.R. cried out in pain and surprise, and sprawled on the rocky ground, clutching his side in agony, but there was nothing he could do except watch as Tyler turned and ran with the suitcase.
�Tyler!� he shouted, but to no avail. The pilot continued to run until he had disappeared into the rocky, uneven terrain. �Of all the stupid . . . Aahhh,� he groaned, doubling over his injured ribs.
J.R. had no idea what Tyler had in mind, but it was obvious that he did not want to stay and risk facing the drug buyer and his thugs. Was it true? he wondered. Would DuHart send assassins to rid himself of possible exposure? The idea would have seemed far-fetched had he not witnessed for himself the lengths drug dealers and users would go to in order to ensure their own safety.
As the pain became manageable again, J.R. climbed slowly to his feet and stared up the arroyo in the direction Tyler had taken, but he did not give chase. Gripping his painful ribs with his hand, he climbed back out of the arroyo and made his way back to the plane, moving at a much slower pace than he had before.
As he neared the ridge, he saw that Betty had awakened and found herself alone. She was sitting up, watching for him. Recognizing his painfully slumped posture, she got up and rushed to his side, noticing that his hand was clutched to his ribs. She placed her hand over his.
�J.R., are you all right?� she asked, worriedly as they walked slowly back toward the ridge. �When I woke up and you and Tyler were both gone, I didn�t know what to think! Have you hurt yourself again?�
�Tyler knocked me down with his suitcase. If my ribs were only cracked before, I think he finished the job of breaking them.�
�But why would he do such a thing?�
�He�s carrying cocaine. That�s why he�s been so possessive of that suitcase, and it�s also why he didn�t want to land the plane too close to the point where we dropped off the radar. He wanted to give himself time to hide it before we were picked up by rescuers. He sneaked out of here a little while ago to do just that. I followed him.�
�J.R. that was a dangerous thing to do!� she scolded like the older sister he had never had.
J.R. managed a painful laugh. �Yeah, tell me about it.�
�Where is he? Did he run out?�
�Yep. He hightailed it into the foothills. There was no way I could catch him.�
�I�m glad you didn�t try!� she exclaimed. �He could have hurt you badly! Cocaine? Is he using or dealing?�
�Dealing.� They reached the ridge, and J.R. sank heavily down on his blanket with a groan. �His shipment is intended for Albert DuHart.�
�DuHart?� Betty repeated. Her voice sounded concerned. �He�s a major drug kingpin, something akin to the mob. I�ve heard Lieutenant Biddle mention him. He�s wanted by every law enforcement agency in the Southwest.�
�Yeah, Tyler says he plays hardball. He says that DuHart probably has sent his goons out here to track down his shipment before the authorities reach the crash site. By taking us so far off course, our wonderful pilot has made it more difficult for the rescuers to find us, and because the rescuers have probably returned home to their beds back in L.A., he�s also made it more likely that DuHart�s people will find us first.�
Even in the darkness, he could see the sudden unease on her face. �He won�t want any witnesses, will he?� she asked.
�No.�
�What . . . what are we going to do?�
�We need to get out of here before dawn; that�s the first thing we need to do.�
�Honey, you�re in no condition to be hiking around the desert!� she protested, stroking a lock of his unruly hair off his forehead with her fingers.
�We don�t have any choice, because if we�re here when they arrive . . .� He didn�t finish. He didn�t have to.
She nodded. �All right. Should we take the ice chest?�
�No, it�s too heavy; it�ll just slow us down.�
�When it heats up in the afternoon, we�ll get dehydrated,� she pointed out.
That was true, but he knew they could survive several days, even in the desert, without water. Still, it would be very uncomfortable. �It�s too bad we don�t have canteens. They�d be easy to carry.�
Her eyes fell upon the empty pop cans. �Why don�t we fill a couple of those cans with water? They�ll be easier to carry.�
�It won�t be much, but we can use it sparingly. Good idea, Betty.�
She smiled. �Thank you.�
Selecting a couple of the empty cans, she rinsed them out, then filled them with water from the melted ice in the cooler. It was warm now, but it would quench their thirst, at least for a while.
�What time is it?� J.R. asked as she passed him one of the cans.
She pressed the button on the side of her digital watch, and the numbers lit up. �It�s two o�clock.�
�Two o�clock,� he repeated. �That�s good. That gives us plenty of time.�
�Where are we going?�
His eyes scanned the rugged horizon in all directions. Surrounded on all sides by the rugged mountain ranges, it was obvious that they were going into the mountains, regardless of which direction they took. �Well, Tyler went south, which tells me he�s probably hoping to get to Mexico. He probably flew us off course toward the south, too. So, I think we should go north. We�ll get into those mountains and find a hiding place. From there, we should be able to see anyone who approaches the plane.�
She nodded in agreement. �Sounds good to me.� Reaching down, she took his arm and helped him to stand. As he struggled to his feet, she watched with a worried frown as his hand immediately went to his ribs again. �Can you make it?�
He nodded. �Yeah.� His eyes fell upon her purse, tucked away against the ridge. �Do you have a mirror in your purse?�
�Yes, a small one. Why?� she asked with a teasing smile. �Want to tidy up a bit?�
He gave her a look of mock scorn, but his eyes were smiling. �No. I�m thinking we may need it to signal help when the rescue team gets here.�
�Good idea.� She reached down and picked up the purse, slinging the shoulder strap over her head so that it hung at her hip.
�It might be better if we didn�t carry anything bulky with us except the cans,� he suggested. �Maybe you could just carry the mirror in your pocket?�
�J.R., I am not leaving my credit cards and my identification here for those creeps to find!�
�Good point.� He knelt down and fetched his wallet from his duffel bag, then slipped it into his back pocket. It was a tight fit, but he succeeded in getting it in there. Next, he removed his identification tag that dangled from the duffel�s straps and slipped it into the other pocket. �Is your name or address anywhere on or in your luggage?� he asked.
�No. I didn�t put an ID tag on it, since we were taking a chartered flight.�
�Okay, then. I guess we�re off to see the wizard!� he quipped, using humor as an attempt to ease the tension they felt.
They turned north, walking resolutely toward the rocky, barren mountain range.
J.R. managed to walk upright, but slight bent to his left, as if trying to protect his side. He carried his water can in his left hand, his right hand clamped to his injured ribs, which throbbed incessantly under his palm. By the time they reached the mountain�s foothills thirty minutes later, his leg was starting to ache again as well, a fact that he kept to himself.
She had already noticed that he was slowing down, but she attributed it to the rib injury. �Maybe we should stop and rest,� she suggested.
�No, we need to keep moving,� he replied. �I want to be out of this valley when daylight gets here. We won�t be safe until we�re hidden from view.�
She said no more, but he knew she was worried about him.
He placed his arm around her shoulder, gripping her in a brief embrace. �I�ll be fine. Don�t worry.�
Releasing her, they trudged onward, moving on a steady incline up the paths of erosion left by water flowing from the peaks into the arroyos below. The incline was gradual, but it was difficult to maintain the uphill hike, and soon they both were panting from fatigue.
Finally, J.R. sank down on the ground, unable to go any farther. Betty sat down beside him.
�We can�t keep up this pace,� she told him.
�I know, I know,� he agreed. Gasping for breath, he allowed himself to fall backwards on the ground, careful to keep his water can upright. The gesture jolted his ribs, but his weariness was even greater than the pain.
Sitting beside him, Betty gazed into the valley below, and felt her heart sink, discouraged. They had not come as far as it had seemed.
�Oh, J.R.,� she lamented. �We�re barely out of the valley!�
He lifted his head to look, then laid it back down again. �Yeah, I know. It would be physically impossible for us to go straight up the side. This gradual incline we�re taking is longer, but less steep.�
�At this rate, we�ll never make it to the top.�
�We don�t need to make it to the top. We just need to get high enough to find some boulders or crevices, something to hide behind. A cave would be ideal.�
Turning her head, she gazed up at the rocky slope above. �Somehow, I don�t think we�re going to find a cave here.�
�All we need to do is see them before they see us. That gives us the advantage.�
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. �I wonder how Barnaby is doing,� she said, softly. �I bet he�s worried sick.�
He turned his head to look at her, silhouetted against the shimmering stars. �He�s tough. He�ll be okay.� He turned his gaze to the sky. �I never realized there are so many stars up there. You can�t see many stars in Los Angeles. Can�t see them in Chicago, either.�
She tipped her head back to look straight up. �Too many city lights.�
They remained there for fifteen minutes, resting and catching their breath, then J.R. forced himself to his feet again. �Guess we�d better get going again.�
Betty stood up too, and they proceeded up the side of the mountain.
Go to Act 4