...The tires on the Jeep whined loudly. The noise was so distracting that the man had to yell to talk to them. Mikhail managed to sit back up tucking his legs as he steadied himself with his arms against the plywood. Pat fastened his seat belt as tight as possible and hung on to the door as well as his seat.

"So, what's your name?" he yelled above the hum of the tires.

"Mine is Pat and his is Mikhail."

"Cool. No last names. Got ya. Probably not your real names either. Cool. Call me…Dave. No really. You can call me Chris. Chris Kinser. Actually, that's my real name. I've got no reason to hide my real name. After all, the name of my business is on the jeep. Did you see that when you got in? You did, didn't you? What kind of spies wouldn't? I'll tell you what kind. Bad ones. That's what. That car of yours back there was a rent-a-car. Haven't been in town very long have you? No you haven't. Well I tell you this is beautiful country. I wish the sun was out, I could show you a few things." Chris spoke quickly and constantly. Pat's responses were short and brief. Any elaboration on a topic was cutoff with another topic by Chris. Pat made an occasional glance back at Mikhail to be sure he was still hanging on. He sat with his eyes squinted shut as the noise intensified.

Chris turned out to be an answer man with an encyclopedia in his back pocket. When he spoke, only absolute fact and truth spewed out in quick bullets. As the headlights passed by a tree he would fire off the name. If a mountain or rock formation came into view he would give the proper name, it's composition and how it came to be. For the entire drive he gladly provided an answer to all of life's mysteries, which to him were easily at hand. Anyone could name any topic from politics, philosophy, engineering, mathematics, or history and the answer was simple to Chris. Words quickly sprayed from his mouth telling stories of facts or possibly fallacies, Pat did not know which. Pat's responses were limited by speed with short bursts of "yes," and "huh-huh."

Chris' turn off the highway was just as quick and abrupt as his spoken word. The turn was so fast that Pat was unable to see the full name on the sign.

"We're heading for my place," Chris replied. "It doesn't take long."

"Where is your place and how long is long?"

"My place is southwest of here near Irvine Mills and maybe another hour." Chris quickly returned to his conversation with the men. In time, he turned onto I390 south and finally Highway 17 west. At exit 23 they took 219 south. They had driven for a couple of hours, but Chris' constant conversation kept them occupied. Signs began to appear which directed the men to the Allegheny State Park. Chris' turn off the highway was just as quick and abrupt as his spoken word. The turn was so fast that Pat was unable to see the full name of Irvine Mills Road on the road sign."

Chris slowed and turned into a small driveway with a large sign stood out in front of a much smaller building. It was an obnoxious sign with pictures of river rafting, fishing, hunting, and woodland tours. In the middle were big red letters stating Allegheny Backwoods Tours. The wood building was something out of the old west with a wooden porch and creaking floors.

Chris ran inside first; "I just need to get some gear and we'll be on our way." Mikhail and Pat stretched and then entered the house. A small desk in the corner had papers strewn all over. In another corner were two kayaks and in yet another were backpacks and climbing gear. None of it was in any order, a sharp contrast to the orderly manner presented by Chris. "Here put these on!" Chris ordered as he threw to Pat and Mikhail camouflaged clothes. The two men stood there staring at him as the unclean stench of the trousers and shirts overcame them. "Hurry up, we have a long walk ahead of us. My business supplies whatever is necessary to my clients, including clothing. Pretty smart, huh!"

"But the smell is god-awful," Pat commented squinting his eyes while attempting to hold his breath.

"Look, normally, I charge $50 each for these and $60 when they're clean. I'm letting you use them for free. So be happy you're getting them at all."

"Why are you doing this?" Mikhail questioned.

Chris hesitated for a moment and said, "I thought you said we were going after a murderer?"

"I did."

"Ok, then."

With some regret the two men slowly undressed while Chris packed a backpack full of food. "Don't worry, men, I'll carry the food, the tent, and a gun. The tent will be big enough for all three of us. I'll do all the humping since neither one of you look like you're able to keep up. Now. Let's move!" The men exited and got back to the Jeep.

Mikhail stood outside and refused to get in. "I'm not getting in until he tells me how far we are going. We just drove for two hours and probably 100 miles," he said to Pat.

Pat turned to Chris and asked, "How far do we have to go?"

"Not far," was Chris' reply.

"How far is not far?"

"Get in and I'll tell you."

"We're not getting in until you tell us."

"Look around at all the darkness. Do you know where you are at?" Pat and Mikhail got in.

With a quick grinding of the gears Chris had the Jeep racing eastbound on North Bloomfield. After two miles he turned off his lights and then the engine and allowed it to coast into the darkness, to where Pat and Mikhail did not know. "Trust me," Chris whispered.

"I don't think we have any choice," Pat commented as the Jeep slowly ground to a halt in the leaves and mud.

"Ok. Here's where we get out. Just follow me and stay close. I haven't lost anyone yet on my business and I don't want to lose you two. Hey, Commie, come here. You follow…"

"Excuse me, but what did you call me?" Mikhail asked.

"Commie. Aren't you a communist? Commie is short for communist," Chris stated as a matter of fact.

"For some reason I get the feeling that is an insult."

"Whatever! You just follow me. Pat here's a flashlight for you. You follow us." Pat took the flashlight. Pat recognized the OD green color and the clip on the back as being the same as the military issue. The insert over the light was red.

The men set out along a ditch to the highway, which quickly turned north and headed up a moderately steep hill. The path was well worn and Chris seemed to know exactly where he was going. All around the darkness swallowed them as they traveled further away from the road. The noise of the insects silenced with each step and the small animals scurried through underbrush. The trio did not say a word to each other until they reached the outskirts of a clearing. The clearing was a dew laden meadow recently turned into a short grass runway. Parked about halfway down was the helicopter. Two large military style tents were set up 50 yards away from the helicopter. Another 50 yards beyond that was a refueling depot. The moonless night made the lights from the tents shine brightly on the ground and on the chopper.

The three men crouched down and Chris turned to Pat and Mikhail, then said, "There are usually six to eight men here. One pilot, a copilot and four other men in camouflage. About three miles from here they have another camp. There are four more men there. C'mon, I want you to see the helicopter. They have some crazy looking gear on board. I'm not too sure what it is, but I know what it does. Or at least I think I do. Maybe you two are able to identify it. Here's an idea. How about you, Commie, flying the whole thing out of here?"

"I do not know how to fly a helicopter," Mikhail answered.

"What kind of a spy are you? No wonder James Bond always kicks your ass."

"Let's get up there and take a look at it," Pat intervened.

"Well, come on James Bond, let's go see it anyway," Chris said to Mikhail. The three men hunched over slightly and scurried across the field. The flap from one of the tents opened and one of the men stepped out. The light flashed out across the field like a spotlight. The trio fell down onto the wet grass. A few grass blades ran up and into Pat's nose, while Chris went down to a nose full of deer droppings. Patiently they watched until the man returned to the tent.

Chris turned to Pat and said, "Look at this. I think this deer is sick. Notice how the terds…"

"Come on!" Pat interrupted.

Quietly, they crawled to the side of the helicopter out of view of the tents. Chris carefully opened the door and the men peered inside. Mikhail scrambled in and Pat followed with a flashlight while Chris kept watch. In a few brief moments Mikhail and Pat exited and the men were on their way back to the edge of the runway.

When they jumped behind the tree line Chris said, "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Interesting, but I don't recognize any of the equipment, though. What now?" Pat questioned.

"Follow me. We are going to hike a couple of miles then make camp for the night. We'll talk some more and I'll tell you a few stories."

Pat looked over at Mikhail and with a long face said, "Oh great. I can't wait - ghost stories."

Mikhail in all seriousness stated, "Commie? Tell me exactly what does that mean again?"

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