They were moving in low, almost skimming the water, probably to avoid radar detection. As they got closer, Dane could see that they were a motley assortment, different makes and vintages with no uniformity in terms of paint scheme and no visible identifying markings. One bird looked like a Bell 204 or more probably, its military variant, the UH-1 better known by its nickname the “Huey” and Dane wondered if it was a working leftover from the Vietnam War era. It was a passing thought, quickly swept away in the fight or flight cascade triggered by the realization that their enemies had found them. Bones had assumed a similar posture, every muscle in his six and a half-foot tensing in anticipation of a deadly confrontation. “Damn. She sold us out, didn’t she?” “Don’t sweat it.” Dane tried—and failed—to affect a care-free tone. Part of him wanted to rage at Bones for being so quick to trust Gabby, for being too easily seduced by her flirtatious manner.
