Denise had ducked inside the cool dimness of the hangar as soon as Vern had the door cracked open. Yuri’s Bell 47 helicopter was right where he’d left it, huddled in the back of a hangar at Vashon Municipal Airport. It had a large, transparent-plastic bulbous nose and no doors. The bench could seat three in a pinch. The instrument console sported a bare dozen gauges on a stubby pillar between the two pilot positions. It was such a simple machine that nothing more was needed. The engine was mounted vertically on the back of the cockpit, its driveshaft attached to the rotor blades through a simple centrifugal clutch. The back was an open frame metalwork truss stretching rearward to a tiny two-bladed tail rotor. If you painted it dull green instead of shining white and attached a pair of stretchers, it would be right out of the M*A*S*H television show. “What did you do to my poor bird?”
