The morning drive from Gimli was without incident. Mac and his friend thought it best to meet at a ham radio clubhouse in Winnipeg. Gerald confirmed it would just be the two of them for this special session. Mac found the place easily enough using the directions he had been sent and the two were soon shaking hands and making good use of the club's hot water boiler and supply of Earl Grey tea bags. They chatted intently for the better part of two hours, reviewing maps and the high resolution photos Gerald had taken in the area of interest.
"There are", Gerald said, "nearly a dozen hams on both sides of the border who know of this activity and continue to monitor the situation. They are scanning wide swaths of frequencies for any comms into and out of that area. Meanwhile, most of the locals are still yipping about UFOs, aliens, and other paranormal activity to explain what they've seen. What I saw in the air was mostly drones, but a couple of them were big and not at all silent. I think they are of the military transport variety capable of thousand pound payloads..."
Mac departed Winnipeg heading west along the Trans Canada Highway. It would take him six hours to reach Regina where he would board a private medical helicopter for yet another border crossing.
Once again, no papers, no passport, and no questions asked. Three hours after climbing aboard an older Sikorsky S-76 Life Flight helicopter he was on the ground in Billings, Montana headed for his waiting Scout Harvester in the parking lot. It had been a whirlwind few days and he was anxious to check into the hotel that had been arranged for him by Mawbey. He would remain here for the next 24 hours as he worked out the final details that would place him in the belly of the beast.
Across the highway from the hotel sat a dark sedan with a single passenger. The driver side window was rolled down and the driver was on a call.
"Yes, I located him in Billings, Montana. He just arrived and checked into a hotel" said the driver.
"Don't lose him this time. I need you to follow him and report back to me every four hours. It's critical I know where he is at all times. And whatever you do, don't let him make you" came the reply.
The driver ended the call and lit a cigarette anticipating a long night of surveillance. He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard three sharp taps on the closed window directly behind his seat and turned to see a Sig Sauer P365 pointed in his face. Mac told him to get out of the vehicle and checked him for weapons. Finding none, he bound his hands behind his back roughly and ordered him into the passenger side, but not before picking up his cell phone. He was surprised there was no screen lock and noticed the number of the last call was a familiar Washington, DC exchange.
Mac slipped behind the wheel and the two began driving out of town in darkness - and silence. Five miles later they were in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nature. Mac ordered him out of the vehicle and the two began walking deeper into the woods.
"You know you're not going to kill me, your Uncle is a US Senator and he knows I'm here," the man said rather pathetically.
He ordered him to sit down against a large tree and interlaced several large zip-ties to bind his legs leaving his hands still bound. Not another word was spoken. Mac returned to the sedan and drove back into town leaving the fellow bound in the woods and to his own devices.
Back at the hotel, he parked the sedan exactly where it had been, wiped away his own prints and strolled across the street to where his Scout was parked. He never checked in at this hotel. Mac noticed he was being tailed as he drove from the airstrip and decided to play offense instead of defense in an attempt to buy himself a little time. The guy bound in the woods would eventually work himself free and might even hitch a ride back into town. But that should take several hours and wouldn't be easy without additional resources. Mac had deposited his wallet and phone in the trunk of the locked sedan.
While driving toward his actual hotel destination he chucked the keys to the rented sedan out the window.
The hot shower felt good on his tired body, but sleep didn't come easy in the hotel bed. He didn't care for hotels. Mac thought he would rest much better once he was back outside and in camping mode.
As the night dragged on, he replayed the events of the last few days in his head. Especially the way he had been tracked to Montana. He even allowed himself to wonder if Mawbey could have sold him out, or perhaps there was a mole in his organization. After all, Basil made all the travel arrangements. Something definitely felt off about the welcome he got when he arrived in Billings. That guy was on his tail the minute he got off the helicopter. Mac then wondered if he had managed to free himself yet, the guy was young and didn't strike him as an overly resourceful fellow for this kind of work, and working alone on an assignment like this one wasn't a smart choice. His Uncle wouldn't be so careless, would he?
Mac decided he would call Basil in the morning and confront him with these fresh doubts. He had hoped making a decision about what to do next would be followed quickly by sleep. But that didn't happen. He spent many sleepless nights in his life, mostly replaying in great detail whatever he was working on in that moment.
But another specter often invaded his sleeping hours. Lingering doubts about what caused his parents plane crash and if his Uncle Fielding had anything to do with it. He knew the two brothers didn't get along, and he had uncovered a few disturbing tidbits about the crash over the last few years that weren't conclusive evidence of foul play, but they were troubling enough to cause him many nights of lost sleep.
Tonight it seemed, would be another.