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The twin engines throbbed noisily outside the cabin as Skipper taxied the old 1976 Cessna 310 to the end of the runway. Rain whipped against the windshield with increasing vigor. Glancing across the field Skipper noticed a nearby helicopter coming to life and a car's headlights racing onto the airfield.

"Uh oh."

"What?" Bert looked up from the pre-flight check list in his hand.

"I think our other two friends have found us," Skipper said, motioning toward the car which had now stopped beside Bert's BMW.

Bert watched as the car started again and accelerated toward them.

"Uh, Skip? They're trying to cut off the runway."

"Time to go-o," Skipper says in a comical, sing-song voice.

Small lights flashed from the window of the sedan as it raced toward them.

"They're shooting at us." Bert yelled over the noise of the engines.

"Hope their aim isn't too good."

Skipper gave the Cessna all the throttle she'd take and eased back on the wheel. She began lifting her nose into the air and rocking a little in the gusting wind.

"They're turning away, Skip. Going toward that chopper I think. I can't see from here. If they are this thing should be able to outrun it, with luck. Hope they don't have any friends up north ready to jump on us."

Bert glanced back at Phillip who had come to on the way down the hill in the car and who now looked like he was going to be sick and scared enough to wet his pants any second.

"Don't sweat it, Phil. Just think, you couldn't get a ride like this at Six Flags!"

Phillip fumbled an air sickness bag from the seat-back in front of him and got it open just in time.

The old 310 lifted off the runway and was even more violently buffeted by the wind. Skipper played the controls and pulled her nose up as fast as she would go. Bert was busy tuning the King avionics so they could fly toward Mammoth on instruments. Visibility was limited to about half a mile and deteriorating rapidly.

Conversation between Bert and Skipper was terse. Phillip was scared and wanted to talk; but wisely recognized he'd be in the way and remained silent -- until Bert started having trouble with the navigation system.

"Bullpucky! We're out of luck with this thing, Skip. One of the Comnav's is totally gone and the other just quit. Looks like we have to go 'IFR' -- as in ' I Follow Roads' instead of 'Instrument Flight Rules.'"

"What do you mean, 'One of the Comnav's is gone?"

"I mean 'gone' as in 'not here.' There's a hole in the panel and the back up system just quit."

"Do we have charts? I may not be able to see the roads when we get further north." Skipper was squinting his eyes trying to see through the darkness outside the rain spattered windscreen.

"Let me check."

Phillip took a deep breath and butted in.

"Sir? I think I can help. My specialty is radio electronics and I worked on that same system for a couple of years putting myself through college. It's a King KX 170 Comnav. It's an excellent system and they aren't complicated insofar as what could go wrong, probably just a blown fuse. If it hasn't been serviced properly it could have a loose antenna connection. If I change places with Mr. Johnson for a few minutes I can probably get it working."

"Any port in a storm. Thought you were sick."

"I think more scared than sick." Phillip was embarrassed. "I've flown a lot and never been airsick before."

"Do we have any tools?" Skipper was a little skeptical but was willing to take any help he could get.

"I have my pocket tool set here. No self-respecting electronics 'geek' would ever leave home without it," he said. With his little attempt at levity Phillip did his best to be positive and up-beat. It made him feel a little better and he hoped Skipper would let him try. He needed something to get his mind off the current situation and the things he had just witnessed.

Bert looked at Skipper and Skipper nodded. As Bert unhooked his seatbelt Skipper said, "You be real careful, Phil. If you do something that knocks this bird out of the sky we'll all be dog food in a few seconds and I'll never speak to you again."

Bert was half out of his seat and paused, looking at Skipper.

Skipper winked at him.

Bert shrugged his shoulders and continued into the back. Phillip swallowed hard and slid into the right seat upside down.

Meanwhile Bert rummaged around in the aft compartment for a few minutes.

"Okay Skip, we've got charts." Bert said. "Let's see, we've got a choice of two routes. We can head east to Las Vegas then cut north or we can try to shoot up a corridor about a half mile wide between the Eastern High Sierra Mountains to the west and Highway 395 to the east. In this weather I'd recommend the Vegas route. The other looks pretty hairy. It's pretty curvy and cuts awfully close to the mountains."

"Why are we restricted?" Phillip asked.

"Military airspace up the valley. Jets, if I remember correctly. And the China Lake Naval Weapons Station, not to mention Fort Irwin and a number of other restricted airspaces. We can't go over the High Sierras blind so we go east to Vegas or we play peek-a-boo between the mountains and 395.

"Give me a heading. We're going up the corridor," Skipper decided. Flipping off the outside navigational lights, he commented, "No sense advertising where we are. Keep your eyes open gentlemen."

Phillip groaned audibly and went back to work.

* *

Gregori Carpov was straining his eyes trying to peer into the gloom ahead. He had been keeping the lights of the Cessna in sight when they suddenly went off. Then the plane itself began going in and out of sight in the clouds.

"Faster! If you lose that plane your career with this company is over."

"This buggy won't go any faster. We're already over the red line -- doing the best she can. You want more, you fly it. Just let me out first."

"Okay, Okay. Just don't lose that plane!"

The pilot looked at Gregori, then said. "You better find another way of tailing him, 'cause if he decides to open that crate up he'll leave us far behind in a heartbeat."

Gregori picked up the radio handset and tried to raise the company. His only hope other than keeping the plane in sight was to reach one of the Air Force Generals who accepted generous "gifts" from U.S. Technologies and put pressure on him to use Air Force technology to track it. After several minutes of yelling into static he gave up. Glaring at the pilot he yelled, "You'd better hope they don't speed up!" Occasionally he caught sight of the Cessna though the mist and clouds.

* *

Skipper was flying as low as he thought he could get away with. As he followed the highway below he tried to recall the turns it made and what the surrounding mountains looked like. Several times he came very close to "wearing a mountain."

Suddenly Phillip pushed himself up. "It works now. Somebody's been tinkering with it who should have left it alone. I rigged it to work but I don't know for how long. The connection to the - "

"Come on, Phil. Move!" Bert was already pulling Phillip into the back seat by the feet. "I'd really love to hear what was wrong, but later. Okay?"

Phil climbed into the back allowing Bert to take his place.

"Seems to work like a charm. All right, Phil! Now we're cookin'." Bert began tuning in the correct frequency.

"Nice going, Phil. Thanks." Skipper took a quick look back at Phillip who, though he still looked scared, swelled with pride like a school boy.