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Lee watched as Jason climbed in the rowboat. He wasn’t sure who climbed into the boat with Jason and who pushed the boat back out into the waves, but within a minute, one of the two men was rowing the boat toward the fishing vessel bobbing on the ocean.

“Well,” Lee said, working with his foot pedals, easing back on the controls and positioning the helicopter roughly fifty feet away from the fishing boat. “This never gets any easier.”

He unbuckled his three point harness seatbelt. He hadn’t even been aware he’d strapped it on inside the North Korean army camp, but he had out of habit. Now, he was focused on doing whatever he could to free himself from the helicopter once he’d ditched her. He’d been dragged beneath the waves once before and he didn’t want to go through that again. Holding the control stick between his legs, he pulled the headphones off and tossed them to one side.

The rowboat reached the fishing vessel. Jason climbed aboard. His small frame was easily distinguishable in the dark.

“It’s now or never,” Lee said to no one in particular. What he was about to do ran against everything he knew and counter to every safe choice he’d ever known about flying. Ditching in the ocean was dangerous at the best of times. There was no right way to conduct a controlled ditch. If there was, he’d never heard of it. He decided his best bet was to set down lightly, as though he were landing on the beach again.

Easing the helicopter down, Lee watched as the chopper skids dipped beneath the water. He lowered the chopper further until the water lapped at the door.

Lee kicked the door open, wedging it open with his boot as the cold water lapped in around the foot pedals. Breathing deeply, Lee powered down the chopper, cutting the power to the engine just as he would if he’d set down on land.

The chopper began to sink, gently slipping beneath the waves as the rotor blades still whizzed by above the cockpit.

Water poured in through the open door, chilling him.

Salt water soaked through the bandage on his hand, searing the wounded stubs where his fingers had once been.

Lee froze.

He couldn’t leave the cockpit until the rotor blades had stopped turning. The helicopter twisted as it sank, with the open cockpit door tilting down toward the bottom of the ocean. Water rose up around his neck and head, forcing him to take one last breath. The chopper shuddered under the torque as the rotor blades struck the water, and that was his cue. Lee pushed off, diving down and out of the cockpit.

Something caught around his boot. The cord from the headset had wrapped around his left foot. He struggled, shaking his foot as the helicopter plunged into the depths, dragging him deeper. Although the laces on his boots were undone, he couldn’t shake the boot loose. Using his other boot, he managed to pry his foot free, and kick toward the surface.

His lungs were burning as he burst up through the waves.

Lee’s clothes were soaked. The heavy overcoat he was wearing began dragging him back down into the murky sea. With only one good hand, Lee struggled to stay above the choppy waves. He choked on a mouthful of water.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the collar. He twisted, turning, grabbing at the rowboat and kicking against the ocean. It took him almost a full minute before he managed to clamber into the boat, dripping with sea water. Lying on his back, gasping, Lee looked up into the grinning face of the old man he’d seen in the hut.

“Thank you,” Lee said, coughing and spluttering.

“It is we who should thank you,” the grandfather replied with a smile, resting his hand on Lee’s shoulder.

Chapter 16: Escape

After a four hour drive, they pulled up next to a fire station in North Bend. A faded wooden sign outside announced the name of the suburb: Windsor Park.

Twilight cast a warm glow over the distant hills. A community baseball diamond across the street had its floodlights on. Parents sat on metal bleachers watching their children play on the grassy field overlooking the sprawling Coos river. The North Bend nuclear power plant sat on the edge of a wide s curve in the river.

“Stay here,” Lachlan said, getting out with Stegmeyer and Vacili.

Vacili was quiet. As a cameraman, being introverted probably came with the territory. Jason had seen him filming, running digital video backups and uploads from his laptop, but he had barely said two words to him in the last day. Vacili appeared to be content recording history rather than participating, but the fact that he was there spoke volumes. The very act of accompanying them was dangerous, and he could spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary just for being present. Jason preferred not to think about that too much.

Jason had no doubt Vacili knew precisely what he was involved with and was actively supporting them, and yet he left his camera in the RV at this critical moment, surprising Jason.