"That's not what Ashley said," I point out. "She doesn't like helicopters, but she's fine with airplanes."
Ashley hugs herself. "Not small planes. Helicopters are worse, though. I'll probably wind up vomiting."
"We have air sickness bags," says a man who approaches us from behind. He speaks with an American accent. The bloke shakes hands with my cousin. "Good to see you again, Munro."
"Aye, it's been a while." Munro looks at me. "Last chance to back out. If your lass can't handle a helicopter ride—"
"I can handle it," Ashley says. Then she pokes around in her purse, retrieving the bottle of motion sickness pills. "I'll take one of these."
"Take two or three," I say. "Just to be sure."
Ashley shakes her head. "The maximum dose is two pills."
"So take that. Maybe it'll make you sleepy so you won't mind the ride."
Munro claps a hand on his mate's shoulder. "I forgot to introduce our pilot. This is Peter Heymans, the best helicopter pilot you could hope to have on your side. He'll get us to the landing spot without crashing."
"Oh, great," Ashley all but moans. "That's so comforting."
My cousin glances up at the sky as if he thinks the sun will give him the strength to endure this expedition. "Errol, you should sit in the backseat with Ashley. Maybe you can distract her so she won't vomit all over Peter's new helicopter."
Peter and Munro climb into the front seats while I help Ashley into the back. We get headsets that let us talk to each other, as well as to Peter and Munro, and the headsets even come with advanced noise cancellation to make the journey less stressful. Munro and Ashley talk during the whole half-hour trip to wherever we're landing, and she smiles and laughs while essentially ignoring me for the whole time. I'm glad Munro can distract her so she won't be anxious, and I'm glad Ashley is having a good time. But I wonder why she doesn't behave that way when I take her somewhere. Oh aye, it's a mystery. The fact that I drive and fly like a lunatic has nothing to do with it.
Of course she likes Munro. He acts like a normal person with her, but with the rest of our family, he makes Magnus seem like a cuddly teddy bear. He's not as threatening as the bounty hunter can be, but Munro does not even try to temper his grumpiness.
And none of us know why he's so grumpy.
Suddenly, Munro bursts into song. He's belting out "Scotland the Brave" while Ashley laughs and claps in time with his song. When he finishes, the lass claps even more and shouts, "Woo-hoo! That was amazing."
I donnae think his singing wasthatwonderful.
"Almost there," Peter announces. "We'll set down on the little patch of flat, sandy shore."
We have no permits for this expedition, and many obstacles to survive before we find the treasure—if we find it. And I mean "obstacles" literally. No, I haven't told Ashley about the whitewater rapids. But we are about to face some of the toughest stretches on the Colorado River.
Maybe I should tell her to take two more pills.
Chapter Eighteen
Ashley
I can't believe it. We're here. At the Grand Canyon. Ready to search for the treasure. Well, okay, we haven't landed yet, so technically we aren't there. But I can see the winding green waters of the river, and also the steep, narrow walls of the Grand Canyon. Part of me wants to jump and shout and dance around like a moron. Another part of me knows I need to stay focused and level-headed. But when Munro tells us that we will reach our destination in a few minutes, a feeling of unreality descends on me. A tingle sweeps over my entire body. I've never felt this excited before, not in all my life. None of the expeditions I'd gone on with my dad can compare to this.
We will find the treasure. I know we will.
Since we can't take anything with us that we can't carry on our backs, I had to keep the equipment to a minimum. Luckily, modern technology helps us out. I was able to buy miniaturized versions of almost everything, giving us plenty of tools to aid our search. I even found a miniature device for performing ground-penetrating radar scans. Technology is amazing. I also bought us MREs, those freeze-dried meals that military personnel eat. I had taste-tested one at home yesterday—"home" meaning the house I rented in Loch Fairbairn—and the food tasted okay. We need nourishment for our trek, not a gourmet meal.
Munro and Errol both have huge backpacks that seem like they must be twice as big as mine. Well, probably not quite that. But they are much larger. Big men, big packs. I'm lucky to have these two guys with me because they not only understand how to search for treasure, but they also can carry heavier weights than I can. I'm not ashamed to admit that. I'm no wimp, but I don't have the bodily strength of a full-grown, well-muscled Scot. Both Errol and Munro clearly have trained for this kind of athletic challenge, and they also clearly assume I'm unprepared.
But I have prepared. Did they seriously think I'd go into this blind and ignorant? I knew that reaching the Colorado River, so we can follow Kincaid's journey, would require an arduous effort. I've trained for months, following the routine advised by an experienced Grand Canyon hiking guide whose book I had read. When I tell all of this to Errol and Munro, they seem suitably impressed.
"That's my girl," Errol says with a smile. "Sometimes it pays to be uptight, aye?"
He winks, letting me know he's joking. I could've figured that out on my own. Errol Murdoch is not a jerk who thinks women can't handle outdoorsy stuff. I'm also not so arrogant that I think I can do everything my heavily muscled companions can. We need to rely on each other's strengths and admit to our weaknesses if we're going to survive this expedition without getting hurt.
"Make sure your seat belts are buckled up," Peter declares. "We're about to land."
I suddenly realize I've stopped breathing and force myself to do that.