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spent their time shuttling back and forth between Kilgore and Washington. They had decided it was time to conduct a mission of their own.
    “Do you realize it has been less than a year since Josh was arrested at Minerva Johnson’s house in Kilgore?” Beth asked Ert as the plane taxied to terminal four.
    “Seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?” Ert replied. “Who could ever have predicted the events to follow? I don’t feel like I was finished grieving for him when Bass drafted me into this duty.”
    Beth thought about the espionage trial of Joshua Issacharoff that ended when Josh was found hanged on the eve of his release from prison. The case had taken a great toll on Ert, Leadoff, many of Josh’s friends and her. She knew a good and innocent man had faced death head-on for values he could never forsake, the founding principles of American democracy and a love for all people of the world.
    “President Whitfield knew the right man for the job,” Beth said.
    •  •  •
    They picked up their bags at the luggage claim and rented a medium size car at the Enterprise counter. They got an area map from the rental car clerk, threw their bags in the car and drove out of the airport with no immediate destination, tourists for the brief respite between their arrival and Saturday morning, when they would gain access to the bank vault.
    The next morning, at eight o’clock sharp, the guard unlocked the thick glass doors to the bank and escorted them across the expansive, marble covered floor of the lobby to the large walk-in safe where the safe deposit boxes were. Beth carried an empty canvass book bag in her right hand. The guard checked their IDs and showed them inside the vault, locking a heavy steel door behind them so they could conduct their business in private. Ert fumbled in his pocket for a key and slipped it into the lock of a drawer on the next to the bottom row.
    He pulled the drawer all the way out of its wall socket, placed it on a table in the middle of the room and peered inside. On top of a stack of ledger books or journals was a sealed envelope with his name written on it in a clean, cursive script. Ert removed the envelope without opening it and gently placed it on the table top.
    “Aren’t you going to open it?” Beth asked him.
    “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Ert said.
    Then he reached in and took out six hand-written journals, looked at the volume numbers on the spines and placed all but one in Beth’s book bag. He put the envelope with his name on it back on top of the one journal left in the drawer, returned the drawer into its wall socket and locked it with the key.
    Beth pushed the button, calling for the guard, who appeared in a matter of seconds and let them out of the vault. They nodded to him as they walked to the front door and hurried down the steps to their rental car where Beth carefully placed the book bag in the back seat within her reach.
    “Are you ready for a road trip?” Ert asked.
    “I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon,” Beth said.
    “Neither have I. If you’ll be my date, I’ll spring for supper,” Ert said.
    “You’re on, big boy,” Beth said as they entered the I-17 north ramp, leaving the desert basin of Phoenix behind in favor of the high country of northern Arizona.
    Four and half hours later, they passed through the entrance of Grand Canyon National Park and found a parking space near the south rim. When they got out of the car, a strong north wind bit into them with a cold sharpness they had not anticipated.
    “I guess six thousand feet elevation is not quite the same as sea level,” Ert joked. “I should have brought a jacket.”
    Before they began the short walk to the rim, Beth grabbed her book bag and clutched it to her.
    “I’d hate to see anything happen to these,” she said.
    “You and me both,” Ert said.
    After only a few minutes, the wind drove them to shelter at the visitor center where they spent a couple of hours listening to guides