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transmitters are accurate only within a limited range and only if the signal is aimed at the antenna. We’re researching a new kind of tracking device that bounces signals off orbiting satellites. This system would tell us not only where a bird is but also give a record of where it has been. Once we’re sure the system will work, we’ll begin using it to track our condors.”
    When Shawn finally stopped the vehicle, he told them, “This is as far as we ride. The last quarter mile, we hike.”
    The hike was easy enough, winding through low-to-the-ground, fresh-smelling juniper and piñon trees. A breeze cooled them as they crossed the wide plateau at the top of the cliffs. “This is where you guys will stay,” Shawn told them, pointing to a pen constructed of plywood and wooden two-by-fours. Green, military-type netting draped across juniper branches camouflaged the pen like a hunting blind. Until they were practically on top of it, Jack hadn’t even noticed it.
    â€œYou’ll be able to get good pictures from here, Steven and Jack. This is where we always put photographers when we’re doing a condor release,” Shawn explained.
    â€œWhere will you be?” Steven asked.
    â€œOlivia and I will go to the release pen. It’s about 50 yards from here, close to the edge of the cliff.”
    â€œWhy can’t we go?” Ashley wanted to know.
    â€œToo many of you. It’s not that you would scare the condors—it’s just that we don’t want them getting used to being around groups of people. Then they start landing near tourists at the Grand Canyon, looking for handouts—it’s a bad scene. Understand?”
    Jack shrugged and nodded. Under his breath, Morgan said, “Bummer.”
    â€œWe’ll see you later,” Olivia called back to them, keeping her voice soft so she wouldn’t disturb the condor up ahead.
    Inside the cover of the green mesh netting, Steven set up his tripod. “Better attach your telephoto lens,” he instructed Jack. “And be alert. Seeing a condor is a rare treat, so don’t try to conserve film. Just aim and shoot.”
    â€œCalling a bird Number 87 is lame,” Morgan said. “You know what I’d name a condor if I owned one? Flip. Flip the Bird.”
    â€œHa ha,” Ashley said, giving Morgan a withering look. “You are so not funny.”
    Steven, busy with his cameras, told Jack, “Look sharp, now. You don’t want to miss this.”
    Through his telephoto lens, Jack could watch everything happening in the flight pen. Shawn, followed by Olivia, approached Condor 87—the number was clearly visible on the bird’s wing. The bird cocked his bald, orange head as though wondering what these humans were up to. Slowly, Shawn reached out; 87 seemed to know him. The condor waited, unmoving. Shawn knelt and put an arm around 87, holding him close in a man-to-bird hug.
    â€œI think Shawn’s checking 87’s transmitter now,” observed Steven, who was watching through his own telephoto lens.
    Then, carefully, Shawn stood up, still holding 87, allowing Olivia to examine the bird. Jack could see his mother enjoying the rare opportunity to handle a creature only a heartbeat away from extinction. As Jack snapped a flurry of pictures, the condors’ fight somehow became his.
    There had to be a way to save them.

CHAPTER FOUR
    J ack knocked on the door that connected the room he shared with Morgan to the room occupied by his parents and Ashley. “Mom, can I borrow your laptop computer?” he asked through the door.
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œI have to write a paper about the condors. For science class. The teacher told me the only way she’d excuse me from class was if I wrote a paper—
    The door opened.
    â€œAnd I want to put down all the stuff I learned from Shawn today before I forget it,” Jack added, lowering his voice, liking the way it