The Old Man(68)

Hank finished clearing the mound of snow off the edge of the driveway and started toward the house. As he stopped at the side door and set the shovel against the wall, he took another look. The truck was gone. The town still looked deserted. He opened the door and noticed the piano had stopped.

Marcia was standing in the entrance to the living room. Her face was pale and her expression frightened. A hand pushed her aside, and Hank could see that the figure that stepped away from the wall behind her was James Harriman, the young special ops man.

Marcia said, “I’m so sorry. I never saw. I never heard—”

“It’s all right,” Hank said. His arms began to float away from his sides. “Where are the others, Mr. Harriman? Or are you going to do it?”

Julian said, “I sneaked up here to warn you, and there’s not much time.”

“Then warn me.”

“NSA found you. They store more information than they did in your time. They ran some instant searches, looking for anything that makes you different. Two days ago they figured out you were Henry Dixon, and you were here. Now there’s a rifle squad in the village suiting up.”

“Why are you warning me?”

“Because you lived up to the deal. You told the truth.”

“That’s it? I’m not a murderer or a thief?” said Hank.

Julian looked at him in surprise. “Well, yeah.”

“Neither is the average person. Would you risk your life for him?”

“I have. And so have you.” Harriman glanced toward the front window, an involuntary reflex. “We’ve all got to get out of here. They plowed the road so—”

“I know. So they could drive up here in cars to take us fast and get out. How soon?”

“A few minutes. No more than a half hour. Don’t try to take your car. They’ll be blocking the road.”

Hank said, “Thanks, Mr. Harriman.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you make it.” Julian went to the back door of the cabin and stopped. “I didn’t tell you this so you could kill a couple of our own guys.”

“Of course you didn’t,” said Hank. “I don’t want that either. I just want to stay alive.”

James Harriman turned away, stepped down into the path of footprints, and then along the fallen pine log into the woods.

Hank closed and locked the door and turned to Marcia.

She said, “I’m so sorry, Hank. I was playing, so I didn’t hear him.”

“You wouldn’t have anyway. This is what he’s trained to do. Now it’s time to get out.”

While she put on her warm jacket, hat, boots, and gloves, Hank ran to the coat closet and took the two backpacks that contained their bugout kits. He collected their cross-country skis and poles and bundled them tightly with bungee cords in the middle and both ends. He put their ski boots in the backpacks. Then they went to the back door and sat on the steps to put on their snowshoes.

Hank said, “Here. Put them on like this. Use the strap to go across the instep here.”

“That’s backward.”

“That’s right.” He stood up and walked a little. He left tracks that looked as though he were going in the opposite direction. He stepped on the tracks that James Harriman had made, making them unreadable. After a few seconds, Marcia was up with her snowshoes on backward too.

Hank led the way. He started up the hillside carrying their cross-country skis and poles. He set a strong pace, heading up the mountain at an angle into the pine forest above the cabin. Their tracks were not possible to hide, but these tracks looked as though they marked someone’s approach to the cabin.

When he was just below the summit of the hill he could hear Marcia’s breaths coming in windy gasps. He stopped and they sat in the snow to let her catch her breath.

Finally he said, “If this turns out to be the end, you’ll have to split off and go your own way. You’re still a kidnapping victim, and you can get out of this.”

She looked terrified, but said, “I want to stay with you.”

“That’s not smart,” he said.

“I made my own stupid decision for my own reasons, and it’s not going to change. Let’s get up and get moving.” She stood and began stepping up the hill at an angle to keep the snowshoes from tilting to the side and slipping.

Hank overtook her and kept climbing until they reached the ridge. They looked down at Big Bear Lake and the road leading up to their rented cabin. Hank pointed. Two black SUVs were stopped at the foot of the hill, preparing to make their way up the road.

Hank sat down and said, “It’s time to get our ski boots on.”

They set their ski boots on the snow in front of them, took off their snow boots, brushed off the snow, and stowed them in their packs. They put on the ski boots, and then Hank used two of the bungee cords to hang the snowshoes from their backpacks. They used their poles to steady themselves and stepped over the summit. He pointed with one of his poles.

“Look over that way. I want to head eastward along the high ridge as far as we can go. Follow me.”

A few minutes later, the snowplow truck with its plow raised to shield the truck from gunfire sped up the road to the mountain cabin with the two SUVs directly behind it. The vehicles stopped in front of the cabin and Julian and the rifle squad poured out and entered the cabin from both doors at once. They found the cabin empty. There were two half-filled coffee cups that still felt warm, a refrigerator full of fresh food, and a bed upstairs that had been slept in and remade. But the two occupants were gone.