The Old Man(72)

Then they moved east along the edge of the forest. Julian clung to the snowmobile seat behind Wright. They went along for some time, trying to avoid rough spots and irregularities in the terrain. They came to a spot where the wind had blown away a layer of snow to reveal a double layer of cut pine branches laid crosswise in a grid. Wright got off the snowmobile and kicked aside the pine branches. Below them was a three-foot-deep, rock-lined natural depression that looked like part of a frozen streambed. Wright said, “That man is starting to get on my nerves.”

Now the sun was low behind them. At the next spot where they were shielded a bit from view, Wright stopped again. He said, “We’ve run out of ski tracks. I think that means we’re ahead of them. Night comes early in the mountains. The old man and his girlfriend won’t be able to ski through these woods in the dark. They’ll be out in the open on the slopes. And they’ll be tired as hell. I want to stay ahead and find a place to wait for them.”

For the last of the sunlight and into the early darkness the one remaining snowmobile limped along, carrying Wright and Julian, and towing the two men in the sled. And then they reached a sight Julian had not expected. They came over a rise and saw lights. Below them was a highway, and on it were a seemingly endless stream of white headlights snaking up into the mountains and down to the flatland below.

Wright gathered his men. “All right, guys. We’ll park the snowmobile in the woods over there.” He pointed to the left. “We’ll watch for our two fugitives.” The men got off the sled and moved on foot into the thick woods while Wright drove the snowmobile in after them.

When everything was quiet again, Wright took out his radio and called his radio operator at the cabin. “Group leader to base. We’ve reached a major road here. It’s got to be Route 38. Get a call into HQ. Request a chopper with an infrared scope be sent to our location to sweep the area behind us and beyond the road to the east. Advise when you have an answer.”

Wright turned to Julian. “If they have body heat the chopper will see them. If they don’t have body heat they’re dead. That would be good enough for me.”

The sun had set, and the Dixons needed to get as far as they could before the light was totally gone. Hank kept them moving along at a speed that felt as though it must be their maximum.

As the light disappeared behind them and the shadows on the snow ahead blended into the general haze of blowing snow, they heard another engine sound. Still very far away, it was louder and deeper than a snowmobile. Hank knew exactly what it was. He made a gradual turn toward the woods to his right. He kept going until he was at least two hundred feet in, and under thick branches.

Marcia, following in his tracks, caught up and stood there beside him. “What can we do?”

“Wait and see what the chopper does. Stay in the thick part and don’t move. If they have infrared scopes, all we can do is dig into deep snowdrifts, cover ourselves completely, and hope they move on.”

Julian saw Sergeant Wright’s call for air support for what it was, a fighter making his last big swing a powerful one, knowing that if it didn’t connect he was finished. The men were cold, tired, and frustrated. They were sheltering among the trees, saying very little.

The helicopter appeared from the east a short time later, moving fast at a high altitude, and then descended and began to make its sweep of the area beyond Route 38. It looked to Julian as though the land on that side was rougher, and the hills steeper.

Julian spoke even less than the other men. He volunteered no opinions, which seemed to him like offering medical advice in a morgue. He followed Sergeant Wright’s strategy and stayed in the cover of the trees to stare over the snow-covered expanse to the west to discern the approach of the two skiers. He was not subject to Wright’s command, but it was the least he could do at this moment, and he hoped it would help direct suspicion away from him. The cover of the woods kept the cold west winds from punishing him the way they had in the open, and the rest was welcome.

When the helicopter was gone, the world was silent again except for the constant radio chatter between Sergeant Wright and his radio operator back in the Dixons’ cabin. The men listened to the conversation, which was a series of reports that the helicopter had found nothing up to some set of coordinates, and then, minutes later, nothing up to the next set.

Suddenly, the helicopter reported a heat signature in a valley some distance to the west. Wright grinned. “There you go, guys. They’ve got something.”

There was a pause in the transmissions for several minutes. The helicopter was landing to send two men to get a better look. After a few tense minutes the pilot radioed back, “The heat signature was from a pocket warmer.”

“Say again,” said Wright.

“The heat source was not a human being. It was a pocket device that burns lighter fluid. It’s for staying warm in cold weather.”

“Roger,” said Wright.

He stomped around in the snow for a few seconds. “That’s perfect. The son of a bitch figured we’d use infrared scopes to find him.”

Ten minutes later, the helicopter pilot reported that his aircraft had been recalled to its base. As it came over their position, the helicopter hovered for a moment, circled once, and then kept going to the east.

Wright said, “All right. That’s it, gentlemen. Get on the sled. We’re going to head back. We’re going to take the open spaces this time and skirt the woods. If you see anything, sing out. There aren’t going to be any innocent bystanders out in these mountains tonight.”