Wright and Julian pulled up beside the snowmobile as the two men got off to investigate. Wright dismounted and looked at the spot. “It’s a rock, Slavin. You hit a rock. Is that thing still okay?”
“I don’t know.” The driver restarted it, and it seemed fine. He moved the snowmobile forward a bit.
Both snowmobiles went forward very slowly, and Julian called to the driver of the other snowmobile: “Does that engine sound funny to you?” The driver stopped again and dismounted. Julian stepped closer and opened the hood. He looked closely at the exhaust assembly that ran from the engine toward the exhaust pipe. “The exhaust is too hot to touch,” he said. “But it seems to have a good connection.” Then he took off his gloves and ducked down to examine the engine.
Beside the exhaust duct was the chain case. He felt under it and found a plug like the ones under a car’s oil pan. He opened it until he felt chain lubricant leaking, and then closed it just enough for the threads to catch. Then he closed the hood and knelt to look under the aft part of the snowmobile. “I don’t see anything wrong,” he said. “Maybe there’s just a little rattle from the bump.” He closed the hood and got on the other snowmobile behind Wright.
They restarted their engines and resumed their search. Then the radio operator called Wright, and they stopped again. He said that the snowmobile with the damaged ski was repaired and realigned, but now the engine was malfunctioning. The engine would start, but then it would cough and sputter and stall. They had better assume it wouldn’t be fixed in time to be of use. Wright ordered the driver and his companion to try to drag the malfunctioning snowmobile to a place where they could load it onto the pickup truck.
Julian’s hope grew as the two remaining snowmobiles inched along the trail through the forest, sometimes hooking around the narrowest spaces and then finding no way to rejoin the trail. Sometimes they would begin to speed up, but then bounce over roots or rocks that made it too dangerous to continue in a straight line, so they moved in arcs in and out of the forest, taking up more time.
Wright drove to a stop and turned off his snowmobile. He said to Julian: “That rock was a trap. The ski tracks went right by on either side of it. That old man didn’t learn to move through snow in Libya. Has he ever served in country like this—maybe with the Tenth Mountain Division?”
“He lived in Vermont for a long time,” said Julian. “Maybe that’s where he got good at this stuff. I haven’t seen his military records.”
“You chased him for a year without ever seeing his records?”
“I don’t even know his name,” said Julian. “This mission is about as secret as it can be.”
Wright stepped a few feet away, unzipped his snow pants, and urinated near the trees. He said, “Just a day ago we were in Yuma receiving a briefing. We were to hunt down a military traitor in California who had committed several murders. We were ordered to do it using plain unmarked gear with zero help from any civilian authority, and no contact with local police. We were told we’d be meeting a man from army intelligence who would be our source of information.”
“I guess they meant me.”
“But you don’t have much information, do you?”
“Not much. I don’t think they want either of us to know much more than we do. I can recognize him if I see him.”
“That’ll have to be good enough.” Wright zipped up and walked back to the snowmobile. There was a radio call from the other snowmobile. Wright said, “We’ll be right there.” They climbed back on their snowmobile and made their way to the spot ahead where the other two men had stopped.
The snowmobile driver had come through too fast, with his eyes on the ski tracks. A limb bent back and rigged as a trap to swing into the opening between two trees had hit him across the forehead. The two men were examining the limb that had hit him. Wright looked at Julian. “What do you think, Mr. Carson?”
Julian saw the chance to introduce doubt and uneasiness. “That’s the kind of thing he’d do. I don’t know the details of his record, but in his day just about all the combat was in jungles. They used snares and bungee stakes and tiger pits.”
“He could have killed me,” said the injured man.
“He could have, but he decided not to,” said Julian. “The way they did it was to add a sharpened ten-inch stick at a right angle to the branch so when it hit you it would kill you. It’s a warning. We may not see the next one either, and that one could be placed so it’ll break a neck or spear one of us. He knows how to do it.”
Wright leaned closer and spoke so only Julian could hear. “I do not relish having any of my squad killed out here in the woods by some crazy traitor.”
“I don’t want that to happen either,” said Julian. He was secretly rejoicing. The old man had given Julian another opportunity to slow the team down and make them cautious.