Wright had a solution. “All right. The tracks are still headed due east. We’ll get out of the woods, go east in the open, and try to pick up their tracks again. Keep up, and don’t slow down. We don’t want to give him an easy shot.”
The two men mounted the other snowmobile, and the driver started it. The engine whirred, caught, and roared to life, but then there was a horrible noise. There was smoke coming out of the air intakes on the hood and out of the exhaust, and the engine stopped. Julian knew that the plug at the bottom of the chain case had finally vibrated enough to fall off and the chain oil had leaked out. The chain had heated up and failed.
The driver opened the hood, stared uncomprehendingly at the smoke, fanned it out of his face, and then reached for the chain case and recoiled from the heat.
Julian stayed where he was, but put his hand on the pistol in his pocket. “Wow. I thought that engine sounded funny.”
Wright looked at the engine and nodded. “Yeah, you did.” He turned to his two men and said, “Damn. Where the fuck did you guys rent these snowmobiles? They’re absolute crap.”
Wright got back onto his snowmobile. “Okay. Take the cargo sled off that piece of junk and hitch it to the back of this one. Do a good job, because there’s nowhere else for you to ride.”
The two soldiers attached the flat sled and then sat on it. The front man held on to the towrope and the other held on to him. Wright moved slowly at first, out onto the open snow. He tentatively added speed, but when he reached about fifteen miles an hour, one of the men called out: “Sergeant Wright!”
Wright looked back and saw they were getting bounced around too much to hold on any longer. He slowed down drastically.
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.”