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.”
24
A few hundred yards away, Hank Dixon crouched in the woods and watched the helicopter reappear from the west, complete a circle over a stand of trees, and hover over a spot near where it had first appeared. Why would a search helicopter fly over the same spot twice? He guessed that the pilot must be flying over the rifle squad, a kind of informal good-bye as it flew back to the east.
He said, “Okay. Time to get out of here. We’ll go this way.”
“Ready,” said Marcia. She pushed off with her ski poles and followed Hank. “Where are we going?”
“Away from the people who are chasing us. I think they must be waiting for us back there, where the chopper was just now.” He skied to the south for a mile or more, and then resumed his progress toward the east.
They came to a hill, glided partway up, and then walked on, pointing their skis to the side, leaving a herringbone pattern in the snow. When they reached the top they looked at the drop on the other side. There was a long line of automobile headlights creeping along a road like a glowing river. Hank stopped and Marcia pulled up beside him. “Cars!” she said.
Hank said, “We’ve made it to Route 38.”
Hank led the way, skiing cautiously down at an angle, slowing their progress as they moved toward the road.
Marcia was laughing. “I can’t believe it. I thought we were lost in the wilderness. I thought they’d catch us. Then I thought we’d freeze to death tonight.”
“We still might,” he said. “Let’s get our ski gear packed away and get down to the road.”
They stowed the ski boots in their backpacks and put on their snow boots. Hank rebundled the skis and poles and carried them on his back. They reached the shoulder of the road after a few minutes of walking.
Hank stood at the side of the road, stretched out his arm, raised his thumb, and leaned just far enough into the road to be in the glare of the oncoming headlights. Several cars went by, but the drivers ignored him. The next three seemed to speed up at the sight of him.
He stepped out of the glare and put his hands on Marcia’s shoulders. “You give it a try.”
One more car passed, but the driver of the next SUV switched on his turn signal and coasted to a stop. They could see through the rear window that there were two heads in the front. Two men in their twenties jumped down from the big SUV.
The driver called, “Are you okay?”
Hank said,
“We weren’t quite sure. We got turned around on a cross-country trail. We were lucky to find the road.”