"I did once," I said, around a mouthful. "On TV. Finnish Army."
"Who?"
"The Army of Finland. They and the Swedes were on TV. They have special units that use that sort of stuff. Go a hundred and sixty miles per hour on lakes in the Arctic like that. Quiet, and run 'em at night."
"Yeah…" said John.
"No," I said, "I don't think we've been invaded. But military people use this kind of stuff. Or, at least, would if they needed to. Survivalists would probably know about it, then."
"Oh."
"Just have to figure out who and why," I said. "For starters."
I could just hear Art with that one. I'd be labeled the conspiracy theorist of the year.
"Don't tell anybody. I mean, anybody. Got that?" I was deadly serious.
"Yes, sir." So was John.
"I want you to keep working this area, but don't hang it out too far on this thing. All right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You did exactly right, last night, by not giving any indication that you saw it. He probably thinks he just blew past you and you weren't even aware of him. That's good. And…"
There was a rising whine, followed by a suddenly deepened tone, along with the crunch of snow and gravel, and a black object flew by on the roadway. And was gone. Just like that. He'd come from our right this time, and wouldn't have been able to see us at all.
We looked at each other.
"You see well enough to drive?"
"Without lights, you mean?"
"Yep," I said, making sure my seat belt was secure. I knew his answer.
"Oh, yeah," he said, pulling the gearshift lever down. And away we went.
Without any lights on, it was fairly easy to see the road. It wasn't possible, however, to see the speedometer, so I had no accurate idea of how fast we were going. Probably just as well. We were fishtailing a lot of the time, and I thought we were going to go into the ditch more than once. It might have just been my perspective, but I thought the ditches were getting deeper and steeper on my side as we went. Because of the curving road and the nearness of the hills, we were in and out of moonlight constantly. I really sweated those dark patches.
"You see him?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Let me know if you do…"
We rounded a curve and caught a little moonlight. Up, over a small hill, going about 50 on a straight stretch. Over the top and down, like a roller-coaster ride.
"Careful… there's a bridge here somewhere," I said. Just as we flew across it.
"Yep."
He accelerated.
"Watch it, the curves start again really soon… and be careful, he's gonna be kicking snow, might be hard to see…"
"I see him… I see him…"
So did I. We were just barely gaining on a darker spot about a hundred yards up the white snow-covered roadway. He was hazy or fuzzy or… of course. The rooster tail of snow I'd just reminded John about. He was picking up just enough from the roadway to make a snowy haze.
"Try not to lose him, but don't fuckin' kill us, either." I get all fatherly in tight circumstances.
"Okay."
I picked up the mike. "Comm, Three. Nine is in pursuit of an unknown vehicle, proceeding south on G4X. Vehicle traveling at a high rate of speed…"
"Ten-four, Three."
Whoever it was was apparently oblivious to our presence. He was pooping along at about 40 or so, and we were now gaining perceptibly. But 50 was a high rate of speed for us, considering the snow-packed and icy condition of the road.
If this guy really was using night vision equipment, my plan should work. Get in close, then hit him with all the light we had on the car. It should cause the night vision goggles to "bloom" on him, and he'd be unable to see for a few seconds. His first reaction should be to stop.
"In about a second," I said, "we hit every damned light we got. Top lights, high-beam headlights, spotlight, everything. Just get ready for a hard stop. When I say…"
"Okay…"
"Stay with the son of a bitch for another five seconds, we got a chance here…" We were approaching a fairly sharp curve to the left. "Just before he gets to the curve…"
"Right…"
"NOW!"
We both worked switches, John taking the headlights and the spotlight, and me getting the top red and white strobes, and hitting the siren on "yelp" for good measure.
The lights had a dazzling effect on us, as well.
"SLOW DOWN, JOHN!"
Too late. I watched the snowmobile careen off the right side of the road toward the trees, with us right behind him. We hit small stuff, not much bigger than brush, and came to a stop in a large snowbank. I lost the snowmobile completely, as it went over the snowbank we stopped in. We didn't stop fast enough to deploy the airbags, but I was sure as hell grateful for the seat belts.
I reached over and cut the siren. The snow we'd kicked into the air came thundering back down onto the hood. Then silence. The black night air was filled with tiny red and white flashing snow particles, slowly settling on the windshield.
"Well, fuck." I looked over at John. He was opening his door.
I tried to open mine, but couldn't manage more than a few inches in the deep snow that had been thrown alongside by our sliding impact. My outside view was considerably diminished by flashing strobes. "Want to kill the lights?" I pushed a little harder, and got about four more inches of opening.
"Sir…"
"What?" My door seemed to have hit an obstacle.
"Sir…" said John. I looked up, and in the flashing red lights I could see the outline of a figure in a dark snowmobile suit, helmet with NVGs tilted up, sprawled in the snow at the top of the snowbank. It wasn't moving.
"Great," I said, "we've fuckin' killed him…"
I pushed real hard, and the door opened another three or four inches. I squeezed out, into the knee-deep snow, and approached the supine figure as cautiously as I could. I could hear John crunching through the snow just above and to my left. He'd obviously gotten up on the bank.
"Careful, sir," he said.
"Yep." I could see both hands of the figure, gloved, with the left one out to the side, and the right one almost folded behind. I heard the peculiar steel on nylon sound as John drew his gun. That meant that I was going to have to check the body. I really hoped he wasn't dead.
I took off my right glove, reached down, and worked the zipper at his throat, until I could get my first two fingers inside and feel for a carotid pulse. Strong. Good. I pulled my hand back, and pushed the night vision goggles up onto the top of his shiny black helmet, and carefully tested his visor. It slid up easily, and as it did so, I saw his eyes fly wide.
"Don't move," I said. "You've been in an accident…"
I took both his feet squarely in my chest. He lifted me a good foot off the ground, and propelled me backward about three. If it hadn't been for the bulletproof vest, he would have broken a couple of my ribs, at least. He'd moved so fast I hadn't even had time to react.
John, on the other hand, cracked off a round right past the guy's ear as he started to stand. He stopped so fast his momentum carried him forward on the bank, and he rolled head over heels down toward me. I rolled to one side, and got to my knees, drawing my own gun as John yelled, "Freeze, asshole!"
A great command, although not designed for "post-shot," and still better late than never. The man in the snowmobile suit froze, all right. He had both knees under him, one hand in contact with the ground, and he was grabbing at his zippered neck. Obviously trying to reach something inside the snowmobile suit.
His hand stopped when he saw my gun in front, and heard John ask a question behind him…
"Should I shoot now, sir? I got him…"
"Only if he moves," I said. I continued kneeling in front of the man, pointing my gun at his chest. "Both hands in the air. Slow, but do it."