“You’re turning into a good cross-country skier. Be winning medals soon.”
“You know what I’m talking about. I don’t think I’m going to get there.”
“After a good night’s sleep you’ll feel better.”
It was sometime in the afternoon when Uri’s voice dragged Jan from a deep sleep. “That sound. Can you hear it? What is it?”
Jan lifted his head free of the sleeping bag, then heard it clearly. A distant whine, far down the loch.
“A snowcat, he said. “It sounds like it might be coming this way, along the loch. Keep your head down and he won’t see us. Our tracks have filled in so he can’t follow them.”
“Is it the police?”
“Probably. I can’t think of anyone other than the authorities who would be running mechanical equipment out here in the winter. Stay quiet, we’ll be safe.”
“No. When he gets close, sit up and wave, draw his attention.”
“What? You can’t mean it
“I do. I’m not getting out of these woods, not on foot. We both know that. But I can do it with transportation. Let him get as close as possible before you make your move.
“This is crazy.
“It is. This whole mess is crazy. There he comes.
The whining rose in volume as the snowcat came around a headland jutting into the loch. It was bright red, its spinning tread throwing a spume of snow behind it, the goggled rider looking straight ahead. He was paralleling the shore and would pass an easy ten meters from them. Concealed as they were, in the snow under the ledge, there was very little chance of his accidentally seeing them.
“Now!” Uri said, and Jan rose up out of the snow, waving his hands and shouting.
The rider saw him at once and throttled down, turning at the same time, swinging toward them. He reached down and unclipped his microphone and was raising it to his mouth when Uri’s shot caught him in the chest. A shot from a rocket pistol. It fired a silent, self-propelling projectile that tore right through the man.
He went over backward, arms wide. The snowcat fell on its side, skidding forward, track churning, until the tumble switch cut the power.
Fast as Jan moved, Uri was faster. Out of his bag, his feet making red prints in the snow, rushing toward the fallen man. There was no need.
“Dead as soon as he was hit,” Uri said, opening the officer’s jacket and peeling it from him. “Look at the hole that thing punched right through him.” Uri wasted no time as he pulled on the man’s clothing, stopping only to mop blood from the fabric. Jan walked over slowly and righted the snowcat.
“The radio is still switched off. He never sent a message,” he said.
“Best news I have had since my bar mitzvah. Will I have any problem making that thing go?”
Jan shook his head no. “Almost a full charge in the battery, two hundred kilometers at least. The right handlebar is switch and throttle. They’re fun to drive. The front steering ski will tend to go straight unless you lean your weight into the turn as well. Ever ride a motorcycle?”
“Plenty.”
” — Then you’ll have no problems. Except where do you go?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Dressed now in uniform and boots, Uri stamped over to their packs and took out the detailed map. “Can you show me where we are now?”
“Right here,” Jan pointed. “At this inlet in Loch Shin.”
“This town of Durness, on the north coast. Are there any other places in Scotland with the same name?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Good. I had to memorize a list of towns with safe contacts in case of trouble. I have one there. Can I make it?”
“You’ll make it if you don’t run into trouble. Go this way, following the streams. That will keep you well away from these two north-south roads. Take a compass and follow this heading. Stay on it until you hit the coast. Then double back and lay-up in hiding until dark. Put on your own clothes and see if you can’t drive the machine off the cliffs into the ocean — along with the uniform. After that — you’re on your own.”
“No problem then. But what about you?”
“I’ll go on. Have a nice cross-country trek, something I enjoy. No worry about me.”
“I didn’t think so. But what about our friend the corpse here?”
Jan looked at the man’s pink, bloodstained flesh, obscenely sprawled in the show. “I’ll take care of him. Cover him up back there in the forest. The foxes will find him, and then the crows. By spring there’ll only be bones left. It’s not very nice…”
“His job wasn’t very nice. I’ll appreciate it if you would take care of it. Then I can move out.” He put out his gauntletted hand and Jan took it. “And I’m free thanks only to you and your people. We’ll win, you wait and see.”
“I hope so. Shalom.”
“Thanks. But Shalom later. Let’s get rid of the bastards first.”
Uri twisted the control and moved off, faster and faster. He gave one last wave over his shoulder then was around the bend in the lake and gone, the sound of the electric motor dying away.
“Good luck,” Jan said quietly, then turned back to their camp site.
The body first. He dragged it by its heels, arms sprawled over its head and a trail of blood marking its passage. The scavengers would be there as soon as he was gone. He kicked snow over the blood and went back to break camp. The second sleeping bag and all the extra equipment went into one pack, everything he would need into the other. There was no point in hanging about here, it would be dangerous in fact if the scene of the ambush were discovered. If he went through the forest carefully, he could be a good distance away before dark. Donning his pack, he grabbed up the other pack and the skis and went swiftly away from the site. It was good to move quickly and surely and the kilometers sped by. He buried the skis and pack in the middle of a dense thicket, then pressed on. Once he heard another snowcat passing in the distance and he stopped until it had gone. A plane thrummed overhead toward sunset, as invisible to him through the trees as he was to it. He went on two hours more before he made camp.
It snowed, heavily, during the night, and he woke up more than once to clear the drifts away so he could breathe. In the morning the sun burned golden-bright on the freshly fallen powder and he found himself whistling as he boiled the water for tea. It was over, all over, and he was safe. He hoped Uri was as well. Safe or dead, Jan knew that the Israeli would not be taken alive a second time.
When he crossed Benmore Loch it was late afternoon. He stopped and slid under the shelter of a tree when he heard the sound of a car going by on highway 837 ahead. The hotel would not be far now. But what should he do? There would be no difficulty in spending another night in the snow, then going on in the morning. But would that be wise? If he were under any suspicion at any time the shorter the trip he had made the less chance there would be that he might have gone north to Slethill Camp before doubling back. So the best thing would be an early arrival. A steak dinner, with a bottle of wine, by an open fire was not a bad thing at all to look forward to.
Jan swung forward, moving swiftly, onto the slope behind the great hotel, then snowplowing down into the yard. He unstrapped his skis and stuck them into a drift by the front entrance. Then, kicking the snow from his shoes, he pushed through the double doors and into the lobby. It seemed hot and close after his days in the open.
As he walked across to the registration desk a man came out of the manager’s office and turned toward him.
“Well, Jan,” Thurgood-Smythe said. “Did you have an enjoyable journey?”