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to the fire. "It will be a bitterly cold night, and I have far to go."
"Father will be home soon."
"It is good, this - sitting by the fire with you."
She lifted her eyes. "Yes, it is."
"I wish it could go on forever."
"I would like that."
"I cannot stay on. They will find I am here." He paused. "I have had trouble
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with Peshkov," he explained. "He is a bitter, vengeful man, I believe. I must
leave."
"It is a pity."
He got to his feet again. "Could you travel a long way in good weather?"
"Yes."
"Do you know the Sikhote Alins?"
"I've heard them spoken of. They are mountains, are they not? Along the Sea of
Japan?"
"There is a place there called Plastun Bay. You would like it there. It is
warmer than here."
"What are you saying?"
"Get your father to take you there. I'll come for you."
"But that's impossible! That coast is guarded! There is radar! Any plane
inside the buffer zone will be shot down."
The outer door opened, letting in a blast of icy air. "Joe Mack! You must go
at once!" Baronas was anxious. "Lermontov has just returned, and he came back
as swiftly as he could make it. Somehow they believe you are here. They are
coming!"
"Thank you." He hesitated at the door. "Remember? It may take a year, even
two, but I will come."
She stood up, looking at him. He would remember her as she stood, slim, tall,
and blond, standing in the firelight, handing the shirt to him.
"I will be there."
Twenty
He went swiftly into the night and swiftly through the forest. At his hideout
he wasted no time. He took up his pack of meat and placed it at his feet. Then
he donned his bearskin coat and shouldered his pack. Taking up his bow and
arrows, he took a last look around. Aside from the ashes of his fires, no hint
of his presence was left.
He went into the night and ran along the dark way he had learned and prepared.
It was not a path, just a choice of openings between trees, but one where he
could move swiftly with no fear of falling. It was bitterly cold. His breath
crackled, freezing as it left his lips.
How cold? Fifty below, at least. Probably more. He must be careful, moving
fast, not to work up a sweat. Sweat could freeze, leaving a layer of ice near
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the skin.
The earth was frozen hard, and there was ice underfoot. He slowed his pace to
step with care, for now he was entering the area over which he had passed but
once. He would go to the hideout prepared at the head of the Ningam River.
Moving with care, he was sure he was leaving no tracks. There was no snow.
Contrary to what people believed, there was not much snow in many areas of
Siberia. The climate is dry. He crossed a stream cautiously, tapping the ice
ahead of him to test for weakness.
They need not follow him to find him. They could blanket an area with people
to hunt him. They could fly over the country, searching for him. He must avoid
abandoned buildings, avoid trails, avoid any place the eye would naturally
seek out.
It was cold. He paused to listen and heard no sound, but when he moved on it
was with extreme caution. From time to time he cupped a mitten over his nose,
although it was partly shielded by the fur cap he wore.
Here and there he found a drifting of snow, scarcely more than frost. How far
had he come? He hesitated again, making sure of his directions, and then
moving on. What he must remember was that a great distance for him was only a
short hop for a helicopter, and tracks were easily seen from the air.
He walked on steadily, avoiding the light snow wherever possible, keeping to
the cover of trees when he could. When the first feeble rays of sunlight
showed themselves, he was well on his way. He had been traveling for some
seven hours, he believed, but doubted that at any time he had done as much as
three miles in an hour, for the walking was precarious and he had tried to
move on rocky, snow-free surfaces when possible. In another hour he should be
close to his prepared hideout.
The mutter of the distant helicopter had been prodding at his unconscious for
several minutes before it came to his attention. Quickly, he eased back into
the trees, merging carefully with a tree trunk. He waited, listening. The cold
was intense. He beat his hands together and tried rubbing his legs to keep the
circulation alive. Meanwhile, the sound of the motor came closer and closer.
At this distance and in the still cold it was audible for some time before he
saw it.
When it came within view it was flying very low, and it just barely cleared
the nearest ridge. Such a copter would probably carry three men.
It came in, flying no more than a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet off the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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