She stayed focused on the trail ahead, taking care with each step and keeping to the easiest, safest, and most efficient path. For the moment a fall and a twisted ankle was all she needed to fear.
Looking back over her shoulder would be a waste of energy and distance. She'd had a good hundred yards' lead at the start, and by the time her surprised pursuers could have reached the hilltop to acquire her trail, she would have lengthened that out.
The men coming after her would also be "blown" by their climb and would need to get their breath back. More time and space in her favor. As long as she kept moving, there was little chance they could get within pistol-caliber range before she'd drawn them into the target zone. All she had to do was to stay in their sight and keep them chasing and not thinking.
Of course, all this was predicated on Jon's plan working and on Randi's observation that the arms smugglers hadn't brought a sniper with them. If either of them were wrong...There was no sense in worrying about it. If they were, she'd find out presently. As she ran along the landward edge of the piled shore ice she tossed a three-fingered Girl Guide's salute to the rocky point of land a mile ahead.
Chapter Forty-nine
South Coast, Wednesday Island
"How are you doing?" Smith glanced across the compacted snow foxhole.
"I say again, I'm just fine!" Randi snapped back. "God, Jon, don't hover!"
"You're getting cranky," Smith approved. "That's a good sign."
"I'm not..." She caught herself, then grinned sheepishly. "Really, I'm okay. You're a good doctor."
They were forted up atop a point of land that buckled outward from the southern flank of the island, a position that gave them both concealment and an overwatch of the shoreline to the east and west. Over the past few days the grip of the pack had solidified, the only differentiation now between the sea and shore being that the sea ice was the more broken and irregular.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks. I've been out of general practice for a while and I was afraid my technique was a little rusty."
Randi lifted a hand off the stock of Valentina's model 70 and wriggled her gloved fingers. "None of them have fallen off yet."
"Still, I want you to see a good dermatologist when we get out of here. You might sluff some skin, and your hands are going to have to be watched for infection."
Randi sighed in a swirl of vapor. "Jon, trust me, your technique isn't rusty in the least. You can fuss as well as any doctor I have ever known! Sophia would be proud of you."
There was a silent pause; then Randi took the awkwardness out of the moment with another smile. "She really would be, you know."
The moment was broken by the scrabble of boots and gloves on ice. Staying low in a fast hands-and-knees crawl, Gregory Smyslov snaked into the foxhole beside them. The Russian had established a second observation post deeper along the point that provided a better view eastward.
"It has worked," he said, panting a little. "Spetsnaz. Coming toward us along the coast trail."
"Where are they?
"About a kilometer out, at the foot of the trail down from West Peak."
Smith glanced first at his watch and then toward a mound of snow at the edge of the foxhole. The cigarette lighter/transponder sat atop it, its antenna extended. "It's working. We're tolling them in. And the timing should be pretty good. How many?"
"Six. They must have split their force again."
"Damn! I was hoping for the whole platoon." Smith reached across and collected the transponder. Collapsing its antenna, he pocketed it. It had served its purpose.
"The others are probably following," Smyslov added.
"Maybe, but they might not get here in time to do us or themselves any good. Let me have the glasses."
Smyslov unslung the binocular case and passed it to Smith. Coming up on his knees, Smith aimed the field glasses westward toward the science station, tracking along the flag-marked coastal trail.
"Can you see her yet, Jon?" Randi inquired.
"Not yet...Wait a minute. Yeah! There she is. She's running."
In his magnified field of view he could make out Valentina trotting along, seemingly at ease, the red and green of her clothing, or rather Randi's clothing, making her stand out against the sun-washed white of the terrain. Again the timing was about what he had hoped for. Elevating the glasses farther, he could make out the knoll with