its radio mast that overlooked the science station. Smoke seemed to be rising from behind the hill, and on the side facing them flyspeck figures moved. A line of men hastened down toward the shoreline, pursuing that other small, colorful dot that moved toward Smith's position.
"Val's pulling in her share! Five...six...eight-damn, not as many as I'd like there, either."
Smith swiveled around 180 degrees and ran a scan down the east shore. There was the other half of the equation, the Spetsnaz force. Only one man followed the compacted pathway; the other five had fanned out on either side, scuffling along on snowshoes. The Russians were closer than the force advancing from the science station, but they were also moving slower. And so far, with the point blocking their line of sight, neither converging force had become aware of the other. Smith mentally computed times and distances. Yeah. It was going to be just about as good as they had any right to expect.
"Ladies and gentleman," he said, lowering the binoculars, "it's coming together. Randi, give Val the word."
Randi gave the stainless steel signaling mirror a final quick buff on her sleeve. Squinting through the tiny sighting hole in its center, she acquired the dot on the snow that was Valentina Metrace. Angling the mirror, she produced a single flash that might be mistaken for a sun strike off the snow were you not looking for it.
After a few moments the pursued dot glinted back.
"She's acknowledged," Randi reported.
"Right. That's all we can do here. Let's move out."
"I don't like this, Jon," Randi spoke vehemently under her breath. "I don't like this part at all!"
"I'm not crazy about it myself." Through the glasses he could make out Val as a human figure moving effortlessly as if she were out for a morning's jog. Leading your troops into battle is easy, Sarge. Having to leave them there, on their own, that's the real bear.
"She doesn't even have a gun, damn it!"
"She didn't seem to think she'd need one." Smith slammed the binoculars back into their case.
"I do hope you realize that woman is just a hopeless showoff," Randi said, binding on her bear-paw snowshoes.
"Oh, yes, most definitely. And speaking about guns..." Smith drew his sidearm from the holster pocket of his parka, passing the automatic to Smyslov, butt first. "You might find use for this today, Major. This one works, guaranteed."
Smyslov grinned and accepted the P-226, stowing it in his pocket. "That is good to hear. I had a most disappointing experience with an American firearm not long ago."
Valentina Metrace was a predator and huntress by both instinctive nature and personal preference. But as a successful predator, she also understood what was required of a successful, i.e., survivable, prey animal.
Staying alive as prey mandated you not only knew when to run but when, where, and how to hide, and the moment to break trail and disappear was almost upon her.
The single mirror flash from the top of the point had told her Jon Smith's plan was on track. The Spetsnaz were moving into the killing zone from the other side of the point. Two flashes would have meant a scrub and for her to keep going, pulling her pursuers under the fire of the long guns atop the point.
As it was, their unknowing allies, the Spetsnaz, would hopefully do the job for them.
Smith had orchestrated his engagement well. On the landward side a thirty-foot cliff rose above a narrowed boulder-strewn beach, while to seaward the point acted like the prow of a ship, building up an exceptionally jagged and tumbled pile of pressure ice. It was a natural choke point and a superb killing ground, leaving neither force room to maneuver or successfully disengage.
All she had to do now was to squirm out from between their two fires, and the pressure ice jumble provided a magnificent maze to disappear into.
Now Valentina started looking back. The men chasing her were perhaps a quarter mile behind and slowly closing. She'd been deliberately sandbagging her pace, allowing them to overtake her, dangling the prospect of bringing her within gun range as a lure.
It was working.
She had no clear idea of how close the Spetsnaz were, so she dare not waste any time. The instant she rounded the tip of the point, breaking the line of sight with her pursuers, she broke laterally into the sea ice, scrambling over the man-high pressure ridge at the beach edge.
Crossing from the trail, Valentina carefully plotted each step and handgrip,