raced on, angling downhill, until he heard the helicopter again. And dropped to a crouch beside a large pine. He watched up through small tunnels among the light-shimmering needles. Soon the chopper swept overhead, and Jon glimpsed a black face leaning out to scan below. Abu Auda.
The Sikorsky continued on. Jon could not remain here, because Abu Auda would not rely on aerial pursuit alone. Some of his men would still be on the ground, and Jon had to make a decision. But so did Abu Auda. He would have to guess which direction Jon ran.
As Jon listened intently for the sound of descent and landing, he tried to put himself in the killer's mind. Finally he decided that Abu Auda would expect him to head straight from his pursuers, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Which meant, if he were right, that the chopper would land directly south. Jon turned and raced off to the right. Then he slowed and headed west down through the forest, trying to make as little noise as possible.
After less than an hour, the pine forest began to thin. Sweating, his wounds itching, Jon continued on across an open meadow and stopped in a fringe of trees, excited. A car was cruising past on an asphalt road below. He had heard no pursuit since turning west, and the occasional sound of the helicopter still searching the forest had been far off to his left, the south. He remained among the trees, hurrying north along the edge, hoping the road and the forest would meet or at least come much closer.
When he found a stream, he stopped and hunched beside it. Panting, he untied the white sleeve that Theacute;regrave;se had used to bandage his arm after the missile strike at the villa. The wound was long but shallow. He washed it and his side, where a bullet had creased the skin; his forehead, where debris from the missile strike had scratched it; and his wrists. Some of the wounds were tinged with red, indicating small infections. Still, none was serious.
He splashed more of the cool spring water onto his hot, sweaty face, and, sighing, moved off again. The forest's sounds were normal here, the hushed quiet one would expect from a single person's moving through, not the utter stillness that told him many were intruding.
And then he paused. Hope filled him. Through the trees he could see a crossroads and a road sign. He looked all around and slipped cautiously from cover onto the asphalt. He tore across the road to the sign. At last he knew where he was: grenoble 12KM. Not impossibly far, and he had been there before. But if he stayed on the road, he would be conspicuous. If the helicopter searched this far, he would be seen easily.
Making plans, he ran back into the forest and waited. When he heard the noise of a vehicle's engine, he smiled with relief. It was going in the right direction. He watched eagerly as it came around the benda farm truck this time. He abandoned his M16 with all its ammunition in the pines and kicked duff over them. Then he stuck the Afghan's curved knife into one jacket pocket and the flare gun into the other, and waved both arms.
The farmer stopped, and Jon climbed into the cab, greeting the fellow in French. He explained that he was a stranger in the area, visiting a friend who had gone into Grenoble earlier. They were to meet for dinner, but his car refused to start so he had decided to walk and hope for a Good Samaritan. He had taken a tumble in the woods, and that was why he was so disheveled.
The farmer clucked with sympathy and chatted away about the advantages of the region, pleased for Jon's company in this remote land of soaring peaks, wide open spaces, and few inhabitants. They drove on, but Jon did not relax. His careful gaze kept watch.
Grenoble, France
Nestled in the French Alps, Grenoble was a stunning cityold and historic, known for its fine winter sports, particularly in downhill skiing, and its medieval landmarks. The farmer dropped Jon on the left bank of the Isegrave;re River at the place Grenette, a bustling square lined with sidewalk cafeacute;s. Nearby was the place St-Andre, the heart of Grenoble. The warm sunshine had brought people out, and they sat at small, outdoor tables in their crisp shirtsleeves, sipping espresso.