To The Stars

“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?”

Fourteen

Jan stopped, eyes wide, stunned by the presence of his brother-in-law. “Smitty! What on earth are you doing here?” Only later did he realize that his natural response had been the right one; Thurgood-Smythe was studying his reaction closely.

“A number of reasons,” the Security man said. “You’re looking fit, clear-eyed, and glowing. How about a drink to put some toxins back into your body?”

“Fine idea. But not in the bar. Air’s like treacle down here. We can drink just as well in my room — and I can crack the window a bit while you sit on the radiator.”

“All right. I have your key here, save you the trouble. Let’s go up.

There were others in the lift so they did not talk. Jan stared straight ahead and struggled to compose his thoughts. What did Thurgood-Smythe suspect? His presence here was no accident. Nor was he pretending that it was — not with Jan’s key in his possession and making no secret of the fact. But a search would mean nothing: there was nothing incriminating in his luggage. Attack was the best defense and he knew better than to pretend stupidity to his brother-in-law. As soon as the door closed behind them he spoke.

“What’s up, Smitty? And do me the favor of not pretending this is an innocent business — not with my key in your pocket. What’s Security’s interest in me?”

Thurgood-Smythe stood by the window, staring unseeingly at the white landscape. “I’ll have a whiskey if you please, neat. A large one. The problem, my dear Jan, is that I don’t believe in coincidence. My credulity is limited. And you have been too close to too many interesting things just once too often.”

“Would you mind explaining that?”

“You know as well as I do. The incident in the Red Sea, the illegal computer tap in your laboratory.”