“How much farther is it?” Keegan asked.
“At least a mile.”
“We’ll walk.”
“In this storm?” Harris said with astonishment. He shook his head. “Not a chance. I know this country better’n I know my own bedroom but in this stuff we could miss the cabin. Easy as fallin’ off a roof to get lost. Hell, man, you’d freeze to death up here. A mile is forever in a blizzard.”
Keegan slammed his fist on the hood.
“Goddamn it, we’ve got our fingertips on him!” he yelled. “He’s only a bloody mile ahead of us!”
“Okay if we get back in the car and think this out?” Harris yelled. They scrambled back inside the car. Keegan pulled off his gloves and breathed on his frozen fingers.
“He’s not going anywhere in this weather,” Harris said, breathing hard. “He and Soapie will have to hole up there.”
“This guy isn’t holing up anywhere,” Keegan said. “I know him. He’s a survivor. He’s dedicated. He’s on a mission. And he’s on the run. Let me tell you something, Duane. When he’s on the run he’s harder to stop than the Twentieth Century Limited.”
“Hey, Trexler’s good but nobody could ski through the storm that’s brewing.”
“He can and will. And we can’t stop him because we’re
Keegan suddenly sat bolt upright.
“My God,” he said. “I know what he’s going to do. Harris, get on the radio. Tell them to get in touch with Soapie Kramer immediately. If Trexler shows up at his station, Kramer is to hold him at gunpoint. He’s a very dangerous man.”
“They won’t believe me!”
“Then I’ll tell them. Do it! Your man Soapie’s life depends on it.”
“Kee Dryman started.
“Can it, Dry.”
“But..
Keegan whirled in the front seat and glared at Dryman.
“What?”
He knew what concerned Dryman. Supposing they were wrong about Trexler? Hold him at gunpoint? Dryman was having trouble with that.
“The man’s life could be at stake, Dry,” Keegan said quietly.
Harris raised base station but the reception was poor. Static crackled from the speaker.
“Base, this is Harris, Mr. Keegan of the White House staff says you should radio Soapie Kramer pronto and tell him John Trexler is dangerous and to arrest him.”
The radio popped and snapped and then: “. . . reception. Please repeat . .
“Christ, they can’t read us,” Keegan said.
The ranger repeated the message. Static and a fluctuating signal obscured part of the response but they picked up enough of it.
…… ler left for Leadville an hour. . . Soapie. . . to Copperhead Ridge. . . camp . . . radio shut down.”
Keegan’s shoulders sagged.
“He’s doing it again,” Keegan said half aloud.
“Doing what?” Harris asked.
Just like Drew City, he thought. It worked once, he’s going to do it again.
“Doing what?” Harris repeated.
“Getting away,” Keegan answered.
Soapie Kramer was leaning over the large Mercator projection, pinned by its corners to a drawing table. He traced a trail with his finger, east, then south.
“I got the mountain between me and the wind most of the way,” he said. “It’s only six miles up there. The last ... two hundred yards’ll be the worst. I ought to be able to make it before dark.”
“Well, far be it from me to argue but base says this one’s gonna be a pistol,” said Trexler.
“All the more reason for me to be up there,” said Kramer, then he snapped his fingers. “Hey, what’s the matter with us? I can radio down there, tell ‘em not to worry.”
Trexler hesitated for only a moment. He had forgotten about the radio. A mistake, but not a serious one. It was time to make his move. Kramer walked into the adjoining room. Large glass windows on three sides of the room overlooked the valley, now obscured by windswept snow. The radio was on a table in front of the center window.
“I already shut‘er down,” he said, flipping on the power.
