The only sounds I could hear were my own labored breathing and the rain hammering on the tarmac and leaves.
Sarah flopped down beside me.
I crawled to the very edge of the tree line and looked out. The wet, potholed, single-carriage way road was deserted.
e both lay there in the mud, lifting our heads and checking for movement like a pair ofmeerkats. I couldn't see anything, just solid walls of rain.
Finally I nodded to her. She acknowledged. I got up and sprinted across the road, but instead of going into the tree line, I cut left and started following the edge of the tarmac.
She shouted, 'Nick, what are you doing? Come on, let's get under cover!'
I turned and waved her toward me.
She hesitated a moment, then understood and ran to join me. I kept to the roadside for another thirty meters, checking backward, forward and upward for movement. I chanced about ten meters more and knew I was tearing the ass out of it. I ducked to the right and moved into the tree line.
Even if they followed up with dogs, it would take them a while to reestablish our trail, for the surface scent would be washed off the tarmac by the heavy rain, slowing the dogs down severely. It would then be up to the trackers to cast for sign in both directions and along both sides of the road, because for all they knew I might have doubled back. Only when, or if, they refound our trail could they get the dogs back on the scent.
For the next half hour I picked my way through dense forest. The ground was undulating and littered with knolls; it was hard going, but excellent cover, the sort of terrain that a light aircraft might crash into and never be found. I was heading in this direction for no other reason than that I wanted to; sometimes there is no absolutely correct answer.
Every ten minutes or so the heli clattered across the sky, casting around for movement or visible sign. This time it got a bit too near. We stopped and hid, using the chance to catch our breath. Both of us were still soaked to the skin with rain and sweat. As the heli came in low over us, the trees swayed with the downwash and another sixty gallons of rain cascaded through the canopy. My throat was dry and rasping as my chest heaved, the only positive thing being that all this effort was keeping my body core nicely heated.
Still the helicopter didn't move out of the area. He was there, somewhere;
low and slow. I looked back the way we'd come and saw the ground sign we'd left. It would be easy enough even for the untrained eye to follow, but for anybody who knew what they were doing, possibly with dogs, it was a floodlit motorway.
Deep down, I knew it wouldn't take them long to find where we'd crossed the road. From there it would be simple; we were traveling through wet forest, over stinking ground, in rain and fog perfect terrain and conditions for keeping a scent glued in position. What was more, they would be following on fresh legs and able to call up reinforcements at will, and after a while they'd be able to predict our direction of travel so that others could intercept us. Then again, maybe they didn't have dogs or trackers on the case yet; it wasn't as if such things were on twenty-four hour standby. Visual tracking is not the most popular skill for a person to take up, and exponents are in short supply; maybe it would take them hours to mobilize somebody, and maybe they lived on the other side of the state. Maybe ... maybe. Whatever, every man, but hopefully not his dog, would be out looking.
I had to admit to myself that I had no idea where we were going, and we were gradually exhausting ourselves. A decision had to be made: Did we hide up and wait until dark to move out of the area, preferably by vehicle?
Or did we take our chances now?
The heli's blades chopped the air above us. It didn't seem to be going anywhere. This was strange; it wouldn't be able to see a thing under the canopy, and in a backwoods area like this it was unlikely to be fitted with thermal-imaging equipment. It was a full ten minutes before I heard a change in engine pitch, and the aircraft rattled off into the distance. I moved from under the tree and continued running. Our pace was slowing perceptibly. I was fucked. My footprints were getting closer and closer together as my strides shortened: to a visual tracker or trained dog it would be the encouraging sign of a slower-moving quarry. I glanced behind me.
Sarah looked like death on legs.
I tried to think of positives. If you run at 10 mph for one hour in an unknown direction, you could be anywhere in a circle of just over 300 square miles. An hour later that will have become an area of 1,256 square miles.
In The Lone Ranger, Tonto used to stop and say, 'Five wagons, two hours ago. That way, kemo sabe.' Luckily, real life isn't that easy and Tonto lives in Arizona.
I decided to lie up and wait until last light. With no compass or stars to guide us, I could be going around in circles for weeks. During darkness, the plan would be to move to a known quantity the road and parallel it until I could get my hands on a vehicle.
I carried on for another ten minutes or so, with Sarah now up with me.
About sixty or seventy meters away to my half right, there was something that looked as if it could work: a fallen tree on higher ground, its branches still intact but decaying. It had fallen down a sharp bank. It would give us ideal cover from view from the air as well as the ground and, just as important, it would give us cover from the elements. If the police didn't get hold of us, I didn't want the weather to finish us off. It wouldn't be long before exhaustion and cold would take their toll.
'What are we doing now?' Sarah asked.
'Why have you stopped?'
I didn't bother replying; I was looking back at the route we'd taken.
Then I turned around again and looked forward at the tree, off to my half right. The ground ahead was the same as behind, rises, with lots of dead ground beyond.
I turned half left and started kicking my feet, leaving obvious sign. I wanted them to see my direction change away from the fallen tree. Sarah followed on behind, puffing and panting, struggling to keep the size eleven trainers on her size-five feet.
Over a rise, and in the dead ground beyond, was a stream a couple of meters wide. I headed down and waded straight into the freezing water. I checked behind me and couldn't see the tree.
Sarah stood her ground on the bank.
'What are you doing?'
'Get in.'
The water came over my knees. I turned left and moved downstream, stopping every dozen or so paces and looking back to make sure I couldn't see the tree. I had trudged about fifty meters, with Sarah splashing along behind me, before I decided this was far enough. I didn't know why, it just felt right. I got out on the far side of the stream and stood still. I could hear Sarah's trainers squelching as she came up beside me, visibly thankful for the rest.
I gave myself a minute to collect my thoughts, looking at her, soaked and bedraggled, fir needles splattered on her face, twigs in her hair. Not exactly how she'd choose to appear at one of her embassy parties, but she was doing well; she'd obviously kept herself in shape.
'Ready?'
She nodded and took a deep breath to prepare.
We moved up and down for another 300 meters or so, in a direct line away from the stream. Sarah was starting to feel the strain, and I could move only at her speed. I decided that this was far enough; it was time for one last bit of deception. I stopped and moved over to an outcrop of rock.
Sarah came up level with me, and we both had our hands on our knees, panting for breath as if we'd just finished a 200-meter sprint.
'Sarah, take off your underwear.'
She looked at me blankly. She'd heard me say that before, but not in a situation like this.
'What?'
'Your panties, I need them.' I'd already taken off my jacket and was pulling off my shirt. I was after the T- shirt underneath. Her expression told me that she wasn't sure about this.
'Sarah, trust me. They must have dogs.' She didn't bother to ask, just moaned to herself about getting undressed.
In any other situation it would have been quite nice to watch her drop her jeans and peel off her underwear,
