Relentless

2

Baraclough burrowed into a snowdrift like a child digging himself into beach sand; he left nothing showing except his head and arms. Wrapped in waterproof boots and an oilskin rain slicker he had no worry about getting frostbitten; the cold was uncomfortable but he had always enjoyed discomfort.

He could see the Major and, just barely, Burt down below; they had always made it a practice to set up in such a way as to afford one another protective fire. The mechanics of it were cut and dried, old hat to them all, but what troubled him was a sense that something was out of place. They had consistently misjudged the quality of the men who pursued them: no matter what they did, the pursuers always seemed to have got there just ahead of them-Burt had been right about that and it was hard to explain it to himself. But when he thought about it he saw the Major was right about waiting it out. Whoever the pursuers were, breaking out of here now wouldn’t get rid of them. Other cops, maybe, but not these three. It was a hell of a handicap not knowing who they were, not knowing anything about them; but of course that wasn’t altogether true. Baraclough did know several things about them, the main item of which was the fact that these three cops were good. Very good.

A searchlight caught him right in the face and he blinked in momentary panic before he realized it was the moon, rising past the peaks to the east. The temperature had dropped fast since the sun had gone and he saw the breath steam down from his face, white and hazy in the sudden moonlight.