Free Ice Hunt by James Rollins Page B

coordinated.
    He continued down the side trail, watching for any treachery. But the grenade seemed to have done its job. It had sent them into flight.
    A quarter mile down the side path, he found a spot where the snow was churned up. It looked like the horse might have taken a spill on the icy terrain. Stefan hoped a few bones had been broken during the fall.
    He quickly searched the area, but only one trail led off from here. The track was much fresher. Slush had not yet frozen in the hoofprints. He was no more than five minutes behind. The American continued to walk his horse.
    Stefan straightened, noting the ripe smell of offal. Some animal must have died nearby. But before this night was over, there would be more for the scavengers to feed upon.
    Anticipating he was close enough to use the infrared feature in his goggles, he reached to his lens and toggled a tab on its edge, switching out of the current nightvision mode, which amplified ambient light, and over to infrared, which registered heat signatures. The green hues vanished, and the world went dark. He scanned ahead, seeking any heat sources. The range of the scope was a hundred yards in good weather. With the snowfall masking any warmth, he could expect half that distance. As such, he faintly made out a reddish blob, poorly defined just at the farthest range of his goggles.
    He smiled and switched back to his nightvision spectrum so he could see again and continue his pursuit. With his target in sight, he hurried onto the fresh path. In his drive, he failed to see the thin white thread stretched across the path, but he felt the faint tug on his pant cuff and the snap of the thread.
    He dove aside into a small snowbank, expecting an explosion or booby trap to spring. He glanced behind, only to see a faint flash of green through his goggles as something fell from an overhanging tree limb and shattered against a rock under it.
    He covered his face, knocking loose his goggles, and ducked away.
    Something damp splashed his legs.
    He glanced down. Blood… the red stain was stark against his white snowsuit. His heart pounded in his throat, but he felt no secondary flare of pain. He calmed. It wasn’t his own blood.
    Then the smell struck him. Back in Afghanistan, he had crawled through the rebel tunnels and come upon a group of dead soldiers, slaughtered, it appeared, by a nail bomb. Blood, ripped intestine, flies, maggots, the heat of the summer…it had festered and fermented for a week. This stench was worse.
    Gagging reflexively, he tried to crawl away from it, but the stench clung to him, followed him, rising and swelling around him. Bile rose in his throat. He choked and emptied his stomach.
    Still, he was a hardened soldier. He scrubbed his pant legs in the snow and fought to his feet. His eyes teared as the world swirled in black and white, shadow and snow.
    He stumbled up the trail. If they thought a stench bomb would incapacitate him, the fuckers would learn otherwise. He had been trained to withstand assaults with tear gas and worse. Spitting, he clambered up the trail and reseated his nightvision goggles.
    Reaching to the toggle, he checked infrared again and searched for his target. At first he saw nothing but blackness. He cursed, choking up bile. They may have delayed him, but their trail into the empty peaks remained clear through the snow. He would catch up with them.
    He reached to his goggles, but before he could switch back to night vision, a reddish glow materialized against the dark background. The sudden infrared signature was bright and clear. The wind must have parted the snow enough to extend his field of view. He grinned. So they weren’t that far. He headed toward it.
    As he moved, the heat signature grew quickly… too quickly . He stopped. The rosy glow swelled larger in the scopes, larger than a single man. Were they headed back here on the horse? Did they think to subdue him after their crude attempt at chemical warfare?
    His eyes