“How bad is it?” Dietrich asked as he looked around.
“The tunnel collapsed.” He started digging.
“Of all the bad luck,” Dietrich said, stepping in to help. “This?”
“Definitely lucky,” Sam said.
“How?”
“We were close to the plane for the first avalanche. Had we been any farther away, we’d be buried at the bottom of the mountain. This avalanche, we’re safe inside. Doesn’t get much luckier than that.”
“And to think,” Dietrich said, “I wanted to climb out there to try to call for help.”
“Which shouldn’t be a problem now that the risk is over,” Sam said, using his shovel to scoop down into the hold the snow that Dietrich was digging out.
Icy wind whipped into the cockpit when they finally cleared the tunnel. Unfortunately, most of the wood they’d salvaged from the seats had snapped from the weight of the new snow.
“We’re going to need some way to shore this up,” Sam said, glancing over at Remi, who was watching from the ladder while she held the light for them.
She shivered as she eyed the narrow space and the bit of black sky through the hole. “This may be wishful thinking,” she said, “but any chance we can make a call?”
Sam dug the satellite phone from his pocket, powered it on, and held it near the tunnel. “Not looking good,” he said.
“The storm?” Remi asked. “Or the signal?”
“Both. The wind’s strong, signal’s nonexistent. But the biggest danger’s over, so no harm riding it out until morning.” He pocketed the phone, looking back at her. “Let’s get this tunnel fixed. We have a few more seats we can tear apart, but I’m not sure there’s going to be enough wood.”
“What about that suitcase we found?” Remi said. “I’ll get it.”
The suitcase worked better than he’d expected. “That’s a good start,” Sam said, working the two halves into place. “We need something else to brace it.”
“Snowshoes?” Dietrich suggested.
“We’re going to need those to trek through that snow, once the storm ends.” He climbed down, looking around the fuselage. “Let’s see if we can’t loosen up a couple more of those seats.”
Sam and Dietrich pulled together on one seat back, which broke almost too easily, sending Sam back into Remi, knocking the flashlight from her hand. It hit the ground and spun beneath the seats near the front. She got down on her knees, retrieved it, but stopped and reached for something else.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“Another suitcase under here. I can’t get it out.”
84
The suitcase was wedged between the seat and the floor, inconveniently on the starboard side, where the wing had been sheared off. A wall of ice bearing down on the seat prevented them from being able to move the suitcase, and the space was too narrow for Sam or Dietrich to get to. The two leaned into the seat, pulling up, trying to make more space for Remi. “Can you get it?” Sam asked.
“It’s not budging,” Remi said. “Wait. It moved. I can feel something. The buckle. We’re not going to be able to get it out.”
“Maybe there’s something inside we can use.” Sam braced his feet against the seat behind them, applying leverage.
“Do that again,” she said. “I’ve almost got it.”
Dietrich moved in close to Sam, both men pushing. Finally, they were able to shift the seat above the suitcase enough so that Remi was able to unbuckle it.
“Any luck?” Sam asked.
“I can only get my fingers in. The bottom of the seat’s stopping it . . . I feel something . . . Papers . . .” She pulled out a few and held them up.
Sam took them from her. “Anything else?”
“More papers,” she said. “And something soft beneath. Clothes, probably. Whatever it is, I can’t quite reach it.”
“So much for our great find,” Sam said, handing the papers to Dietrich before reaching down to help Remi to her feet.
“Anything interesting?” she asked.
Dietrich took the flashlight, reading the typescript, an odd expression on his face. “Isn’t that what you were telling me about? Unternehmen Werwolf . . .”
“Operation Werewolf,” Sam said. “The reason the Wolf Guard exists.”
“Maybe it tells something about the Romanov Ransom?” Dietrich said.
“A mystery that’ll have to wait,” Sam replied. “Let’s get back into that cockpit and finish bracing our tunnel.”
“What about the papers?” Dietrich asked.
“Give them to Remi. I promise she won’t start reading without us.”
“Me?” Remi said, looking far too innocent for her own good. When he and Dietrich finished bracing the tunnel and returned down to the hold a few minutes later, she aimed the flashlight on her pack, taking out the papers. “A little light reading to catch up on. Part of it at least.” She handed them to Dietrich, no doubt to help get his mind off their situation.
Sam waited while Dietrich read. “Any talk of the treasure?”
“Not by name.” Dietrich scanned the first page, then turned to the next. “This seems to be a synopsis of more detailed plans to sabotage the peace efforts. Bomb Russia and blame it on the Americans, bomb America and blame it on the Russians—apparently, they were waiting on the money to finance it. The goal was to start the war again . . .” He looked up at them. “If the treasure was on this plane, then I guess it’s a good thing it went down.”
“Except for Klaus,” Remi said.
He nodded, returning the papers to Remi, who read them herself, then returned them to her pack.
They spent the remainder of the night keeping warm, taking turns on checking the tunnel, telling stories about the various places they’d been. Dietrich had never traveled beyond South America and was fascinated by their adventures. “How is it you two met?” he asked.
“The Lighthouse Cafe,” Sam said. “A bar in Hermosa Beach, California.”
“In fact,” Remi added, “we were on our way there when we landed here. Sort of.”
“Listen.” Sam turned on the flashlight, aiming the beam at the cockpit. “I don’t hear any wind.”
“Not again,” Remi said, shivering. It seemed colder now than it had been the previous night.
Dietrich got up. “My turn. I’ll check.” He took his flashlight and climbed up the ladder. They heard him moving around up there. “It’s still open. But the wind has stopped.”
Sam joined him in the cockpit, looking through the tunnel. “He’s right,” he called down to Remi, who was holding on to the ladder behind him.
“When can we get out?” she asked.
He looked at his watch. “My guess is, they’ll be waiting for morning to start the search. We’ll call first thing.”
The three settled in for the night. The cold seemed even harsher. When morning came, Sam climbed up, disappointed to see that the snow had once again covered their tunnel. He grabbed the shovel and started clearing the entrance. This time, though, when he broke through, it was to a clear, sparkling sky.
“That’s a welcome sight!”
Once the three were free of the plane, snowshoes strapped on, they worked their way down the mountain far enough to get a clear signal on the satellite phone. Sam called Nando.
“Good news!” Nando said before Sam could get a word in edgewise. “Julio is already on his way. He’s insisting on piloting the search and rescue himself.”
“We’ll be at the rendezvous point. What about his brother?”
“Fine. Made it back, but wracked with guilt.”
“Tell him not to worry.”
“I will!” Nando said. “We’re celebrating tonight. Big dinner. And your friends said to tell you they’re waiting for you.”
“Who is?”
“Yes. Se
e you soon!”
Nando disconnected before Sam could clarify further. He stared at the phone a second.
“Well?” Remi asked.
“He’s more excited about our rescue than we are. Celebratory dinner. And our friends are waiting for us.”
“Tatiana and Viktor?” Remi asked.
“I hope that’s who he meant.” Sam tried calling him back. This time, there was no answer. “Odd. I’ll call Selma. Maybe she’ll know.”
Selma, however, had no idea what he was talking about. “As far as I know, Tatiana and Viktor are still in Mendoza. That’s got to be who he meant.”
“Of course it is. I’ll give them a call.”
“I’ll see what I can find out on my end.” But neither Tatiana nor Nando answered their phones. He left voice mails on each, then pocketed his phone. “I’d feel better if we knew which friends he was talking about. Especially considering Tatiana and Viktor are the only ones who know we’re up here.”
“Surely,” Remi said, “Nando would suspect if two strange men showed up at camp?”
“Let’s hope so,” he said as the air began thrumming from the approaching helicopter.
Dietrich pointed. “There it is!”
Sam looked up. “Better late than never,” he said, watching as the helicopter approached, flying over the top of the ridge, circling back and then down the pass—something Julio had never done.
Remi even noticed. “Why’s he coming that way?”
“Good question,” Sam said, shielding his eyes against the glare, trying to see if it really was Julio piloting. It definitely wasn’t the same craft.
The helicopter seemed to shudder as it hovered over them, before banking sharply. Remi reached out, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Something’s wrong.”
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The three watched as the helicopter picked up speed again, circled around the peaks one more time, then landed near the rendezvous point. When the door opened and Julio appeared, waving at them, Sam, Remi, and Dietrich continued down the mountain.
“Is everything okay?” Sam asked Julio. “Looked like you were having some trouble up there.”
“Combination of an unfamiliar craft and a sharp downdraft,” Julio said. “I wasn’t about to trust anyone else. I had to borrow this after my brother’s accident. I can’t tell you how sorry he was.”
“He’s not hurt?” Remi asked.
“He’s fine. Our helicopter not so much. But it got him home, and you’re all okay.”
“More than okay,” Sam said, making a mental note to have Selma get started on replacing the damaged helicopter. He threw their packs into the back before helping Remi. Once they were in the air, he tried calling Nando and Tatiana. Again, neither answered, and so he checked in with Selma, who had the same results. Concerned, he asked Julio if he’d spoken with Nando at all.
“Earlier this morning.”
“He say anything about friends stopping by?”
“Not a word.”
Sam eyed the base camp below as the helicopter neared. “Do me a favor, Julio. Fly a little slower as you make the first pass. I want to get a better look at our tent.”
He lifted the binoculars, focusing as their large orange dining tent came into view. He scanned the area around their campsite. No one seemed to be around. “If our ‘friends’ are there, I don’t see them,” he told Remi. “Then again, I don’t see Nando, either.”
“I’m still worried,” Remi said.
“Good reason for it,” Sam replied, pointing near the helipad. “That man at the northeast corner. Possibly a sentry.”
“There, too,” Remi said. “A little farther to the south.”
“How can you tell?” Dietrich asked.
“Besides that we’re expecting it? The way they’re standing, right hand in the right pocket, most likely holding a gun. Notice we’re all wearing bright colors,” Sam added. “They’re dressed in white. Blends in with the snow.”
“Guess my false travel plans didn’t work,” Dietrich said.
“Might have bought us a few days.” Sam scanned the area with his binoculars, telling Remi, “I don’t see Rolfe or Leopold.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to get their new white snowsuits dirty.”
“Somehow, I doubt we’re that lucky. There’s got to be more sentries. Leopold doesn’t send a couple men out and hope for the best.”
“This isn’t his territory,” Dietrich said. “Maybe he doesn’t have enough people.”
“Every time we’ve dealt with him, he’s always had several men patrolling the outer perimeter. No reason to think any different. Take us down, Julio,” Sam said, then looked back at Dietrich. “Remi and I will go on up. If we can get around those sentries, it shouldn’t take us too long to get Nando and meet you here.”
Dietrich nodded. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“I’d rather you wait with Julio. If we’re lucky, we can get in and out without anyone noticing.”
“How?”
“They’re not watching the helipad, so they might not even know we were stuck in the avalanche or coming in on the helicopter. If there’s the slightest problem, you two get out of here and get help.”
“You got it.”
When the helicopter landed, Sam jumped out, then helped Remi, the two running up the hill to a position where Sam could see the sentries. The first was behind a rock and about a hundred yards away, the second about twenty-five yards beyond him. “Let’s come up from above them,” Sam said. “They’re busy watching the tents below.” If he had to guess, Rolfe and Leopold were probably below, searching for them. Their camp was higher, overlooking the tent city. Sam hoped that meant they had plenty of time, but he wasn’t about to chance it. He drew his gun. “Ready?”
Staying low, the two followed a craggy trail of rocks and boulders. As they neared, the first sentry turned, drawing a gun from his right pocket. Sam grabbed Remi’s hand, pulling her behind a boulder. The sentry fired. Bits of rock flew up, the shot echoing around them. Sam returned fire as he and Remi ran through the snow down the trail, the echo sounding like ricocheted shots cracking off the mountain peaks.
“So much for getting to our tent unobserved,” he said. “Keep an eye out for that other guy. I’m going to find a way to get over there without them seeing. I need to take this guy out.”
“I vote we take them both out.” Remi had drawn her gun and aimed at the last location of the second sentry. “It’d be nice if he made a move. I have no idea where he went.”
“Let’s see if we can’t flush him out. Fire a shot his way when I tell you to. Then give me enough time to get into position and do it again. If he doesn’t move, the other one will. We’ll use the echo to our advantage.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Be careful, Fargo.”
“Likewise.”
Sam waited until the first sentry edged up high enough to where Sam could see his shadow on the snowbank behind him. “Now.”
Remi fired, her shot cracking across the surrounding mountains. The moment Sam saw the first sentry duck, he dove behind a boulder across the trail, then ran between the rocks just above the man’s position. Sam glanced in Remi’s direction. When she looked his way, he gave her a thumbs-up. She nodded, and he worked his way through the rocks, wedged himself against a boulder, then peered around the side, waiting, listening for Remi. She fired again. The first gunman rose, aimed in her direction.
“Hey!” Sam yelled, firing twice.
The man turned, fired several times. The shots hit the boulder in front of Sam, snow and rock flying up. Sam shot back, ducked, and crawled through the snow until he reached a space between another pair of rocks. Two shots left, he was going to have to make them count. And hope that Remi had the other gunman covered.
Wind gusted through the rocks. Sam strained to listen, hopi
ng to hear his opponent’s movement. There it was, faint, the crunch of snow, a few feet to his right. Sam edged his way around the boulder just as the gunman broke cover. Sam squeezed the trigger. The man fell back, red spreading across his white snowsuit.
Sam had just retrieved the man’s gun when he looked back and saw the second gunman working his way toward where Remi was hiding.
“Behind you!” Sam shouted, aiming.
Remi spun around, firing at the same time as Sam, their shots echoing around the mountains like machine guns. The sentry twisted, then stumbled, his weapon falling from his lifeless fingers.
Sam and Remi heard gunshots from the camp below.
“Nando?”
“I’m checking now,” Sam said, looking out toward the base camp. He took his binoculars, scanned the camp, unable to find who was shooting. He focused on the front of their dining tent. One of the door flaps was strapped open, and he watched a few moments, seeing Nando walk past the doorway. “He’s there. Looks fine. I don’t see anyone else in the tent or around it.”
“You know Leopold and Rolfe must have heard those shots.”
“You’re right. Can you get that guy’s gun and see if he has any extra magazines? I think we may be in for more trouble.”
Sam swept his gaze from their tent, past the group of tents down the hill. Not a lot moving. Most of the occupants were probably taking advantage of the clear weather, out climbing the summit. “If they’re down there, I don’t see them. Let’s get Nando out of here.”
Just to be safe, they decided their best bet was to approach their campsite from the rear. They picked their way through the snow, grateful that it was wasn’t deep. Sam leaned toward the tent, trying to hear inside, but a gust of wind ruffled the nylon canvas, muffling all sound. When the wind died down, he heard Nando singing along with a song on the portable radio.
That, Sam decided, was a good sign, and they continued around the corner into the tent. Nando, his back to them, was swaying to the beat of the pop music as he stirred something simmering in the large pot on the cook stove, the scent of savory spices filling the air.
The Romanov Ransom Page 31
