The Romanov Ransom

10

Thunder rumbled above them as Sam pointed toward the rope. “Down there!”

Remi took a quick look, then stepped back as Sam leaned over, shouting, “Karl! Brand! Can you hear us?”

He waited.

Only the wind and rain. He dropped to his belly for a better view. Unfortunately, the angle prevented him from seeing much of anything. Sam anchored his rope to one of the trees, lowering himself into the crevice. “Karl! Brand!”

One of the boys stepped into view, brushing his wet hair from his face as he looked up toward Sam. “Mr. Fargo? What are you doing here?”

“Your uncle called. Where’s your brother?”

Brand stepped in beside Karl, soaked through.

“Either of you hurt?” Sam asked.

Karl shook his head. “We’re fine. Cold, wet, hungry, but good.”

He rappelled down, glad to see the two still wore harnesses, recalling that their uncle said that they were experienced climbers. That would make their return much easier. “What happened here?”

“We’re not sure,” Brand said. “We were up on the ridge, on our way home, when someone started shooting at us.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No,” he said. “We came back down here to get away. The only thing we can think is that whoever it was followed us and unknotted our rope so we couldn’t get out. The good news is, we found the plane.”

“Where?”

“Behind the camel’s head. It’s a bit of a climb down.”

Sam looked up at Remi. “See if you can get a call to their uncle. I’m going down to take a look at that plane.”

A light rain started to fall as he followed Karl and Brand along the ledge, then down the rocks toward the aircraft. No wonder the plane had never been found before now. It had crashed behind the massive rocks that formed the base of the camel’s head. The left wing had been sheared off. What was left of the fuselage was protected by the overhang of the massive rock outcropping it rested beneath. Between that and the scrub that had grown up around it, it was well camouflaged.

Whether or not anything left inside had survived the decades of weather remained to be seen. “Have either of you been in it?”

“Not any farther than the hold,” Brand said. “We used it for shelter from the rain. It doesn’t seem very stable.”

He was right about that. The plane was wedged beneath the outcropping, the right wing, what was left of it, having dropped into a deep crevice, with the body of the plane perched precariously over the same space, the nose tilted down.

Sam took out a flashlight and aimed it inside. Karl moved next to him as they peered into the opening where the tail had sheared off. The area near the door was slick with red mud where Karl and Brand had taken shelter from the rain. Beyond that, the interior was surprisingly dry, protected from the elements by the overhang. A thick layer of red dust covered the floor, marred down the middle by waffle boot prints. “Those yours?” Sam asked, recalling the footprints down by the creek bed.

Karl shook his head. “They were already there.”

Sam followed the trail with his light. “Wonder if he found anything.”

“If so,” Karl said, “he left something behind.” He pointed to what looked like a book stuck between the pilot and the copilot’s seats. “We wanted to get to it, but didn’t think it was safe.”

Sam placed one foot against the plane, pressing on it, thinking that even if it did fall, it wasn’t going far. The crevice it was wedged in seemed too narrow. Still, no telling what might happen, and so he retrieved Karl and Brand’s rope, then, brushing the rain from his face, waited for Remi, who was rappelling down from the boulders.

“Your uncle is anxiously waiting your return,” she said when she joined them, taking a closer look at the plane. “That thing looks like it’s going over any second.”

“I don’t think it’ll go far. It’s wedged pretty tight, never mind someone’s been in there.” Sam showed her the boot prints. “Same as down in the ravine.”

“If you’re wondering, that doesn’t make me feel better,” Remi told him as he attached the rope to his harness. Brand and Karl, with well-muscled arms, took up the length. Remi stood near them, directing.

He ducked down, then entered the plane, testing his weight, the rain beating down on the fuselage. It was clear that this particular craft had been used for small cargo loads since the only seats were the pilots’ and one behind the cockpit. The hold was empty, and the downward tilt wasn’t too severe, but Sam’s wet shoes turned the dust into slippery mud. He slowly made his way toward the nose, until a loud grating noise brought him up short.

“Careful, Fargo,” Remi said.

“Always.” The footprints he’d seen didn’t extend much farther than he was now — for good reason, he thought, eyeing the empty space that once housed the glass nose and the missing cockpit windows. The plane might not entirely fit down that crevice, but he certainly would. Taking a tentative step forward, he aimed his flashlight toward the cockpit, seeing the thin book between the pilot’s and copilot’s seats.

He edged forward. The hull creaked. Suddenly, the entire plane shifted nose downward, throwing Sam against the fuselage. Flashlight flying, he crashed into the cockpit, grabbing at the seat. His feet dropped through the missing window, nothing but air beneath him.

Remi looked ready to jump in after him. “Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” He hugged the pilot seat, the rope taut, as the plane slipped farther. Metal groaned and twisted against the rocks. He grabbed the book, then tucked it into his waistband. Rain sluiced into the opening, rivulets of water streaming along the floor, his feet slipping as they hauled him up. The plane shifted again, the metal screeching as it scraped on the rocks. Karl reached in, grabbed his arm, and Sam climbed the rest of the way out. When he was on solid ground, they all turned, looked into the tail end of the plane, seeing nothing but blackness through to the cockpit.

“Living on the edge, Fargo?” Remi asked.

“A little excitement’s good for the ticker.”

“And your prize for risking your life?”

“Possibly a logbook.” Not nearly the significant find he was hoping for, after hearing the plane’s legend, but perhaps historically worthy just the same. He slipped it into his backpack to keep it dry. “We’ll take a look at it in the car once we get out of here.”

After Brand coiled his rope and slung it over his shoulder, the four climbed up the boulders to the top of the ridge. A reprieve in the weather buoyed Karl’s and Brand’s spirits, especially after they learned Zakaria was waiting for them.

Brand searched the other side of the gorge, trying to see him. “How’d he know where to find us?”

“Durin showed us the way,” Sam said, focusing until he saw Zakaria seated in the front passenger seat of the Toyota. Zakaria must have been watching for them because he suddenly threw open the door, jumped out, binoculars in hand, as Sam raised both arms straight up in the air. Touchdown.

There was nothing more exhilarating than a successful search and rescue — even for the one waiting on the other side. Unfortunately, that exhilaration died at the sight of the swollen creek in the gorge below. Worried about the possibility of flash floods, Sam hurried them along the ridge. By the time they reached the bottom of the gorge, the creek had doubled in size and speed, the cold current pulling at them as they crossed. They were almost to the other side when they heard a loud rumble like a stampede. Within seconds, a giant wave of reddish brown water swept down the gorge toward them.