The Romanov Ransom

81

Julio brought the helicopter around the peak, bringing it down to their makeshift landing pad. “Don’t forget,” he told Sam. “The storm is coming in, so we’ll need to get an earlier start back.”

“What time?”

“Say, two-thirty, three at the latest.”

“See you then.”

Considering that the day had begun with a crystal clear sky, not a cloud to be seen as they climbed the hill, it was hard to believe the storm would arrive on time. Glistening droplets of water dripped from the plane’s propellers in the warmth of the sun, and the three wore sunglasses against the glare on the snow.

Once inside the plane, they spent the next several hours meticulously documenting everything they found, starting at the front and working their way back. Out of respect, they left the search of the cockpit to Dietrich. By the time he finished, Sam and Remi had worked their way to the ice wall on the right side near the missing wing.

“Find anything?” Sam asked Dietrich as he climbed down the ladder.

“I’m not sure, but it looks like the pilot was shot in the head. I don’t see any other reason for the hole in his skull.”

“It certainly explains why the plane crashed,” Sam replied.

“Have you found anything down here?”

“We’ve identified three of the men.” Two were intertwined on the floor at the front of the plane against a third man, who had no ID. The other three passengers, two men and a woman, were draped over the seats. “That man there,” he said, pointing to one of the three on the floor, “is your Great-uncle Ludwig Strassmair. I expect the woman has a purse somewhere. We just haven’t found it yet.”

Dietrich stared at what he could see of Strassmair for a few moments, then turned away. “What about the treasure? You think it’s here? You think that’s why he was on this plane?”

“So far, it’s not looking good. We only found one suitcase. Nothing but clothes.”

He nodded, looking around. “Only one?”

Sam shined the light on the rear of the plane, revealing the wall of ice where the tail used to be. “My guess is, the cargo was in the tail of the plane and that it’s located between here and wherever the tail landed. It might be close.”

“Or not,” Remi said. “Look how far that propeller was.”

“Where’s that positive thinking, Remi?”

“Back at base camp. Nando mentioned something about fresh-made empanadas for dinner.”

“Speaking of,” Sam said, looking at his watch, “we should start heading down the hill. Julio’s due anytime now.”

“So we return tomorrow?” Dietrich asked.

“If the storm blows through quickly,” he said, picking up his backpack and strapping it on, then helping Remi with hers. “If the weather report’s accurate, it’ll be the day after.”

They left the plane, heading down the mountainside. The wind gusted through the pass, the frigid air having dropped several degrees from earlier that morning. By the time they reached the rendezvous point, it was even colder. Sharp winds began to attack, quickly changing direction, and never in a repeating pattern.

The minutes ticked by. As the clouds grew thicker and darker, Remi leaned in close to Sam. “Let’s hope he gets here soon.”

“I’m sure he will,” Dietrich said.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sam glanced up the sky, searching.

Remi, apparently, noticed his concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Hate to say it, but Julio should have been here by now. He’s way too experienced to try to get out here this late, in this weather.”

“Wouldn’t he call?” Dietrich asked.

“Assuming he could get through, it’s possible he did.” Sam took out his satellite phone and tried to call Julio. When there was no answer, he nodded at the plane. “Lucky for us, we’ve got shelter and food.”

“Protein bars,” Remi said as the three trudged through the snow back to the plane. “Hardly a consolation.”

“They’re gourmet protein bars. The label says so.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Fargo.”

“I’ll phone Nando and let him know we’re probably not making it to dinner.” They stopped at the nose of the aircraft. When he tried to make the call, nothing happened. “You two wait in the plane. I’ve got to move out farther. Something’s blocking the line of sight.” What, he wasn’t sure. Possibly the two mountain peaks they were standing between or interference from the storm.

Remi hesitated. Sam reassured her he wasn’t about to wander that far from the plane. Not in this weather.

When Dietrich took Remi’s arm, helping her up through the door, Sam worked his way down the mountain until his phone was able to pick up a satellite signal and he could successfully call Nando.

“I can barely hear you, Mr. Fargo. We were worried when it got dark and you weren’t back.”

“‘We’?”

“Julio called. His wife had the baby. He was sending his brother. I assumed he was on his way to get you. He didn’t make it there?”

“Not yet,” Sam said, shouting over the wind. “We’re taking shelter in the downed plane. Call Julio’s brother. Tell him to come back in the morning when it’s clear.”

“If it’s clear,” Nando said. “The weather report isn’t looking good. You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine.”

Sam pocketed his phone, then climbed back up to the plane, keeping his head down against the wind, which was even stronger now than it had been just a few minutes ago.

Remi watched him from the doorway, the flashlight turned on to light his way. “Did you reach anyone?”

“Nando,” he said, pulling himself into the fuselage. He and Dietrich pushed the door closed, the wind whistling through the crack. “On the good news front, Julio’s wife had the baby.”

“That explains why he’s not here. He—”

Sam held up his hand. “Hear that?”

“Thunder?” Remi asked.

“I think our ride’s here.”

They pulled open the door, the three running out toward the front of the plane. A tiny speck in the sky just over the pass was almost hidden in the snow flurries, the sound of the rotors barely audible over the wailing wind.

With gloved hands, they shielded their eyes against the spotlights as the helicopter swept overhead. It suddenly swung back on a course directly toward them, the pilot struggling to control the craft against the ever-stronger wind.

It rose sharply for a few moments, fighting a losing battle with the gale. The rotors blasted the frigid darkness. Then, barely in the air, the nearly uncontrolled helicopter pounded the driving snow, magnifying the thunder, on the ridge and steep side of the mountain.

Suddenly, there was an unbearable roar that swept down the deeply blanketed slope that engulfed the helicopter. It became lost under a white storm of ice and vanished.

The three stared in shock as the ice-packed snow beneath their snowshoes began to pulsate, and Sam realized it wasn’t thunder at all.

“Run!” he yelled. “To the plane!”