Snow Rush

by James Easton

  She smacked into the rock over an eighty-metre drop, tried to haul up with two hands on the branch, but didn’t have the strength, not with her arms alone. She gathered the focus she needed, all her energy going into the grip, holding herself there.

  The branch bark split. A wet, green sound. She imagined the back of the bend in the branch exploding out, looking like a frayed rope. It would go at that point, and she would die. She had to get back up before it failed completely.

  She pushed out with her knees, leaning back and drew one knee up, put that foot against the face and pushed out, bringing her other foot up alongside. She hauled on the branch, hand over hand, walking up the cliff.

  There was another tiny sag, a change of how it felt in her hands. It was going to go.

  Carolina snarled as she pulled on the branch.

  Two more steps.

  The branch shearing away. One more step.

  Carolina threw an arm over the edge and screamed with the effort of getting her elbows up on the loose rock. It felt like her insides were far below her. She pushed up on her forearms and kicked and wriggled her body, bucking violently with everything she had and brought her knee up over the edge.

  She lunged for the stump of the branch high up on her left. More rock slid out as she pushed against it, that scraping sound. Then just her breathing in the quiet. She moved up and hugged the trunk of the tree, then moved up again, the smashed body not bothering her any more as she went around to the right, nearer the opposite side of the gully. Tears were rolling, but they didn’t bother her either. Nothing mattered. She was alive. She moved down again.

  The trees thickened, and the gradient eased. The conifers stretched out to the left, covering a wider area. The deep ridges were petering out. She rested for a minute, ate some snow and some chocolate. She was bruised and torn from the brambles and the rocks, scrapes and cuts everywhere. She was very tired, and the pain came in. But her muscles weren’t yet shaking when she strained and her pulse was raised, but normally so. She moved down, walking quickly now she wasn’t in danger of falling.

  Soon the lake was visible through the trees.

  Max was on the phone to Niko.

  “What do you mean? She beat you?”

  “We haven’t seen her for a while. Look, we caught glimpses of her, but some of the guys were a little loud, and she may have evaded us. I’m worried Marc fell. The trees just give way, and there’s the cliff. It would be easy to go over. And we saw a guy up here, moving south. Dark jacket.”

  “Anything special?”

  “Not so much. Middle-aged guy.”

  Max wondered if Rédoine’s people were already there, whether he’d been followed. Who this woman was. He decided to move the venue at the last minute to the bend he’d checked out before the road swept down to the lake. They’d be there already when he gave the word and see everyone come in. It was open up there, and the only way to blitz them would be helicopters, and you could hear those a long way away.

  Max was a little tired from being outside in the cold, so far from civilisation in Marseilles. He could taste the deal. He wanted a Kir Royale.

  Carolina saw her subjects had mingled with the tourists in the carpark and were buying coffee. The chill from the air hit her now that she wasn’t working hard. She walked out around the lake, wondering if she looked anything like as terrible as she felt.

  The lake was a frozen, silver- white expanse under the harsh cliffs, and she enjoyed noticing it was beautiful. It meant she was alive. She crossed the road and went into the trees on the other side. The bank was sharp and forested. It was at least six kilometres back to Morzine. But it was a walk in the park compared to what she’d just done. She set off through the conifers. Never wanting to climb anything again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jean Haim lent back in the armchair, looking pensive. “It was then that I decided to make this my life. But I am not sure whether I had a choice. I sometimes think the life chose me.”

  Robin paused the camera. “You sound like a victim there. It’s not that sexy, this cod philosophy and fate. People want your danger, your agency, Jean.”

  “You are my agency.”

  “Agency, not agent. I mean your self-reliance. Strength, here.” She patted her heart and kissed him. “I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy for you.”

  “We do it again, this part?”

  “Later.” She stretched. And walked over to the patio doors at end of the lounge. “I need some fresh air,” she said, turning the lock on one and sliding it open.

  Jean’s hand closed over hers. “Ask first. Security.”

  She turned around and looked at him. He was serious. “Sorry. I’m not used to this.”

  Jean looked at his watch. “No problem. Let’s go for a walk.”

  They put their coats and snow boots on and walked in the late afternoon gloom up the hill. Jean put his arm around her, and she squeezed close to him. They rested a couple of times on the way, to kiss, look at the views opening up below them. When they got to the top, and the hill evened out, Robin said, “I’m trying to understand something from what you talked about.”

  “What is that?”

  “In one part, you talked about planning. Complexity. How your mind is suited to it. In another, you talked about improvising, almost sounded opportunistic in some of the things you’ve done.” She yawned.

  “You need both. Not everything is so complex. Sometimes if you can keep calm, and think, it is enough. You see that house?”

  He nodded toward an L-shaped house below the other side of the hill. Robin looked at it. It was a nice place, simple, all on one storey, wooden panelling on the upper half of the walls and a stream running across the meadow at the back. It seemed dark, like nobody was at home.

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “Something about it took my attention. I think they have something valuable in there.”

  “What?”

  “For now, not important. Something. If I asked you to find out what it was, what would you do to get in?”

  Robin looked at the house, started to work out how to get in through the roof and realised how silly that was very quickly

  “Go up to the front door and ask for directions or something. See if I could get inside. Maybe say I’d been taken ill and needed to use a phone. Flat battery in mine.” She shrugged.

  “Not bad. If you know what it is, then you could look out for it.”

  He pulled a telescope from his pocket, opened it to check something then gave it to her. “The end of the house near us, it looks like the back of the garage, right?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “You see the little camera just under the thing by the roof, the drain?”

  “The gutter. Yes.”

  “See the tape around it? It’s recently been fixed there. That model is popular with security professionals. Doesn’t look like much but it is wide angle. Very good quality. It will cover a lot of the area at the back. Just that alone. Probably feeds a laptop or a phone app, so wherever she is she can see you.”

  “She? You know who put it there.”

  He smiled. “No, I am being inclusive.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Jean said, “That little camera is a sign of something there they may want to protect, you see?”

  “Maybe they’re just enthusiasts.”

  He glanced at her. “People who know this camera exists are serious. Not the hobby type.”

  “OK, so how do you get close enough to find out what they’re trying to protect?”

  “Sit on that rock.”

  He took her hand and led her to a flat boulder that was next to a copse of larch trees. He sat next to her.

  “It’s cold. What are you doing?”

  Jean was putting a hotel sleep mask over her eyes.

  “How you find out is to ask a contact for help. I’m meeting someone just over there. I will be able to see you, so don’t worry about anything. Just enjoy listening to the mountain. And w
hatever you do, don’t look for me.” He kissed her and moved away.

  Robin had a flash of panic that he was never going to come back. But she trusted him at the same time. And she did what he asked. She listened to the silence of the hills.

  Rafael Nieto frowned when he saw Robin sitting blindfolded on the rock.

  “How do you get her to do that?”

  “She trusts me. What did you get?”

  “Max found that Robin stayed at the Chalet Guy Koffmann in Morzine. I took a look. There’s a guy there from the same company she works for. I didn’t get his name, but he’s there.”

  “What about the kid?”

  Rafa said, “The kid is Spanish. Miguel Pérez. That’s from the National ID Card data. Expensive. So I’m glad we got something worthwhile. His father is a defence contractor. His mother works in the Ministry of Defence, big civil servant. They live in Pozuelo de Alarcón, in Madrid. Very wealthy. I don’t know who the woman protecting him is. Our Spanish police contacts couldn’t find her on any books. Doesn’t make her black level, but does maybe mean military, intel, maybe a specialist police corps.”

  They moved to some of the trees on the cusp of the slope.

  “The house is easy,” said Jean. “I’ll send you the specification of what I can see. I need some signal jamming gear. Max will know who, but he’s got the heat in Marseilles, so maybe your guys can pick it up. What do you think the kid’s worth?” He looked over at Robin. Wondering how much he would need if she came to live with him, wherever he went.

  “I’m checking their worth so that we ask for a doable amount, but, if we did it, the kid is worth millions. That’s why I’m interested.”

  Jean looked back at Rafa. “There’s a lot to think about. Want to talk about it over dinner?”

  “Sure. Here’s the data.” Rafa gave him an envelope with a usb key inside and moved away up the hill.

  Jean walked back to Robin. “Good girl,” he said, taking the blindfold off. “How was that?”

  She sighed. “I could hear you talking. Not what you said. Your voice.”

  “Let’s go back.”

  Back in the chalet, Jean called Max for an update, told him to come to the dinner Rafa was arranging. He looked at the mountain disappearing as darkness fell after he’d hung up.

  Robin slipped her arms around him, pushed a hand under his sweater, and felt his abs.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” she said, into his ear.

  “Sure.”

  “That business with the blindfold, on the hill. I didn’t like it. I know why you cuffed me when we came here. I understood.”

  She opened his belt and his fly. Pushed her hand down his boxers.

  “But if you don’t want me to see who you are meeting, don’t take me with you. Or ask me to give you some privacy and trust me. I appreciate you need to be safe.”

  Jean took a long, slow breath.

  “But parking me on a rock where your business partners can see me and I can’t see them is cruel. I felt stupid. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to mess anything up. Still less have a fight on the hill when prior to that I was feeling so nice. But that will not happen again. OK?”

  She tightened her grip.

  He gasped. “Sure. I get it.”

  She withdrew her hand and did his trousers and belt up. “Now, I’m going to take a nap. You think about me the whole time.”

  He made some more calls, checking his travel routes were in place and thinking about the L-shaped house over the hill. Jean had sometimes worked jobs out in a kind of meditation, running images again and again in his head until something suggested itself.

  He studied the video they were making for a while. Robin’s voice was neutral, a little sulky, like she was acting under duress. He thought he looked quite good.

  She was going to have to stay here while he was out with Rafa and Max. He thought about her roaming around. Getting into stuff, maybe. Or going out for some fresh air and being seen like she nearly had before. It was no good. He didn’t want to have to think about that. She might get the wrong idea if she found the ski masks and duct tape, the restraints. Like those things were part of a concrete plan rather than simple precautions. She might even run. It was a risk he didn’t need.

  He showered and shaved, put his smarter jeans and sweater on, and his fake glasses. When he was ready to leave, he went through to see Robin. She was asleep. He gently tied her wrists together with a cable tie and then secured them to the bed head with duct tape, making sure she had some room. She woke up at that point and laughed at what he’d done. Then her face changed.

  “Wait. Jean, are you going out?”

  “Oui.”

  “How long for?”

  He shrugged.

  “You can’t just leave me like this.” She tugged at the restraints.

  “You’ll be OK. I have to meet someone. This is security.”

  “What the…? I can’t. Jean, what if I want to go to the bathroom?”

  Jean ran his hand over his mouth. “Yes, of course.”

  He cut the tape on her wrists and cut the cable tie, then put a fresh tie on one of her wrists, securing the other half of the tie to the bedpost. He did it too quickly for her to see what he was doing. Then he went to the kitchen and came back with a Le Creuset casserole dish in Volcanic Orange and put it next to Robin’s right hip.

  “Voila. Ton WC.”

  She looked at the dish, looked at him, looked at the dish again. “Oh, you are kidding, you PRICK!”

  Jean put his coat on in the hallway and checked his pockets for things he might need later, including a ski mask. He chose one of the backpacks too.

  “How can you DO this?!”

  Jean closed the door and double locked the house before setting off for dinner in his car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Carolina limped toward Morzine in the dark. She’d stayed in the trees for three kilometres, stumbling over rocks and roots and every other damn thing the valley could put beneath the snow, until she made the turn into town.

  The fear had gone. But after a mistake like that, she felt as bedraggled inside as she certainly was outside. A very unwelcome feeling, less fraught than fear but one that made her angry. She wanted to see Berg but did not want to tell him what a fool she’d made of herself.

  The temperature was dropping. She stopped a couple coming the other way and explained she’d lost her phone in an accident and asked if she could borrow one for a quick call for help. She noticed them look at the scratches on her hands, as she called Anders. Five minutes later, Ignacio picked her up with Berg and drove them to pick up Berg’s SUV. The distances seemed small in a vehicle.

  Carolina left out the part involving the body and her climb down the mountain. The story she did tell was sufficient for Ignacio to decide that they should all eat together and stay in town. His treat at the Chalet Guy Koffmann. Carolina, yawning in the warmth of the vehicle, agreed without really thinking about it and suffered a moment of mild awkwardness when she checked into the place in wet, filthy, outdoors gear. She’d never stayed in a place like this. It smelt like money, with some kind of rich scent in the air and oiled beams and natural stone everywhere.

  Eva met them by the lifts, and after a brief look at Carolina went shopping. Carolina floated to her room on tired legs, with Berg. The door closed behind them. Everything was wood and stone, solid and simple. Berg was looking at her appraisingly, almost like she was his patient.

  “Want some food? You look finished.”

  She’d eaten her chocolate and carb bars at some point. She felt sick at the thought of food but also in need of it. She couldn’t last to dinner.

  “What is there?”

  Berg studied her before turning to the room service menu.

  “Apple cake for you, I think.”

  How did he know that? “Yes, please.”

  He ordered.

  “Someone fell off the mountain.” She folded her hands over her f
ace.

  “Bad guy?”

  She nodded. “He was broken up by the trees. Mountain Rescue needs to know he’s there.”

  She told Berg where it was, then she called the locations she’d tracked into Pablo so that he could in turn inform France about where Rédoine and Bullneck might try to exchange next time. Then she felt overwhelmed by fatigue and the hollowness of nearly dying somewhere that she wouldn’t be found. It was so easy to be swept away. She rubbed her face again.

  “Rough up there?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Sorry.”

  She looked at him and realised she was sulking. “Sorry, not you.”

  Berg stepped across to her and wrapped her in his arms. It wasn’t patronising. Wasn’t dramatic. It was solid. She put her hands on his chest, buried her face there. He didn’t overdo it and released her after a couple of breaths. She wanted more and grabbed him with a tiny moan of protest. He laughed gently and held her. She considered crying, but Berg was sufficiently lovely to hold onto for crying not to be necessary. After another minute she felt she could surface.

  There was a knock. The cake had arrived, and Eva was just behind it. She had three carrier bags for Carolina and said they were having dinner at nine-thirty. It wasn’t yet six.

  “Kind of late, nine-thirty?” said Berg after Eva had left.

  “It’s Spanish,” said Carolina. She yawned and took a look at what Eva had given her. Clothes and pharmacy supplies, including tweezers. She smiled. Eva had noticed the thorn embedded in her thumb. There were three-packs of underwear and socks, leggings, all in black, and a flannel shirt. Feminine, dark grey. And hair tongs. And a phone. That had to be a backup of Eva’s.

  She didn’t feel like being alone. “Berg?”

  “Carrasco?”

  “Can you stay? Watch something on TV while I clean up in here?”

  Berg put the TV on. Carolina went into the bathroom.

  She ran a tub, and threw in several scoops of mineral salts. As the water thundered down, she stripped off her clothes and stood in front of the mirror that covered the wall opposite the bath. She did a slow three-sixty turn, wondering how Berg would respond if she surprised him like this.