The Romanov Ransom

by Clive Cussler

  The first fat drops of rain started to fall as they made their ascent. The higher they climbed, the stronger the wind blew. Rain lashed at their faces, soaking through their fingerless gloves.

  Sam placed a cam, tugging to make sure it was secure, when a wind shear blasted down, knocking them against the rock. Remi, in the midst of reaching up, lost her grip on the wet rope, slipping. Her harness jolted as the rope went taut, breaking her fall. He saw her dangling below him, the wind spinning her like a top.

  “Remi!”

  Lightning flashed overhead, followed a few seconds later by the crack of thunder, as the storm raged over them. He tried not to think of all the metal cams hanging from their slings, turning them into human lightning rods.

  Remi reached out, stopped her spinning by grabbing at the cam jammed into the crack.

  “You okay?” he shouted, barely able to hear the words himself.

  She nodded, then pointed up.

  As if they had a choice of any direction but. They were forced to climb at a much slower pace, the wind and rain turning what should have been an easy climb into a treacherous one. Sam realized they were going to have to take cover. The only possible place was the ledge where Brand’s jacket was found. He looked down and called out to Remi. “The ledge!”

  They slowly made their way over. Sam climbed up over the edge, then reached down, grasping Remi’s arm, helping her up. Safely on solid ground, they looked at the red jacket, noticing its unusual appearance as the wind rippled the nylon material.

  “Sam!” she said, shouting to be heard. “Rocks inside.”

  “To keep it from blowing away.”

  Which meant someone had knotted the sleeves to hold the stones . . .

  A sense of relief swept through him as he looked up, trying to see what, if anything, was on the cliffs above them. Surely that meant they were up there. Whether hurt, hiding, or both, it was definitely a sign put out to let someone know where they were.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out their names.

  The only thing they heard in return was the sound of the wind whistling through the craggy rocks above them.

  “If they’re near the top,” Sam said, “or tucked in some crevice, they might not be able to hear over the wind gusts.”

  He scooped up the jacket, dumped the rocks from the sleeves, stuffed it into his pack, then joined Remi beneath the cliff’s overhang. It offered some protection, though not much, the wind still gusting. They huddled together to wait out the worst of the storm. At one point, Sam checked the other side to see how Zakaria was faring. Rain splattered against the binocular lenses, making it difficult to see clearly.

  “Is he there?” Remi asked.

  “In the car.”

  “At least someone’s warm and dry.”

  He tucked the binoculars away, then took out some beef jerky and water. By the time they finished their quick meal, the wind and rain had lessened. Within a half hour, the sun actually broke through, though black clouds still threatened. “Let’s get up there while we can.”

  They reached the crest, walking until they saw the camel head. From the other side, it had appeared to be one solid rock. As they neared, though, it looked less like a head and more like a jumble of boulders and crevices. A clear path at the back of the so-called head led right up to the edge of the gorge. Sam looked down, saw that the cliff jutted out, preventing them from seeing down to the ledge where they’d just taken shelter. “They didn’t drop the jacket from here. Has to be the other side of the head.”

  Remi eyed the jumble they’d have to get across. The wet rocks were slippery, the edges sharp, and it would be slow going. “We might have to reassess our dinner plans by the time we get them out of here.”

  “Let’s find them first.”

  Finally, they reached the other side, where a few pines stood sentinel between the boulders. Sam held on to one of the trees, peering into the dark crevice. Lightning flashed, and, in that brief moment, he caught a glimpse of rope puddled on the ground about twenty feet below.

  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 lo
ok 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.

  11

  A deafening roar grew in intensity as the water neared. Racing to the cliffside where they’d left the ropes hanging, Sam and Remi helped the boys first, giving Brand the backpack with the logbook. The boys safely up, he and Remi grabbed the ropes, attaching their own harnesses, as the water hit. The surge swept their feet from beneath them. They gripped their ropes as the current pulled, the spray lashing at their faces. Sam looked up, saw the boys watching in fear, as the water raged past. Finally, it crested, then started to recede, allowing them to continue their climb. Soaked and exhausted, they reached the top. Sam and Karl gathered the ropes as Remi and Brand hiked up to the Toyota. A moment later, Remi was back. “I can’t find Zakaria.”

  “He’s not in the car?”

  “No. The key fob’s on the seat next to the binoculars, but he’s gone.”

  Sam examined the area near the trees, wondering if he’d somehow slipped in the mud and fallen into the gorge. Nothing appeared disturbed around that area, and he returned to the Toyota to have a look around. What he didn’t expect to find was a cigarette butt half buried in the mud near the front tire.

  He crouched down, noticing a distinct waffle boot print next to it. “How well do you and your brother know Durin Kahrs?”

  Karl looked over at Brand. “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

  “Mine? I thought you knew him.”

  “What? No. I thought—”

  They both turned perplexed faces toward Sam and Remi, Brand saying, “Now that I think about it, when we ran into him at the bar, he acted like he knew us. Everything he brought up was more open-ended questions.”

  “Yeah,” Karl said, nodding. “Vague things that seemed legitimate. ‘How’s everyone at home?’ or ‘Remember that class we had together?’ We were the ones supplying him with all the information.”

  “Classic con technique,” Sam said. “What was his interest in the plane?”

  Karl shrugged. “He just offered to help us find it. I’m not even sure how he knew—”

  “He said he read that article on our documentary, remember?”

  “There was an article. He could’ve found out that way . . .” Karl looked at Sam. “You think he’s the one who untied our rope and left us stranded there?”

  “Hard to say, right now. But if I had to lay odds, it’s a safe bet.”

  “What about Zakaria?” Brand asked. “He wasn’t involved, was he?”

  Remi and Sam exchanged glances, Remi saying, “He seemed genuinely worried about you.”

  “I agree,” Sam said, pulling out his phone. He tried calling. When Zakaria’s phone went to voice mail, Sam texted Where are you? He waited a few seconds for a response. When there was none, he tucked the phone in his pocket. “Let’s finish loading the gear, then take a look around.”

  As he suspected, Zakaria’s footprints veered through the mud away from the gorge and toward two other sets of footprints, and tire tracks that didn’t match the Toyota’s.

  “He definitely went off with someone,” Sam told them as a return text finally came in.

  Almost there. Do you have the courier bag?

  “Not the response I was expecting.” He showed them the text, asking, “Anyone ever mention anything about a courier bag to either of you?”

  Karl shook his head.

  “What courier bag?” Brand asked.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Sam said as Remi pointed to something in the distance.

  “That’s got to be Zakaria,” she said, handing him her binoculars.

  He focused in, seeing Durin Kahrs’s silver Nissan racing toward them. Someone stood, popping their head and shoulders out of the vehicle’s sunroof, then lifting up an automatic rifle.

  Sam grabbed Remi’s arm, pulling her behind the Toyota. “Get down!” he yelled to Karl and Brand. A bullet whistled past them, striking the ground nearby.

  Two more shots hit the side of the Toyota.

  Sam and Remi crouched behind one wheel, Karl and Brand the other. Sam drew his Smith & Wesson.

  Remi unholstered her Sig. “Makes me w
onder what’s in that courier bag we supposedly found.”

  “I’m more interested in a plan to get out of here.”

  Another shot was followed by the hiss of air from the front tire. So much for driving away, Sam thought. He looked back toward the trees. Their only route of escape was into the gorge. If they could reach the outcropping of rocks below, they had a chance to find cover. “Hope you’re ready for another hike?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “After you.”

  Remi crawled toward the ravine, careful to keep the Toyota between her and the approaching vehicle.

  “Brand, Karl,” Sam called out. “Follow Remi.” They scrambled after her. He followed. Seconds later, he heard the sound of the Nissan rumbling across the rough, muddy ground. Sam quickly surveyed the outcropping, spying a couple of boulders jutting up through the wet brush that seemed large enough to provide cover. He pointed. Remi nodded, drawing the boys behind the larger of the rocks, ducking down beside them. He dove behind the other.

  “Where are they?” a man at the top of the ridge asked.

  “They had to have gone back down.”

  Sam braced his gun against the right side of the boulder, leaning over just far enough to see through the brush around it. Two men, both with scarves over their noses and mouths, stood at the crest, rifles at the ready.

  They wore traditional djellabas, and he recalled Durin’s warning about local bandits in the area. If one of the men was Durin, he’d changed clothes.

  “Come on out!” the taller of the two called. “We won’t hurt you!” For local bandits, their grasp of English was very good.

  “Footprints,” the other said, his eye on his scope, following Remi’s tracks through the mud with the barrel of his long gun. He lifted his rifle, aiming toward the rock where Remi and the boys were hiding.

  Sam fired.

  The man’s shot went wild as he stumbled, then fell, the rifle flying from his grasp. The second man jumped back out of sight. “Don’t shoot!” he called out. “He shouldn’t have fired. It was a mistake.”