The Romanov Ransom

by Clive Cussler

  “Because the men I sent out to make inquiries about this so-called student they found wandering in the jungle were able to confirm he was actually a guide who was hired to take a married couple to find the man.”

  “So we were right.”

  “More important, the man they were looking for was a descendent of Ludwig Strassmair.”

  “Then why aren’t we going after him?”

  “No need. He was the owner of a bar in a village to the east of here. I’ve already sent someone out there.”

  “And how long until we hear back?”

  “Anytime now.”

  The news struck Rolfe as highly suspicious. “How far is this village?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No,” he said. Because, right now, it didn’t. It was more important to find the Fargos and figure out what they were up to. Later, he’d have to take into consideration exactly how much it was that Leopold was keeping from him. Clearly, more than he was letting on.

  Rolfe got up, walking to the open door, wondering if it was possibly cooler outside. He watched the Argentine Guardsmen in the yard, resting beneath camouflaged netting. Turning back toward Leopold, who was now talking on his phone in Spanish, Rolfe pulled out his own phone and hit RECORD, so he could translate Leopold’s side of the conversation, to make sure he wasn’t being left out of the loop.

  He stood there, pretending to read email, until Leopold finally ended the call. “Well?” Rolfe asked, looking up from his phone.

  “We found them. Or where they went. Mendoza.”

  “Mendoza?”

  “It’s a popular destination for anyone headed toward the Andes.”

  “Why would they be headed from the jungle to there?”

  Leopold gave him a look that bordered on incredulousness. “Naturally, they have to be looking for a plane crash site.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Ludwig Strassmair was killed in a plane crash. They must have a lead on where it went down or they wouldn’t be there.”

  At last, Rolfe thought. That much closer to the Romanov Ransom.

  And eliminating the Fargos.

  78

  You’d think this high above the tree line,” Remi said as the helicopter climbed in altitude, “a downed plane would be much easier to spot.”

  “Except for the decades of snow covering it.” Sam adjusted the volume on his headset as he pointed out the starboard side of the helicopter, telling the pilot, “That looks promising.”

  Dietrich, sitting next to Remi in the back, glanced in that direction. “How can you even tell? From up here, it looks like endless peaks and valleys.”

  He was right about that. On the other side of the summit, there was nothing that stood out but snow and gray rock.

  Remi leaned over for a better look. “Talk about the proverbial needle in a haystack,” she said.

  “Where’s your faith, Remi?” Sam replied. “Assuming the plane was on a direct route from Buenos Aires to Santiago, this fits with the route.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she told him. “The propeller—”

  “Was found on the other side behind us. And no other debris was found with it, odds are that something had to happen for the plane to lose its propeller and yet still be high enough to clear everything below us,” he said as the pilot navigated the area on the other side of the summit. The barren rocks confirmed to Sam that the plane had to have been much higher or there’d be more debris on the other side, never mind a lot on this side as well.

  “We’ve searched three of those passes,” she said, sounding tired.

  “And we’ve got three left. Hang in there. It’s a good theory. Or it will be if I can figure out what the angle was.” He shifted in his seat, looking back at the glacier, then the high cliff next to it. “Bring it up again,” he told the pilot. “Back over the cliff.”

  The helicopter rose, then circled around, hovering above the cliff in front of them. Flurries of snow stuck to the glass as Sam looked out, trying to picture how an airplane could lose one of four propellers in the glacier below and not end up against the cliffs just beyond it. The only way he could see was if it skimmed the higher cliff next to the glacier, clipping the propeller, which fell to the glacier below. If so, the plane was more than likely already on a crash course. But not heading straight down . . . “It had to have cleared those distant peaks,” he said. “One propeller out of four, left side of the cliff, lands on the glacier . . .”

  “But which peak?” Remi asked, looking that direction.

  “And which side of the plane?” Dietrich said. “That would make a difference.”

  “Starboard, would be my guess,” Sam replied. “It all depends on the angle when it hit. A glancing blow on that cliff top might send it up again, so it could clear the peaks on the other side of the glacier field. At least that would be the most likely reason it cleared.”

  Remi sighed. “You’re not exactly narrowing it down.”

  “Agreed.”

  Dietrich shook his head. “Even on a crash course? One direction, hitting the cliff, losing the propeller . . .”

  Sam realized in that one moment what he was missing, all because the propeller was found in the glacier. They’d assumed the plane had been traveling west, the logical route. They were looking at the glacier field like it was some marked highway. “What if that plane had been flying northwest or even due north?”

  “Why would it?” Dietrich asked.

  “Any number of reasons. Jet stream, weather, faulty instruments.”

  “Okay,” Remi said. “And what would that do?”

  “It means if the plane was heading down in a crash course toward the northwest, it could’ve hit the starboard side against the cliff, knocked off the propeller, then continued down through that pass,” he said, pointing to the only place low enough to allow the plane through—in the opposite direction they’d been searching.

  Their pilot, Julio, looked over at Sam. “That way?”

  “Yes.”

  —

  FOR THE NEXT three days, with Julio piloting the helicopter, Sam, Remi, and Dietrich searched the pass for the downed plane, each evening returning without finding anything.

  The next morning, they expanded their search even farther. Julio circled the helicopter around a craggy peak of barren rock and snow, when Sam saw something that caught his eye. “Make another pass again,” he said. “Lower, this time.”

  “I’m going to need to refuel soon.”

  Julio was right. Too dangerous to cut it close out here, with the unstable wind patterns. “One more pass, then we go back.”

  Julio nodded. What looked like a shadow jutting out from between the two peaks was taking on the appearance of something a lot smoother than the snow-covered, rocky terrain.

  Remi leaned over, peering out. “Sam . . .”

  “Sure looks like something there.”

  Julio hovered over the area. “Decision time.” He tapped at his gauge.

  “Come in from the other side,” Sam said, trying to get a better look through his binoculars. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  79

  There was no doubt when they made the next pass.

  “Look at that!” Dietrich said. He pulled out his phone and took several pictures, while Remi did the same with a camera and telephoto lens. The plane was wedged in a crevice between two peaks, the glacier holding it, having melted just enough to partially expose the nose, fuselage, and left wing. Because the shadow of the mountain helped camouflage the gray Avro Lancastrian, blending it into the rocky landscape, if they’d flown over it in any other direction, they probably would have missed seeing it altogether.

  “Time to head home,” Julio said.

  Dietrich looked around, almost in a panic, as the helicopter started moving away. “Where ar
e we going? We need to get down there.”

  “Tomorrow,” Julio replied. “Unless you want to spend the next week hiking back.”

  Sam eyed the fuel gauge, glad to know their pilot was keeping a close watch. “Now that we know what we’re dealing with, we can come back better prepared.”

  Julio nodded toward the mountain peak on the right of the plane as they took off. “I don’t like the looks of that.”

  Neither did Sam. He glanced down at the plane again. Sunlight glistened on the rivulet of water running down one side of it. The warming trend that helped to expose the missing plane was a doubled-edged sword, he thought, looking back up at the mountainside. Packed with snow and with a melting glacier at the base, it was an avalanche in the making. They’d definitely want to avoid disturbing the right shoulder of the mountain. “Let’s hope the weather is better. We’ll have to find somewhere to land tomorrow below the plane. I think it’ll be safer to climb up.”

  As far as Dietrich was concerned, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  —

  BACK AT BASE CAMP, Sam, Remi, and Dietrich hiked from the helipad up the hill, almost half a mile through the scattered tents, until they reached their campsite. The scent of beef simmering in spices greeted them as they entered the tent. Nando, busy stirring the stew, looked up. “You’re back. How was the trip?”

  “We found it,” Dietrich said. “We just couldn’t get to it today.”

  “But we have pictures,” Remi said, taking the memory card from the camera and transferring the photos to her laptop.

  Nando gave the stew a quick stir, then walked over to see the photos. “That’s amazing. No wonder no one’s found it before. It looks a lot like the rock from the mountainside.”

  “We got lucky,” Sam said, taking a seat next to Remi. “A few feet over, one way or the other, we might’ve missed it.” He pulled out his own computer to look up the weather report. The storm coming in had been upgraded, which meant more snow and stronger winds. But the front had stalled, and it wasn’t supposed to move in for a couple of days. That would leave them with more than enough time for exploring the plane.

  They studied every aspect of the area, and though it was hard to tell from the images alone, there appeared to be an open spot, about a quarter mile down from the plane, where the helicopter could safely land. “Let’s hope this is as level as it looks,” he said.

  In the morning, they hiked down to the helipad, where Julio was waiting. As usual, Sam asked after his wife.

  “She’s feeling—what’s the word in English?—the ants.”

  “The ants?” Remi said as they lifted off.

  “Yes. Not when you feel them crawling on you but you feel like them. Moving.”

  “Antsy.”

  “That’s it. She is very antsy. Wanting to move around.”

  “Not that I’m the expert,” Remi said, “but I’ve heard that if she suddenly starts wanting to clean and rearrange everything, it’s getting close.”

  “I’ll make sure to check in on her after I get back to refuel. And have my brother be on standby to get you,” he said, aiming the helicopter to the northwest as light snow flurries hit the windscreen, quickly melting. The snow stopped by the time they arrived at the crash site, though the sun was hidden behind the clouds. Thankfully, the area Sam thought might be level enough to land was nearly perfect, and, before they knew it, they were waving good-bye to Julio as he lifted off.

  “I hope that baby of theirs holds out for another day,” Remi said.

  Sam’s attention was on the snowpack, above and on the right shoulder of the pass, just over the plane. “I hope that snow holds out for another day.”

  80

  Before Sam would let them climb up to the plane, he used his binoculars and examined the mountainside. Deciding that it looked stable, he gave the okay, and the three made the steep climb.

  The snowpack beneath the belly of the plane was solid enough to make sure the craft wasn’t going anywhere. Unfortunately, the ice pack was also a good two feet above the base of the door, preventing easy access.

  “What about around the back?” Remi asked. “Maybe there’s an opening at the tail.”

  Sam had already looked, from the air. “If the tail is even still there, it’s buried under several feet of snow. This is our best bet.”

  They had to use a combination of small shovels and ice picks, but they finally had the area cleared to get to the door.

  Sam and Dietrich pushed and pulled together, and the hatch opened. Remi followed them in. Snow blocked most of the light coming through the starboard windows, and she shined her flashlight around. The impact from the crash had sent everything tumbling. That the plane landed relatively intact was a miracle in itself, she thought, looking at it in awe. The entire right side of the plane where the wing had been was now a wall of ice, as was the tail.

  The bodies, though . . . Hard to see them and not imagine the terror. She tried not to look too closely past the ice crystals covering each mummified corpse as she counted. Six.

  “Klaus . . .” Dietrich examined each body, quickly assessing, all clearly adults, then moving on to the next. “I don’t see him . . .”

  “Could there have been survivors?” Remi asked. “Maybe they left the plane?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Sam said, pulling aside one of the seats that had ripped from its bolts anchoring it to the floor in order to get to the cockpit ladder. He climbed up, disappearing from view. “But I doubt it. There’re more bodies up here. Fits with the unofficial report for the number of crew and passengers, or, rather, a sixth passenger . . .” He stepped down, looking back at them, his expression solemn. “I’d say one of them up here is about the size of a twelve-year-old. I’m sorry.”

  Even though Dietrich had known the young boy was on the plane, he still looked stunned. “I don’t understand. What’s he doing in the cockpit?”

  “Hard to say,” Sam said. “He could have ended up there on impact, depending on where he was sitting. Maybe they let him up there to observe. Young kid, planes . . .”

  “May I?” Dietrich asked, nodding at the ladder.

  “Of course,” Sam said, jumping down and moving aside.

  Dietrich climbed up, entering the cockpit. Remi glanced at the frozen bodies strewn about the fuselage, then quickly looked away, grasping at Sam’s gloved hand, taking solace as he squeezed back.

  “There’s a gun up here.” Dietrich climbed down. “Why would there be a gun?”

  “A gun?” Sam said, glancing at Remi. “Where?”

  “The floor. Next to the pilot’s seat.”

  “Let me take another look.” Sam climbed into the cockpit.

  Remi followed him, remaining on the ladder, watching as he searched. “It’s like a perfectly preserved crime scene,” she said.

  “We should get pictures. It’ll help determine what caused the crash.”

  The pilot’s frozen body was crumpled against one side of the cockpit. Another man against him, the flight engineer. The gun was near their feet, wedged between the floor and the cockpit controls. A smaller body about the size of an adolescent boy was on the floor, headfirst toward the nose, and Remi was grateful she couldn’t see his face—any of their faces, for that matter. “Why would there be a gun up here?” she asked.

  “Could have been the pilot’s,” Sam said. “Possibly fell out on impact.” He shined his flashlight on the two adults before focusing on the body of the young boy. The thick ice crystals hid any details that might tell them anything about how they died—at least from Remi’s point of view—not that there was any doubt in her mind. If the crash didn’t kill them, they undoubtedly froze to death.

  Sam looked at his watch. “It’s past time to leave. Let’s get out of here.”

  Remi climbed down, then waited for Sam. Dietrich was looking around at the rear o
f the plane. “No tail. Where do you think it is?” he asked Sam.

  “Probably broke off on impact. Something to look for tomorrow when we come back.”

  Dietrich nodded, then followed them out. The three hiked down the mountainside, reaching the rendezvous point just as the helicopter appeared overhead, then touched down. “Sorry I’m late,” Julio said as they boarded. “I was concerned about my wife when she didn’t answer her mobile. She was at the store and didn’t hear it ringing.”

  “No worries,” Remi said, speaking loud enough to be heard. “We’re late, too. Is she okay? Your wife?”

  He nodded. When everyone was inside, buckled in and headsets on, he lifted off. “Discover anything?”

  “Lot of bodies,” Sam said.

  That was enough to temper any excitement over the find, and the rest of the trip was made in silence. Dietrich, Remi noticed, was staring off into the distance, even as they landed. She reached out, put her hand on his, and he looked over and smiled at her.

  Sam helped Remi out, then waved at the pilot. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Same time.” Julio waited for them to clear, snow whipping around like a mini blizzard.

  Remi waved as he lifted off, then linked her arm through Sam’s. As the three walked back to the tent, her gaze lingered on Dietrich, wondering how he was taking this. Once in the tent, he sat off to one side, looking deep in thought. Before she had a chance to see if he was okay, Nando told Sam that Selma had called a couple of hours earlier. “She tried reaching you on your satellite phone, but couldn’t get through. Something about your Russian friends. The cell phone signal up here isn’t very good, so I didn’t hear everything.”

  “I’ll give her a call,” Sam said.

  The satellite phone was notoriously unreliable if there wasn’t direct line of sight to the sky, and so he stepped outside the tent. While Nando served up their dinner, Remi tried to engage Dietrich in conversation. But he was clearly distracted, and so she was glad when Sam returned a few minutes later. “Anything important?” she asked him.