The Romanov Ransom (Fargo Adventures 9)

“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?”