The Romanov Ransom (Fargo Adventures 9)

Remi climbed in, then looked back just as a sea of white swept Dietrich from his feet. “Sam!” she yelled, pointing.

He grabbed Dietrich’s arm, pulling him up. The two men scrambled into the plane, then struggled to close the door before the snow poured in, Remi leaning into it alongside them. The fuselage creaked and groaned from the weight, the deafening roar turning into muffled silence as the level rose past the windows, shrouding them in darkness. The three stood there, leaning against the door, their breaths coming fast.

“Remi?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Dietrich?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Remi reached for him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes . . . What—what about that pilot?”

“Hard to say,” Sam said. “But his helicopter was in one piece right before the avalanche. If he’s as experienced as Julio, he’ll find a place to ride out the storm.”

“What if something happened to him? Or the helicopter?” Dietrich asked. “How will they even know to come looking?”

“Satellite phone,” Sam said, taking it from his pocket, the screen lighting up his face as he turned it on, showing it to Dietrich, before powering it off to conserve the battery. “Not that it’ll do us much good now. At least not until we dig out.”

“And if we can’t dig out?” he asked.

“Avalanche beacon. But we’ll be okay. I’m hoping that from the angle of the mountain, most of the snow fell on the other side.”

Remi eyed the door, unable to see anything out the window. It might as well have been a starless night looking back at her. “Not looking good so far.”

“Being optimistic again, Remi?”

“Practical.”

“Wait until we dig our airhole. You’ll see. So what is it you have in that magic backpack of yours to tide us over the next couple of days?”

“Caviar and champagne,” she said, pulling out protein bars and water bottles.

Dietrich reached into his pack. “I have chocolate.”

“You,” Remi said, eyeing the shiny silver wrappers, “are my new best friend.”

“One night covered,” Sam said. “But we’ll have to ration, and hope it blows through soon. In the meantime, let’s get to work on that snow tunnel. The longer it snows, the farther we’ll have to dig out. I’d hate to run out of oxygen before then.”

He took his flashlight and climbed up into the cockpit.

Remi also climbed up, but just far enough to take a look, forcing her gaze past the shadowed frozen bodies to the snow-covered cockpit glass above. All was dark. “You think we’ll be able to dig through?” she asked softly.

He glanced over at her. “Depending on how deep it is, it’s our only chance.”

About to climb down, she saw Klaus’s boots just a few inches from her face and she paused. “What about Klaus?” she asked in a low voice, her expression one of sadness, no doubt thinking about the fear the young boy had felt as the plane was going down. “It seems almost sacrilegious to be stepping over him . . .”

This time, Dietrich overheard her, saying, “I don’t think he’d mind. He’d want us to live.”

“I agree,” Sam said, climbing down after Remi. “Let’s have another look in the fuselage and see if we can’t come up with some wood to shore up that snow tunnel.”

“Out of what?” Dietrich shined his flashlight around. “There’s not much down here.”

“That broken seat, for one,” Sam said, nodding at its back. “Maybe others are loose. Pre–World War Two construction. No doubt they used wooden frames,” he said, pressing down on the nearest seat.

Remi held the flashlight as Sam and Dietrich tore apart the leather upholstery, separating the ties and frames from several seats.

When they had enough wood, Sam climbed up into the cockpit, carrying his compact shovel and snow probe. He had two worries. The first was that he hoped his calculations on the avalanche were correct, that it had fallen mainly to the right of the plane. There was no telling how far they’d have to dig otherwise. The second and bigger worry, one he hadn’t shared, was that the current storm might create a second avalanche by adding weight to an already unstable base.