Chapter 30
Thirty
“See that cornice just there at the top?” He pointed at the higher peak. “It’s loaded with snow. Packed. Ready to drop.”
“Isn’t this early? It’s not winter yet. Or snow season, or is it called avalanche season?” Sarah’s eyes were wide when she looked from the cornice back to him.
“Looks like there’s already been a big snowfall up at this elevation, and there’s no surprise there. Wind blows the snow onto the rim, and that’s what you’re looking at—windswept snow that forms a cornice, which is basically an overhanging shelf made of nothing but snow, and it’s not stable.”
“You mean it doesn’t have any support. Nothing to hold it up.”
“Yup, and it can break away without much warning.”
Sarah stepped a little closer. “That sounds like a worst-case scenario for us.”
“It would seem so.” He wished he had better news.
She appeared crushed under the weight of it. “You’re not only a guide but an avalanche specialist?”
“I know enough.” Ryder still needed to confirm this was the targeted plane, then he could give the information over to Holt.
The only problem, he hadn’t received a text or confirmation from Holt that he’d gotten his last message.
“Come with me.” He started forward.
Sarah didn’t follow. “Where are you going?”
He turned and held his hand out. She always had to question everything. “Out of harm’s way. Just . . . trust me.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he longed to see in her eyes that she fully trusted him.
She slowly lifted her hand and took his.
He squeezed, attempting to infuse her with hope.
She was a mess, and understandably so. Her son was being held hostage.
Ryder couldn’t do anything more about it than he was already doing.
Finish this. Then . . . he could go dark and rescue the boy if needed.
He approached an out-of-the-way boulder. “Stand here and wait.”
She shook her head. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“You’ll be safe here. I’m going to confirm that’s the actual plane in case, you know, another plane crash-landed here.”
“And why can’t I go with you?”
“I thought I told you. The avalanche risk is high.”
“It’s risky for you too,” she said.
“Sarah, at least one of us needs to make it out. If something happens, you can dig me out, okay? But stay here, and you’ll be safe . . . just in case.”
Sarah opened her mouth to argue, then suddenly closed it and nodded. He handed over the field glasses. “And watch our back.”
“I can do that.”
He turned to hike toward the plane, and she gripped his arm, stopping him. He paused and turned back.
“Ryder, please be careful. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I pulled you into this.”
He gave her a small nod and turned his attention to confirming it was the Sentinel One that rested under the snow and was possibly at least partially buried beneath decades of earth and rocks. She hadn’t pulled him into it—he was already in it—compliments of his grandfather.
The same as her.
Ryder hiked toward the wing, and as he neared, he slowed, carefully planting his boot on the fresh powder.
He could feel the crusted snow beneath. He tested each step before shifting his weight forward.
If that mound ahead was the plane, it sat on a steep slope that seeped into a shadowed basin below.
Drifts, hardened by wind, packed the top of the slope.
And above him—that heavy-laden cornice threatened, the snow and ice fiercely clinging, as if they would lose their grip any moment and he should run for his life.
One wrong sound.
One wrong vibration.
Could bury Ryder.
So he kept his movements slow and even as he focused on making it to what he believed—and hoped—was the plane in question. A few yards ahead, the jagged edge of that wing drawn on the map pierced the snow and obviously had remained that way for decades.
The silence and stillness of the mountain summit snowfall had finally given way to the expected brutal winds.
A strong arctic blast gusted, sending snow sideways, icy prickles flaking against his cheeks.
He tugged his snow mask up over his mouth and nose as he slowly approached the visible portion of the plane—the wing.
A portion of metal—the aluminum skin—had buckled, twisting toward the sky.
Patches of ice had sheared off to expose a dull-green paint beneath.
His heart rate ticked up.
And Ryder closed in. With gloved hands, he brushed the loose snow off the wing, scattering the icy powder.
He glanced over to where he’d left Sarah.
Gun out, field glasses gripped, she remained waiting and watching, and she caught his look.
He didn’t miss the anticipation reflected in her face and eyes.
On the upper surface of the wing, just in front of a corroded access panel, he spotted the faint outline of stenciled numbers—nearly lost beneath layers of grime and time. Serial No. 41-31867.
The same first two numbers, at least—because he hadn’t been able to read the rest—had been etched into the scrap of aluminum he’d found weeks ago.
Proof.
The wreckage was real—and this was it.
His breath caught. It wasn’t like a lot of military planes from the World War II era had crashed here.
Sentinel One.
How could anyone get inside to see if the bioweapon remained intact in vials—to either collect it, confirm it, or destroy it?
Beyond that risk, this area was completely unstable.
He was surprised the plane hadn’t already slipped down the ridge, especially with the frequent tremors.
Or . . . maybe it had slipped from above and settled here, waiting for them to discover it.
Somehow, Sarah’s grandfather had made it out.
The only way he could have found the cave was if someone had helped him get there—Ryder’s own grandfather.
From here, the cave was closer than the cabin.
Ryder couldn’t know the circumstances under which the two men met, or his grandfather assisted, but he knew they’d been in that cave together.
What he wouldn’t give to hear that full story.
But both men were long gone now, and all he could do was speculate.
His grandfather had been on the mountain and seen the crash, then come to rescue those he could, finding Sarah’s grandfather.
Ryder assumed the others had died. If her grandfather had made it out holding an intact vial, which Ryder still carried with him—and maybe he needed to reconsider that—it could mean that the bioweapon packed in heavy protective secure boxes, remained intact.
Help me, Lord. Help me know what to do here. Sarah’s son is in danger. And possibly many others if the wrong people get their hands on whatever lies buried here.
Even beneath his coat, the cold penetrated, and his limbs ached as he slowly stood.
Glancing up at the slope above, he took in the white snow-packed cornice growing heavier by the minute.
Thick flakes clung to his lashes. An eerie sensation crawled over his skin.
Time to get out of here and leave the long-buried plane holding a deadly payload.
He turned to hike back to Sarah. Two men flanked her. One held a gun aimed at her head.