The young man nodded, but nevertheless drew back the bolt partway to inspect the weapon, then let it go, leaving a round into the chamber. Kismet shook his head in resignation and turned back to Kerns and his daughter. "Are we ready?"
After receiving affirmative nods, Kismet led the way, exiting through the door flaps while watching out for the lone sentry. Once more, the marching soldier's bootsteps betrayed his location. They had only to wait until the footsteps grew softer to make their move. The Russian sailors waited for Kismet's signal then darted into the supply tent.
"They're on their own," Kismet declared. "Now it's our turn." The three of them crept from shadow to shadow until reaching the edge of the camp. The sentry marched past a few minutes later. Once he rounded the next corner, they started moving again. Kerns was slow, his limbs stiff from the cold, but with Kismet on one side and his daughter on the other, they made the top of the snowdrift with a minute to spare.
Irene was giddy with relief, as they reached the sleigh. "I can't believe we pulled that off."
"Wait until we're back home before you start celebrating," Kismet chided. "We've got a long trip ahead of us."
"Yeah, but it's all downhill from here. How long before they know we're gone?"
"It depends. If our Russian friends don't do anything foolish, we should be well on our way before anyone knows what happened. Hopefully, the Germans will think that their prisoners escaped on their own. I don't want Harcourt knowing I'm here if I can help it."
Irene and her father got into the back of the sleigh and bundled up together in the blankets, while Kismet took the driver's seat and coaxed the team into motion. The horses effortlessly drew the sleigh in a wide circle until the iron rails slipped into the tracks they had earlier cut. From that point on, the ride was virtually self-guiding.
Kerns gradually revealed the events that had transpired since his separation from his daughter in New York. Harcourt and two of Grimes' agents had crossed the Atlantic with him, stopping in Germany long enough to assemble a team of Bundeswehr Kommandos Spezialkrafte elite soldiers. Together they infiltrated Russian controlled waters, captured a Svetlyak class patrol boat, the Zmeya, and used it to make a surreptitious landing at a remote point just south of Poti. Much of what Kismet had supposed was verified; the death of the fleeing sailor, the airdrops and the arrival of fresh troops parachuting in under cover of darkness.
Kerns had cooperated for fear of his daughter's life, taking Harcourt directly to the site of the ancient mining camp. Kismet did not comment, but continued to listen as Irene spun the tale of their own adventures. Soon thereafter, both father and daughter were lulled to sleep, while Kismet continued to tend the horses.
Traveling on the decline was more difficult than Kismet had anticipated. The sleigh naturally wanted to race downhill. The horses were no longer serving as a means of locomotion, but rather as a brake to prevent the sleigh from running away out of control. Since this was not the task for which nature had so perfectly endowed them, they were having difficulty in maintaining surefootedness on the icy slopes. Kismet's attention was totally focused on controlling the team.
The lights of dawn were beginning to shine over the crest of the Caucasus six hours after they left the mountain camp when Irene stirred from her sleep and crawled forward to sit beside Kismet. "What time is it?"
"After seven. It should be light soon."
"How much farther?"
"I'd say we're about halfway." Kismet relaxed his tense grip on the reins as the track leveled out briefly. The horses, sensing that their yoke was no longer pushing them from behind, also relaxed and began trotting forward as if grateful for the exercise. The track led into a narrow pass, with snowdrifts piled high on either side for several hundred yards. Kismet remembered that the defile curved around to the left, and began to gradually decline again before leading into the switchbacks. Nevertheless, he was happy for the brief respite.
"But they're probably awake up in the camp. They know my father is gone."
Kismet shrugged. "They've probably known that for hours. But even with the truck they can't make it down this path any faster than we can. We've got a good lead on them."
Irene cocked her head to one side. "What's that sound?"
Her hearing was sharper than his, but before he could enquire, he heard it too; the unmistakable sound of an engine. He turned his head sideways, trying to isolate the source. It wasn't coming from behind them, but rather from further down the trail. Suddenly, a massive vehicle rounded the corner, its headlamps blazing.
Reflexively, Kismet reined back the horses, halting them fifty yards from the turn. An enormous tracked snow-cat, the kind used to groom ski slopes at mountain resorts, rumbled toward them. Two more just like it followed close behind, their tracks digging deep parallel grooves in the snow pack. Painted white to blend in with the wintry background, each vehicle carried a complement of barely distinguishable figures, likewise camouflaged.
"Troop carriers," Kismet realized aloud.
As the driver of the lead vehicle caught sight of them, Kismet could hear gears whining as they were shifted down. The troop carrier ground to a halt less than twenty paces from the sleigh. Kismet's heart skipped a beat — not because of the standoff, but because of what he saw in the cab of the snow-cat.
He did not recognize the two men sitting in the front of the vehicle, but the identity of the third man, leaning over the back of the driver's seat, was beyond question. In a frozen moment, they recognized each other.
Through the frosty pane, he saw Halverson Grimes' lips slowly form a single word: "Kismet!"
NINE
Grimes' incredulous expression mirrored Kismet's own. Both sets of eyes narrowed into defensive slits as each man recognized the other's presence on this remote mountainside. Grimes broke the visual deadlock, turning to the driver beside him to bark an order.
Kismet also looked away, refocusing on the snow-cats and the terrain they dominated. The vehicles had turned the corner sharply, staying close to the right hand side of the track — Kismet's left. On the other side however, to his right, the gap between the snow bank and the sides of the vehicles was considerable, possibly even wide enough to….
Kismet did not hesitate. Grimes and his troops were already starting to move, beginning the process that would result in their capture or death. "Hold on!"
With a shout to the horses and a shake of the reins he urged the team into motion. Immediately as they began to move, he pulled them right, angling toward the gap between the drift and the leading snow-cat. The horses could not comprehend his urgency, but the ferocity of his manner sufficed to motivate them to a trot.
He heard Irene shouting in his ear, demanding an explanation but there was no time for him to give one. The side of the sleigh banged into the front corner of the first vehicle, sending a shock wave through the sled and jostling its passengers. The iron rails bounced out of the grooves in the snow, skipping sideways as the horses' forward motion pulled it into line. The hop carried the sleigh into a snowdrift and dislodged a torrent of the frozen powder into the interior before it straightened out.
Kismet kept at the horses, shouting for them to go faster as they threaded the narrow gap. They shot past the first snow-cat and into the open space between it and the next vehicle in the convoy. The commandos clinging to the open platform on the rear of the transport stared in disbelief. Each one fingered his weapon nervously, but without orders from their commanding officer, chose to fire nothing except for harsh curses.