In one heart-stopping instant Kismet saw that the hillside ended at a plunging embankment — the edge of a deep ravine — where the draft horse abruptly halted. As it planted its forelegs, hooves biting into the snow for stopping traction, it also lowered its tremendous head, removing the only obstacle between Kismet and the ravine. He shot forward, hitting the slope six feet ahead in the snow.
As he tumbled toward the edge he frantically plunged his hands into the deep powder, searching for some way to arrest his fall. The snow compressed into a tentative barrier, but his momentum caused his lower body to whip around, his legs sticking out into empty space. He could feel the snow beneath him crumbling and compacting as his weight settled. He drove his hands deeper, desperate to find something solid, aware with each heartbeat that he was slipping away toward the ravine.
A cloud of white sprayed into his face as the leading soldier realized too late that he was racing to his doom. A hasty attempt to turn parallel to the edge threw up a dusting of powder, but failed to stop the skier's doomed plunge. He shot past Kismet, screaming as his skis lost contact. The man made a last-ditch attempt to assume the position for a Nordic ski jump, but his skis and his body were turned irrecoverably sideways. His curses were cut off as he crashed into a web of tree branches.
Kismet was only peripherally aware of the commando's demise. His own situation was growing more precarious by the moment as the snow-bank against his belly eroded. A second wave of snow splashed over him as another skier plowed to a stop right above him. Kismet raised his head enough to clearly see the soldier slowly working his way back up the slope.
As he stepped sideways away from the edge of danger, the commando flashed broad grin of triumph, directed solely at his dangling prey. Kismet saw the taunting smile and grimaced in return as he slipped another inch. With casual slowness, the soldier unlimbered his rifle and flipped off the safety, preparing to blow Kismet into oblivion.
Sacrificing his failing grasp on safety, Kismet drove forward, making a mad grab for his foe. He immediately began to slide into the ravine but before gravity could fully claim him, his right hand found the tip of the man's ski. His fingers wrapped around the carbon fiber, clutching it tightly as he started to fall. Unprepared for the desperate move, the soldier fell back as his leg was yanked from beneath him. The rifle fell from his grip as he began sliding toward the precipice.
Kismet gripped the ski with both hands but was still descending into the ravine as his weight drew the soldier toward him. He stuck his feet out, trying to brace them against the sheer cliff but his boot soles slipped ineffectively on the ice, making it appear as though he was running in place on the vertical wall. An instant later, his downward journey halted and he slammed against the ice encrusted sheer face.
Shaking off the daze of the impact, he looked up and saw a foot, bound to the ski, protruding over the edge above him. Without hesitating, he began pulling himself up. His muscles screamed with the exertion but the adrenaline in his bloodstream provided a surge of nearly superhuman strength. He seized hold of the soldier's ankle and hauled himself above the level of the precipice.
The commando had stabbed one of his poles deep into the snow and was holding on for dear life; it was the only thing preventing him from being pulled over the edge. But when he saw Kismet attempting to climb up his leg to safety, he released one hand and fumbled for his weapon.
Kismet saw the black barrel swing his way and instinctively ducked. On an impulse, he grasped the ski and twisted savagely. Bones and tendons snapped apart and the soldier screamed, forgetting about everything except the pain his foe was inflicting.
The move bought Kismet the time he needed. Grabbing first the soldier's trouser leg, then his belt, he heaved himself onto the slope, away from the deadly drop-off. The German commando faced him, seething with primal rage, but before he could give voice to his wrath, Kismet's right fist battered him senseless.
Escape from the edge of death fueled the fire of Kismet's will to survive. He plucked the fallen soldier's weapon from the snow and ripped the sling free of the man's shoulder. He knew how to operate the weapon, even realized in a distant corner of his mind that it was cocked and ready to fire. He rolled away from the unconscious German and without even picking a target, sprayed the hillside with a storm of lead.
The snow blossomed red as the commandos fell, wounded and dead, in the sweeping volley. Kismet immediately released the trigger, conscientious of the need to conserve ammunition, and scanned the slope for signs of enemies still standing.
His grim satisfaction turned to horror as the crimson-splotched hillside was rent by a jagged, horizontal shadow. The entire snowfield and the hard ice beneath, loosened by the impact of bullets and the percussive explosions of gunfire, split apart. The lower portion fell lazily away in massive chunks, which in turn dislodged everything below.
In the space of a heartbeat, the hillside above him became a tremendous wave of rolling snow, an avalanche that would sweep away everything in its path, including Nick Kismet.
TEN
As she had done every few seconds since he'd left, Irene glanced over her shoulder to see if Kismet had caught up. Once again, there was no sign of him.
Deprived of half its impetus, the sleigh made slow progress across the flats and tended to veer off course in the direction of the remaining draft horse. She had to keep a constant rein on the animal to correct this leaning. Not long after Kismet's departure, the trail took them into a gently sloping pass, following the course of what was likely a snowed-in ravine. The rising walls of snow on either side offered cover from any pursuing forces, and the distinctive pattern left by the snow-cats pointed the way off the mountain.
Peter Kerns crawled over the back of the bench seat and sat beside his daughter. "A brave man," he commented wistfully. "He reminds me of myself."
Irene raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to mean something?"
Kerns laughed. "Well, look where it got me; always in trouble and on the run. You should find someone with a little more stability in his life."
Although she had already decided not to have this conversation with her father, she couldn't hold back her riposte. "Someone more pedestrian, maybe? How about a lawyer?"
He shrugged.
She shook her head disparagingly and corrected the horse's path again. She was too confused by her feelings to even attempt to argue them with her father. Her intended but unspoken declaration of uncertain emotion now haunted her with its potential for insincerity. Her thoughts were punctuated by a burst of noise through the trees; the staccato beat of automatic weapons in the distance. The sound hit her like a physical blow. The shots were surely aimed at Kismet.
A wave of nausea clenched her gut, then rose into her throat; a sour mixture of concern, guilt and certainty that he was dead. With a shudder, she fought back the premonition and regained her composure, but there was no stopping the tears.
A fatherly response moved Kerns to place a consoling hand upon his daughter's neck. A second volley of gunfire echoed across the mountainside, shorter bursts at sporadic intervals. "You see?" Kerns whispered. "They haven't got him yet. He'll get away. The horse is faster."
She nodded, blinking at the tears and wiping their trails with the back of one hand. She was distracted momentarily by a sudden cloud of snow that arose for no apparent reason alongside the path of the sleigh. An instant later, another short burst of machine gun discharge split the air, but this time closer. Much closer.
In disbelief, both Irene and her father turned their heads to look. Four shapes, nearly indistinguishable because of their white camouflage clothing, were speeding along their trail, fifty yards back but rapidly closing. Irene swung her attention to the horse and began shaking the reins and shouting for it to move faster. Another burst from the lead soldier's weapon kicked up an eruption of snow to their right.