Sabrina emerged from the chalet and got off three shots at the retreating figure before he disappeared around the shoulder of the mountain. She dug her ski poles into the snow and launched herself after him.
Graham returned to the chalet, where he found a clean towel and pressed it tightly against the wound in an attempt to try and stem the flow of blood. He was about to run some water in the washbasin when he heard the sound of a helicopter engine stuttering in the distance. He went to the front door and looked up into the sky. The Westland Scout was approaching the chalet low over the pine trees, black smoke billowing out from the single turboshaft engine mounted behind the cabin. It managed to avoid the trees and crash-landed thirty yards away from the chalet. The fuel tank was ruptured and a fire started in the tail section. Paluzzi threw open the cockpit door and stumbled towards the chalet. He was only yards away from it when the helicopter exploded, hurling chunks of flaming debris hundreds of feet into the air. He was flattened by the force of the explosion. Graham hurried out to where he lay, helped him to his feet, and led him back to the chalet.
‘You okay?’ Graham asked anxiously once they were inside the door.
‘I’m okay,’ Paluzzi replied with a weak smile. ‘What happened to you?’
Graham told him about Ubrino.
‘I’ll go after Sabrina,’ Paluzzi said. ‘She’ll need back-up. I’ll take your skis.’
‘She’s got a radio. She’ll call us if she needs back-up.’ Graham looked at the twisted remains of the helicopter burning fiercely in the snow. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I gave Francia a good run for his money but he finally got a direct hit on my engine. I had to limp back here, it’s all I could do.’
‘Why didn’t he follow you in?’
‘My guess is he heard my distress call. He peeled off as soon as I started smoking. Kuhlmann’s sending a couple of police helicopters but you can be sure that Francia will be long gone by the time they get here.’
‘When do you expect them?’
‘They should be here in about ten minutes.’
Graham expressed his approval then disappeared back into the bathroom to wash the blood from his face. Paluzzi walked to the front door and stared at the bodies of Stressner and Lacombe lying in the snow. Then he looked down the slope, his thoughts with Sabrina.
Sabrina was gaining rapidly on Ubrino. Then the Gazelle appeared behind them. Tommaso Francia couldn’t risk shooting at her in case one of the bullets hit Ubrino.
She looked over her shoulder at the helicopter and saw Carlo Francia standing in the open cabin doorway. He was dressed in skiing gear.
Moments later he propelled himself through the doorway, landing with bended knees on the slope twenty yards behind her. The helicopter flew past her and Tommaso Francia threw a rope ladder to Ubrino through the passenger door. Carlo Francia unshouldered his Uzi and fired a burst into the snow behind Sabrina. She veered to the left, giving Ubrino a few valuable seconds to grab hold of the ladder which dangled enticingly in front of him. He discarded one of the ski poles and reached out for the ladder. His fingers found one of the rungs and he clamped his hand around it. Then, discarding his other ski pole, he grabbed the ladder with his other hand. He felt himself being lifted off the slope.
Tommaso Francia activated a button on his control panel and the rope ladder began to reel in automatically. The helicopter banked sharply, denying Sabrina a shot at Ubrino. Within seconds it had disappeared from view.
She looked behind her. Carlo Francia was still there, the Uzi in his right hand. He acknowledged her with a faint smile and a slight inclination of his head, just as he had done in Venice. He squeezed the trigger. She curved sharply to avoid the bullets and entered a dense thicket of larch trees. Francia double-angled, forming an inverted ‘L’ in the snow to change direction, and followed her into the wood. He fired again but the bullets chewed harmlessly into the trees on either side of her. The wood ended abruptly and she found herself beginning a steep, curving descent. She looked behind her. No sign of Francia. She carved the first bend and stopped sharply, coming to a halt out of sight of the trees. It was her only chance. She had to get behind him. But what if he approached the bend firing? She crouched down, the Beretta clenched tightly in her gloved hand.
Francia took the bend wide and only saw her as he shot down the slope.
His eyes widened in amazement. How had she stopped so quickly? A bullet cracked inches from his head. Suddenly the hunter had become the hunted. He fired wildly behind him but the bullets went well wide of the mark. He cursed himself for panicking. Then he saw his chance: a ridge directly in front of him. He tucked his body down to increase his speed and as he hit the ridge he pirouetted in mid-air, just one of the freestyle manoeuvres which had brought him such acclaim as a professional skier, and fired at Sabrina on the turn. A bullet ripped through her sleeve, grazing her arm, and she had to call on all her expertise to keep herself from overbalancing and tumbling into the snow.
Francia executed the perfect landing, then looked behind him, the Uzi at the ready for the first sight of Sabrina riding the crest of the ridge.
She still hadn’t appeared by the time he reached the next bend. Now he could lie in wait for her further down the slope. It would be impossible for him to miss her as she took the bend. He smiled to himself as he leaned into the bend. His smile faltered when he saw the precipice fifteen yards in front of him. He tried to stop but lost control and tumbled down the slope. He came to rest within a few feet of the edge and the Uzi disappeared over it. He raised his head fractionally and looked down into the canyon below him. A sheer drop of eight hundred feet. He reached down to unclip his skis. The sudden movement dislodged a piece of ice behind him. It confirmed his worse fears. He was lying on a cornice, a sheet of ice overhanging the precipice. Any movement could cause it to break off. He swallowed nervously and blinked rapidly as the sweat dripped into his eyes. All he could do was wait for help. But for how long?
Sabrina descended the ridge cautiously, the Beretta held tightly in her hand. Her arm was throbbing. She could feel the blood oozing down the inside of her sleeve and into her glove. Her progress was slow and she paused before reaching the bend in the slope. What if Francia was lying in wait for her around the corner, as she had done to him earlier? An Uzi against a Beretta.
She didn’t fancy the odds. She wiped the sweat from her face and inadvertently smeared blood across her cheek. She decided to take the bend as wide as she possibly could. At least that way she would be able to see Francia if he had concealed himself on the other side of the bend. She dug her ski poles into the snow and propelled herself forward. She saw the precipice as she took the corner and came to a halt ten feet away from where he lay. For a moment she thought it was a trap. Then she saw the fear in his eyes.
‘Help me, please,’ he pleaded in English, his eyes riveted on her.
She moved closer, the Beretta still trained on him.
‘You help me, I tell you what you want to know,’ he said in a breathless voice. ‘Please, you must help me.’
‘I’m going to extend my ski pole towards you. Grab hold of the basket. Do you understand?’