back.
Ronny snapped, “You missed! Come on, let’s get the hell out of here!”
Chapter Two
They scrambled to their feet.
Ronny Bronston snorted, “I thought you could hit a fly at that distance. Come on, let’s go! The fat’s in the fire now. It’s estimated that he has a thousand security men in the vicinity.”
Willy, panting again, said, “The gun? We can’t leave it here. Sooner or later they’ll find it and possibly be able to trace it to Section G.”
“Screw the gun,” Ronny said, scooping it up and tossing it out into the open, and the telescope after it. “That’s why we were so careful to keep it in light-tight containers. Half an hour in the sun and the plastic it’s made of melts away. Same thing applies to the telescope. The only thing they could possibly find are the lenses and they’d have their work cut out tracing them. Bring your container, though. We’ll ditch them, somewhere along the way.”
They scampered, slipping and sliding in the gravel, up to the crest. There they secured the belaying ropes that they had left there earlier.
Ronny snapped, “It’ll take them a while to get organized. No attempt has been made on Number One for years, and they’ve probably gotten lax. Besides, the gun was silenced. They’ll have their jollies figuring out where the shot came from.”
Even as he talked, he was roping up, groaning inwardly that the other was a tyro.
“Now, listen,” he said urgently. “It’s going to be tougher going down than coming up. On the way up, we could take our time and take the easier route. Now, we’re in a hurry. It’s better to have three men, or even four, on the rope but there’s nothing we can do about that. Follow my instructions, no matter how drivel-happy they might seem to you.”
“Wizard,” Willy, said, his voice sounding dry.
“One thing to always remember,” Ronny said. “Roped-up, like this, if a man falls and is suspended without foot or handhold, he dies within a few minutes. His organs are squeezed out of place. So, if I’m leading and I fall, get me up, or get me to some place where I can get a hold as soon as possible.”
Willy took a deep breath. “Right.”
Ronny started off, traversing down, along a ledge.
He called over his shoulder, “Keep an eye open for their helio-jets. There’ll be a dozen of them in the sky shortly. Yell if you spot one. We’ll have to take cover. They can’t heat-detect us, nor detect any metal on us, but they can see us.”
“Okay,” the younger agent said.
In mountain climbing, you seldom go straight up or straight down. Usually, it’s a matter of working your way sideways, traversing, and up, or down, as hand and footholds allow. Ronny led, surefooted. His companion was less so, but largely managed to keep his feet.
Ronny said, “Coming up, we took it the easy way. Going down, we’re going to take the stickiest route. For one thing, they probably number comparatively few mountain climbers among them, and there’s probably not overmuch equipment for even those, in the chalet and its service buildings. For another, the helio-jets will have their troubles to keep from crashing if they get too low among these gullies, ridges and crests. There’s too much air current, down-drafts, up-drafts and so forth.”
“All right,” Willy said, already puffing at the pace his companion was setting.
They came to a chimney, possibly a meter and a half across and Ronny said, “Here is how you get down this. You press your back against one side, and your feet up against the other and kind of walk down.”
He started demonstrating.
Willy de Rudder swallowed. The chimney was at least thirty meters deep. He started after, his fingers mentally crossed. So far, there was no sound nor sight of the helio-jets that were their potential nemeses. Unbelievably, so far as Willy de Rudder was concerned, they got to the bottom of the chimney without a fall.
Ronny tossed his container into a hole. “Ditch yours, too,” he said. And, when the other did so, rolled a rock over the two.
They started traversing on a down grade again.
They came to a field of snow, up against the mountain. Willy looked at it in dismay. They’d be black spots against the white as they waded and trudged through it.
Ronny said, “Now watch. This is called
Ronny said, “Damn it, they’ll probably spot our trail in that, sooner or later, but there’s nothing for it. Let’s go!”
They started down over the gravel again. For a time, the going was comparatively easy.
Ronny said, “Oh, something I forgot to tell you earlier. If one of us is hit, or in danger for other reasons of being snagged, he’s got to be finished off. We can’t afford to fall into the hands of Number One’s boys. You wouldn’t want to anyway, but the thing is if they’d put you under Scop, or whatever truth serum they use on Neu Reich, you’d spill it that you represented Section G. So if anything happens to me, finish me; I’ll do the same for you. If both of us are in danger of being snagged, suicide. Damn it, we should have brought cyanide pills.”
“Suicide?” Willy said blankly. “How?”
“Holy Ultimate,” Ronny said in irritation. “Jump off a cliff or something. Improvise. Oh, oh.”
“What’s the matter?” Willy panted.
His superior pointed. Possibly three kilometers off, easily discernible in this clear mountain air, was a group of five or six uniformed men. They were roped together and all bore alpine sticks, with flak guns slung over their shoulders. They were ascending the mountain by approximately the same route the two Section G operatives had earlier in the day.
“They haven’t spotted us yet,” Ronny growled. “Double damn. I hadn’t expected to be flushed this early in the game.”
“What do we do?” Willy panted.
“Head back this way. We’ll get this ridge between them and us. With luck, they’ll get all the way to the top before they head down again after us. See that dog?”
For the first time, Willy de Rudder saw the dog. It looked half the size of a nearly grown calf, was unleashed and gray in color.
“It’s a kind of Weimaraner that they’ve bred up on this god-forsaken planet,” Ronny growled. “They’re better bloodhounds than bloodhounds are. Come on, let’s go. How are you making out?”
Willy took a deep breath and got out, “The pace is a little heavy in this altitude, but okay.”
“Damn it,” Ronny snorted. “That funker Sid Jakes should have given you some time at high altitude and in mountain climbing before sending us on this assignment.”
Willy spotted a helio-jet. “Aircraft,” he snapped.
They took refuge in a small cave.
Ronny Bronston, beginning to breathe somewhat deeply himself by this time, said, “We’ve got to get down faster. They’re already beginning to swarm. I hope in the name of the Holy Ultimate that they don’t have another party coming up by this route. If they have, we’ve had it. Have you ever done any roping-down?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Willy panted.
“All right. It’s a little scary the first time you do it. Against all your instincts. But it’s the fastest way of getting down a mountain.”
They came to a cliff. Ronny began untying the rope about his waist.
Willy looked over, cautiously. “Holy Ultimate,” he said. “It must be a hundred meters down.” He stepped back a distance.
