pushed harder, skirting the severed wing. The stink of fuel filled his nostrils, as he passed it. More debris lay in his path, as did a dark splash of blood across the whiteness. He kept running. The tail section loomed ahead—
One of the snowmobiles veered towards the two men. The aurora’s light had betrayed them.
Eddie cursed and leapt into the channel, hunching down as he scrambled over the churned ice. He looked back at the cop - who froze as the headlight pinned him. ‘Get down!’ he shouted. The cop broke from his paralysis and jumped after him—
Gunfire spat from the snowmobile, bullets ripping into the young man’s head and chest. Blood splattered across the ice as he crumpled.
Anger surging, Eddie ran on, head down. Ice sprayed over him as more gunshots smacked into the snow.
The half-buried tail section was not far ahead. Its interior was dark, a black mouth surrounded by jagged metal teeth. He vaulted a large hatch lying on the ground and sprinted into the shadows. The open end of the fuselage was packed with snow, seats jutting through the mound - but beyond it the central aisle was more or less clear, the gun locker at its end.
He scrambled over the drift. No emergency lights here, but there was enough illumination from the aurora for him to find the locker. He grabbed the handle—
It turned - but the door only opened an inch before banging against something. He pulled harder. It flexed, but still refused to open. ‘Shit!’ He groped in the darkness . . . and found that the floor had buckled upwards in front of the locker.
He kicked at it, trying to bend it back down, but it was too solid. A harsh light shone through the portholes - the snowmobile was almost on him. The other vehicle roared on down the slope towards the plane’s front section. Two men on each machine.
The passenger on the one approaching leaned out from behind the driver, gun raised—
Eddie dropped flat as bullets riddled the wreck. A shot clanked off the seat frame just above him. Spears of light stabbed across the cabin through each new hole in the fuselage.
If he stayed put, he was a dead man - he would be pinned inside the hull. He slithered on his belly over the piled snow as more shots punctured the plane’s skin. Emerging into the faint auroral glow, he pulled himself round the torn edge of the fuselage to take shelter behind it.
The snowmobile’s snarl dropped to an idling stutter. The gunfire also stopped. Eddie risked a peek at his attackers. If the gunner were reloading, that would give him a few seconds to take action . . .
He wasn’t reloading. He was pulling the pin from a grenade.
Eddie sprang up and ran for the rear of the wreckage as something small but heavy clanged off metal behind him—
Nina had forced herself to keep bandaging Probst’s ankle even through the sound of gunfire - but she jumped up in horror at the explosion, seeing debris showering down round the tail section.
One of the snowmobiles was still barrelling straight for her. The other had stopped further uphill; a man hopped off, the driver revving up and turning to ride after his comrades.
No sign of Eddie. Had he been inside the tail?
She didn’t have time to consider the horrible thought. A man on the nearer snowmobile opened fire. ‘Jesus!’ she gasped, ducking. Bullets kicked up snow and peppered the fuselage
The other Interpol agent yelled in fright as a round struck the forward bulkhead. He lurched upright, clambering into the open and starting to run across the ice.
‘No, wait!’ Nina shouted, but it was too late. The gunman had spotted the fleeing figure, and shouted for the driver to angle after him. Flame flashed from his gun’s muzzle as he opened fire on full auto—
The running man tumbled bloodily into the snow.
The snowmobile swerved back towards the plane, driving alongside the trench. Nina crouched beside Probst, desperately searching for an escape route, any form of defence. But the wrecked fuselage offered no protection and no hiding places, and they had no weapons—
Yes, they did. She pawed through the survival kit. The orange-painted Very pistol might not have been designed as a weapon, but it was still a gun. She opened the breech and inserted a flare, then snapped it closed.
‘You’ll never hit them with that,’ Probst warned her weakly.
‘I’m not aiming at them,’ Nina replied, jaw set. She raised her head, judging the distance to her target. Waiting for the right moment.
The gunner fired again. Shots cracked against the seats. Nina flinched, but held her position.
Waiting . . .
She pulled the trigger.
With a thump, the flare sizzled away on a trail of red-lit smoke towards her target - not the snowmobile, but the severed wing, and the ruptured auxiliary fuel tank inside it . . .
And fell short.
She had overestimated the projectile’s power, not aiming high enough. The flare landed, sending up a plume of steam as the intense heat melted the snow. Nina ducked, fumbling for a second flare, but she knew that by the time she reloaded, the snowmobile would be past the wing.
She had missed her one chance.
Eddie was being hunted.
The gunman had quickly realised that his grenade had not caught anyone inside the fuselage. Now, he was circling the tail section, MP5K at the ready. There were no tracks in the surrounding snow, so his quarry was close by . . .
Eddie heard the crunch of his footsteps as he approached the stern. He was crouched on the other side of the high tail, unable to move - any sound would reveal his position. And at such close range, a burst from the Heckler and Koch would go straight through the plane’s aluminium skin. The other man didn’t even need to see him to kill him.
His only chance was a surprise attack as the gunman rounded the tail. But he could tell his hunter was cautious, unlikely to fall for such an obvious ploy. The icy crackles came closer, pausing. Listening.
Eddie tensed, ready to spring - but he knew that without a diversion, he had no chance of reaching his enemy before being shot . . .
Nina loaded another flare. But it was too late - the snowmobile had passed the wing—
A new light, brighter than the aurora. Startled, she looked between the seats - and saw flames spreading outwards from the sputtering flare.
The fuel!
It had trickled downhill - and now the fire was rushing back up the line of flammable liquid to its source—
The wing exploded, metal shards scything in all directions. The blast tore apart the engine, sending one of the propeller blades spinning away - to slam into the snowmobile. The driver’s upper body was reduced to a red pulp by the heavy piece of metal, his hands and the stumps of his forearms left clinging to the handlebars. The vehicle swerved out of control and crashed into the trench, flinging the other man into a pool of burning avgas.
Eddie heard the explosion - and the crunch of ice underfoot as the gunman whirled to see what had happened.
His diversion—
He threw himself bodily at the rudder, slamming it into the gunman on the other side. Swinging round the tailplane, he launched himself at the staggering figure and tackled him at chest height. The gun went off - but the bullets went wide. He pressed home the attack, driving a powerful blow into the man’s stomach.
The gunman crashed against the battered fuselage. Eddie grabbed for the MP5K, but only managed to get a hold on the other man’s wrist.
