Sybilla pulled up alongside him. “What’s up?”
“What’s that?” he responded, pointing to two slight indentations in the snow. They had been all but covered in fresh snow, but Sybilla could see that the marks travelled parallel to each other, in the direction of the cabin.
“Ski tracks!” said Sybilla. “Who …? When …?”
“What time did it stop snowing last night?” asked Tiny, apprehension in his voice.
“I couldn’t sleep and went out on the balcony at about ten,” said Sybilla. “It was just stopping then.”
“Then just before ten last night, someone skied to the cabin along this side of the lake,” said Tiny, his face set hard. “See? The tracks have been partially covered in snow.”
“But who on earth would be skiing in pitch black during a snowstorm?” asked Sybilla. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s not the who that bothers me,” said Tiny quietly, “it’s the why.”
They approached to within fifty yards, at which point Tiny stopped and removed his skis, whilst watching closely for any sign of life in or near the cabin. Nothing!
“Stay here!” Tiny ordered peremptorily.
Unclipping her skis, Sybilla nodded. “Okay. Tiny, be careful!”
Tiny strode forward until only a dozen paces separated him from the cabin, “Halloooo!” he called. “Anybody there?” No answer.
Tiny strode forward to the door and unlatched it before swinging it open and stepping inside. Immediately there was a loud retort and Tiny staggered back out of the cabin and fell on his face, the snow around him taking on a crimson hue.
Startled, Sybilla sprang forward, then stopped abruptly with a gasp of horror. Framed in the doorway of the cabin—and levelling a Luger at her—was Herwig Weber.
The Long Trek
Sybilla’s first instinct was to rush toward Tiny, but Weber halted her with a snarled command. “Don’t go near him! I know he has a pistol. If you approach any closer, I will have no hesitation in ending your filthy useless life.”
Sybilla had been in the business long enough to know that now wasn’t the time for heroics. She must be patient, bide her time. A chance might come.
“Inside!” growled Weber, waving her toward the door of the cabin with his Luger.
Sybilla took in the interior of the cabin as she entered: a basic single-roomed hut, bunk beds in one corner, the table and chairs in the centre. Hanging on a side wall was a wooden sled with metal runners next to a coil of rope. A first aid box, painted white with a red cross, was attached to the wall next to it. A sleeping bag lay draped across the lower bunk.
Once inside, Weber sat on the lower of the two bunk beds in the corner of the room and pointed at one of the chairs beside the simple small rectangular wooden table. “Sit!” he growled.
Sybilla complied. “You slept here last night?”
“Yes, I wanted to be here nice and early to welcome you and be the first to congratulate you on your outstanding failure.” He laughed mirthlessly.
“How did you know?” Sybilla asked. Keep him talking, wait for an opportunity.
“That ape-man outside was too willing to do my bidding and was clearly agitated, so I waited until he left his apartment and followed him. He went straight to your hotel. At first, I was in torment—I thought he had gone to kill you—but when the two of you emerged, dressed in cold weather kit, my heart sank. I knew he had betrayed me, and worse, I knew you had betrayed me.”
“But how did you get here?” asked Sybilla, feigning surprise. Get off the bed. I can’t try anything while you’re on there, get up!
“It wasn’t difficult to hire a pleasure launch on a Sunday. I followed you to Puerto Blest, the foul weather hiding my pursuit. When I tied up at the quay, I saw your boat and assumed you would stay the night, as I’m sure you have done many times in the past when I wasn’t around.” Weber spat out the latter part of his statement, bitterness choking his voice.
“You climbed up here in the night?” asked Sybilla, trying to inject wonderment and admiration into her voice.
Weber sprang to his feet and advanced a few steps towards the table, waving his pistol menacingly.
“Oh, yes! I’ve been here many times with my great friend Tiny, out there. We used to come up here and ski together, my great friend and I; and now he’s betrayed me, he’s got what he deserved.” Weber’s voice was now filled with a mixture of anger and anguish. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.
A little closer now. “There was never anything between Tiny and me—it was always you, Herwig, and it can be again. I was running away because I was frightened, but you can straighten it out—it can be good again, just you and me, Herwig.” Just a little closer.
“No!” Weber roared. “Let you go free so that you can whore yourself with me again? No! I didn’t think I could kill you, but now I see you for what you are. A cheap, filthy, scheming little slut …”
Weber reeled backwards, his face registering alarm and shock as the door burst open and Tiny lurched through and crashed into him. Instantaneously there was a pistol shot and Sybilla saw an arch of blood spurt from the rear of Tiny’s leg.
The force of Tiny’s collision with Weber sent them both crashing to the floor, dislodging the gun from Weber’s hand and sending it skittering across the wooden boards and under the bunk beds. Sybilla didn’t hesitate. Dropping onto her stomach, she squirmed under the lower bunk. After an ecstasy of fumbling, she finally located the pistol and wriggled out from under the bed. Weber was extricating himself from under Tiny’s inert body and began crawling towards her, sobbing hysterically.
“Billa, it’s like you said, we can be together again.” His voice was broken and quivering.
As he reached out an arm towards her, Sybilla levelled the pistol and fired. A black hole appeared on the forehead of Weber’s startled face.
