The Loch Ness Legacy (13 page)

“You have to hear this,” Pryor said.

Zim eyed the radio suspiciously, then snatched it from him. “What is it?”

Pryor glanced toward Harvin’s body and back to Zim before clearing his throat. “It’s the Cohen woman. She’s calling for help.”

The redolent odor of pine needles, moss, and forest-floor decay surrounded Brielle as she sought something sharp to cut through the tough nylon rope tightly binding her wrists, but rocks jagged enough to do the job were nowhere to be found. After running flat out for fifteen minutes to get out of the immediate area of the Blazer—and falling on her face twice along the way—she’d taken a breather to extricate her arms from behind her back, though she nearly had to pull her arms out of their sockets to get them free.

The cooling breeze told her she was nearing the lake. She pressed on, hoping to use the shoreline to guide her south to the highway, which couldn’t be more than five miles away. If she could make it there, she’d be safe.

Brielle called again over the radio, using the marine emergency channel in the hopes that a boater on the lake might hear her. “I’m calling for help from anyone out there. My name is Brielle Cohen. I’m somewhere in the forest west of Lake Shannon. Men are chasing me and trying to kill me. Please respond if you’re out there.”

She listened, but all she could hear was the plaintive call of a loon coming from the direction of the lake. No answer. Boaters on the lake might not have radios, or they may simply not have had their radios tuned to her frequency. Any of those possibilities meant that she had to carry on as if she were on her own.

By now she had to assume that Harvin had called for assistance from Zim. Once she headed south, she’d have to be careful not to run straight into his men’s waiting arms. But given her inability to contact anyone, she’d have to take that chance.

After another minute, Brielle finally saw water. She threaded her way through the last batch of forest and emerged onto a rocky beach dotted with rotten stumps, some of which protruded from the mirrored surface of the lake that reflected the snowcapped mountains to the north. Though there was a spit of land that would give her a better view down the lake, she kept close to the trees, fearing that she’d be seen if she ventured out there. A couple of kayakers were visible across the mile-wide lake and further north, but they would do her no good. If she called to them and they paddled over, she might even get them killed.

She called on the radio again, but got only static.

Now that she could see how exposed she’d be wending her way toward the highway, she knew her chances of evading Zim’s men was minimal at best. Perhaps her best choice was to find a tree to climb. The thick branches would provide cover, and searchers focused on a running target might miss her in a high hiding place. From there she could continue to broadcast until someone picked up her signal. She might be able to lead her pursuers onto the wrong path and backtrack once they’d passed her. If she were lucky, she might even find one of their vehicles and simply drive out of here.

Her heart leapt as the thumping beat of rotors pounded their way toward her. Without knowing if it was friend or foe, Brielle dodged behind a tree. Its low flight path made her think foe. No one who had heard her radio calls would have been able to get a chopper into the air that quickly.

The noise grew until it drowned out the rustling branches above her. She couldn’t see the helicopter itself, but she could spot the downdraft of its rotors on the water as it passed. Within a minute, it was out of visual range, its blades a distant thrum.

The helicopter had been so loud that she didn’t notice the tinny voice coming from her radio. “…in the vicinity. Say again your position.”

At the same time, she heard snapping twigs and hushed voices approaching from the west. Though they were still far off, their proximity made climbing a tree more likely to get her caught than saved.

Then she realized that the voice on the radio might not be a savior, either. It could be one of Zim’s men pretending to be a rescuer.

Her only hope was to the lead her pursuers astray, and the lake gave her another possibility. She sprinted down the shoreline, talking into the radio as she ran, on the off chance it was really was one of the good guys.

“West side of Lake Shannon,” she said between puffs of breath. “Send the police. Send everyone you can.”

She tossed the radio onto the beach, cracking the case to give the appearance that she’d stumbled and broken it. She kept going. When she saw a massive tree stump in the water that fit her plans, she ripped a piece from her shirt and dropped it, then ran another fifty yards and threw another bit of fabric into the forest. She doubled back, sure that the rocky shoreline wouldn’t betray her deception.

When she reached the stump, she took a last look at the trees and could see no one. Steeling herself for the icy embrace of the glacier melt, she waded into the water.

The water sucked her breath away, and Brielle had to clamp her teeth shut to restrain herself from crying out. She wouldn’t be able to last long at this temperature, but if she could stay out there long enough and keep her nose above water, she might be overlooked.

She swam to the other side of the stump and found a place that made her least visible from shore. She pressed herself as close to the bark as she could. Her black hair wouldn’t stand out. Unless they sent someone into the lake, she would be difficult to spot.

It was unlikely they had a boat since there were no docks on the lake, and the only put-in was at the very southern end. The only danger was the helicopter, but she couldn’t do anything about that now.

Her teeth threatened to chatter, but the sound of men picking their way down the beach made her dig deep to keep them quiet.

A shout told her they’d found the radio. Half a dozen men came running along the beach. More yelling when they found the first piece of her shirt and then the second. One of them remarked that the she must have gone back into the trees. Then she recognized the voice.

It was the man on Harvin’s radio, Victor Zim.

He shushed the men, and they went silent. Brielle held her breath and clung to the trunk.

After a moment, Zim ordered two of the men into the woods. The rest of them were to follow him down the shore. He also radioed the helicopter pilot to turn around.

They took off at a sprint, hoping to catch up with her. By the time they were out of earshot, Brielle’s hands were cramping from the cold.

She was about to swim out of her protective covering when she heard a buzz approaching. It wasn’t the thump of the helicopter blades. This sound was more like the highly tuned motor of a sports car.

Brielle looked in both directions along the lake but saw no speedboats. Then she realized the noise was coming from above.

She raised her head and saw a tiny white and gray plane dipping toward the lake. It had the sleek lines of a dragonfly, its propeller mounted behind the enclosed cockpit.

At first Brielle thought it was going to crash into the lake, but at the last moment she realized that the smooth underside was designed for water landings.

It was a seaplane. And it was headed straight for her.

She looked back at the beach and saw the plane had drawn the attention of Zim’s men, who had stopped to watch this new intruder. They obviously weren’t expecting it, which meant the seaplane wasn’t theirs.

The problem was that they were now in a position to see her as well, and they did.

Zim shouted for them to open fire. Bullets pinged off the stump and plunked into the water nearby. They were far enough away that any rounds that came close were lucky shots, but it would only take one to kill her.

The plane touched down on the glass-smooth lake as gently as if it were settling onto a feather pillow. It made an adroit turn and plowed through the water toward her.

Brielle quickly figured she had two choices. She could head back to shore and make a run for it through the woods with little hope of outpacing them, or she could take the chance that the seaplane wasn’t there by accident.

She was shivering so badly now that a fast run would sap her strength in minutes. A ride in a nice dry seat sounded much better. The seaplane it was.

Brielle pushed away from the stump and paddled toward the middle of the lake as best she could with her hands still tied. Her legs churned furiously to propel her forward, but her progress was achingly slow.

A shadow fell across Brielle, and she realized it was the plane’s wing passing between her and the sun. The engine cut to idle, and the plane was about to glide by her on the right.

The plane’s wraparound glass canopy tilted forward, and a man leaped out of his seat. Through blurred vision, she saw a hand stretched toward her from the transom. Brielle was so cold and tired by this point that she just wanted to be out of the water. Without looking to see who it was, she grasped his hand with both of hers and felt herself lifted out of the water like she was holding onto the prong of a forklift.

When her feet were planted on the small outrigger sticking from the plane’s belly, she latched onto the man’s shirt to steady herself. Bullets zinged around them, a few of them thudding into the plane’s fuselage, and she was unceremoniously dumped into the passenger seat.

The man jumped over her, revved up the engine, and lowered the canopy. Brielle planted her feet on either side of the secondary control stick while the plane turned smartly and accelerated.

“Sorry I can’t offer you a towel,” a familiar voice said.

Brielle rubbed the water from her eyes. She flinched as a bullet grazed the side window, then blinked in astonishment at Tyler.

“It’s you," was all she could think to say.

Never taking his eyes off the controls, he canted his head and gave her an amused grin. “I assumed you heard me on the radio. Got your text.”

“I didn’t think it went through.” She thought about ten things to say but decided to keep it simple. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got company.”

Tyler glanced in the rearview mirror. Brielle swiveled in her seat and saw the helicopter diving toward them. Muzzle flashes blazed from its side door.

“Better get your belt on,” Tyler said. “We’re expecting a bit of turbulence.”

Tyler pulled back on the stick and the Icon A5 sport plane leaped off the water. He banked right and weaved as he aimed for the nearest valley, making it harder for the gunman in the pursuing helicopter to get a clean shot at them.

Brielle hadn’t been able to strap herself into the four-point harness because of the nylon rope around her wrists. With one hand Tyler took the Leatherman multi-tool from his belt, opened the knife, and waved for her to hold out her arms. He steadied the plane with his knees on the stick and sawed through the rope until she was free and could belt herself in.

As he put the Leatherman back, Tyler took a quick glance at her. Brielle was wearing an outfit that looked like a redneck cliché. If he hadn’t known her, he would have expected her to speak in a barely understandable drawl.

“I’m glad I found you,” Tyler said.

Brielle brushed strands of wet hair from her face and looped them behind her ears. The dodging back and forth didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. “Where did you come from?”

“My plane was ready to go and Seattle is only fifty miles away. Your phone was still on, so we tracked the GPS signal. It was smart to use the radio’s emergency band.”

A bullet thumped into the fuselage.

Brielle looked back. “They’re getting closer.”

“Not much I can do about that. The bad news is we can’t outrun them. This plane is maneuverable, but it’s not built for speed.”

“And the good news?”

“We’re not dead.”

“Brilliant. How do we get away?”

“We’ll try to lose them in the valleys. Once we’re out of sight, we can make for civilization.”

“Do you have any weapons on board?”

“Just a flare gun.”

“Where?”

“In the storage bin behind us.”

Brielle reached back and removed an orange box. She opened it and loaded the shell into the gun without hesitating.

“Only one flare,” she said.

“You’re handy with a gun…Are you feeling recovered enough to make it count?”

She nodded at her open window. “If you can get us close.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Getting closer to automatic weapon fire was not his favorite choice, but if the chopper’s pilot was any good, losing them in the valleys was iffy at best. Better to rely on offense.

“Here we go,” he said, and pulled back on the stick until they were climbing at a forty-five degree angle. The A5 quickly bled speed as it gained altitude.

The helicopter didn’t have any trouble gaining on them, but the radical pitch would make it difficult for the shooter to take aim. He’d wait until the helicopter was in a level position to finish them off.

Tyler increased their climb rate even further, hoping to make it look like he was trying to escape but in reality letting the helicopter catch up more quickly.

When the two aircraft were side by side, Tyler nosed over. The helicopter followed suit.

“Now!” he yelled.

In one fluid motion, Brielle lifted the gun, aimed down the sight, and fired.

The flare rocketed toward the helicopter. Tyler was sure it would be a direct hit. The flare flew right through the open side door of the helicopter, barely missing the shooter, who threw himself backward to avoid the blazing shell.

With luck, the flare would bounce around the cabin, filling it with smoke and making the pilot break off the attack.

This time, however, luck went to the bad guys. The shot was too perfect. It passed through the cabin and out the other side, leaving only a wisp of smoke in its wake.

Brielle tossed the flare gun to the floor in disgust. “Bloody hell!”

Tyler didn’t waste time worrying about the lost opportunity. He rolled left, trying to put some distance between him and the helicopter. Maybe the pilot would be too spooked to continue the chase.