First Thrills - Lee Child [91]
“Ah, hell.” The operator brought his walkie-talkie to his lips. “Marvin, come in . . .” Getting no response, he banged the squawking radio against his knee and tried again. “Marvin, you reading me up there?”
“Go ahead,” came a voice through thick static.
“Yeah, Marvin, you still up top? Got another asshole down here, wants to make a run. It’ll mean fifty . . . uh, twenty-five bucks to you if you’ll wait.”
Seconds passed before the radio squawked again and Marvin’s voice came back. “Yeah . . . go ahead.”
Freddy switched off the walkie-talkie with a shrug and cut his eyes back to Howard. “It’s your funeral.” He took his time approaching, but was quick to snatch the two bills from Howard’s glove. He unhooked the rope and allowed Howard to push past. “I’s you, I’d ski down with Marvin. He’s the best skier on the hill, knows every inch of this mountain.”
“I hardly need a babysitter,” Howard scoffed. “Been riding black diamonds for more than twenty years.”
“Yeah? In the dark? With weather moving in? We’ll be under an avalanche warning come tomorrow, mark my words.”
“Piece of cake,” Howard said, swishing through the maze of rope leading to the loading area.
“Just get down quick, fella, or it’s my ass.” Freddy waved him off and disappeared into the bull-wheel shack.
Howard allowed an empty chair to pass, then side-stepped into the loading space and let the next chair scoop his backside. The chair accelerated through a sharp ascent before rattling over the sheaves of the first tower and slowing into a smooth, quiet glide.
He closed his eyes and drew crisp air into his lungs, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Snow began to flurry as the chair crept over a steep, pine-wooded peak. The terrain then fell away sharply, opening into a wide treeless valley already clear of all ski traffic.
Minutes passed.
The chair chattered past another tower and continued on for seventy- five more yards before the drone of the lift suddenly muted and the cable came to a gentle halt. Momentum swung the chair back and forth some until it eventually hung motionless.
Howard cursed under his breath. The clouds seemed to close in more quickly in the stillness. The base of the slopes and the resort village far below were already completely obscured.
Boredom set in immediately. He took out his cell phone hoping to check messages, but when he saw that he still wasn’t getting a signal, he set the phone down beside him, thinking he’d check again from a higher elevation.
The snow fell more heavily now, landing thick and wet against his goggles, stinging his cheeks. He huddled his arms across his chest to fight the chill that was seeping through his clothing like acid.
Christ, what I would give for a . . .
He paused, then fumbled into the breast pocket of his coat. To his relief there remained a crumpled box of Salems pressed against his monogrammed Zippo. Setting his gloves on the seat next to the phone, he tapped out the single remaining cigarette and thumbed the lighter until it sparked a flame. He drew quickly and heavily off the cigarette, burning it down to the filter.
Three minutes later, still chilled to the marrow, he flicked the dead butt away and cursed again. “Come on, Freddy, Marvin, you asshole, crank ’er up.”
Looking down to check his watch, he caught movement through the gauze of cloud between his knees—a lone skier, some two hundred feet below, swishing with perceptible skill down the slope. Howard watched the man until he disappeared under the chair.
Hell of a skier, he thought. Quite a pro.
Then he jumped, startled by the unexpected sound of laughter.
“I think your fate has just been sealed, Howard.”
Howard turned toward the voice and found sitting on the other side of the chair a man he’d watched die months before.
“Jesus Christ!” He yanked his goggles down to his neck and looked the man up and down, his eyes wide with horror,