Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [49]
It barely paused before rushing on, snaking between the boulders and Chavasse pushed Asta ahead of him. 'Get going,' he said. 'You've got about two minutes to climb beyond his reach.'
That first slope was gentle enough and he knew with heart-stopping certainty that the dog would have no trouble in scaling it either. They scrambled over great blocks of stone and behind, the dog snarled, springing upwards on that first tilt of rock. Above them, the stone face was smooth for nine or ten feet, no holds anywhere, the entrance to a corrie beyond.
There was no choice and Chavasse linked hands into a stirrup. 'Go on, up you go!'
She had sense enough not to argue, but stepped into his hands and was pushed up in one smooth movement that took her over the edge.
The Doberman came after them, scaling the cataract of stone in a series of fantastic bounds, landing no more than a foot below Chavasse, jaws gaping. He kicked out savagely sending it scrambling down. It landed, surefooted as a cat, on a great block of stone below and bounded up again.
Chavasse turned, his back to the rock, and pulled out the Smith & Wesson. The Doberman landed at his side, its paws secured a grip on the ledge and it hung there, its body brushing his leg. It snarled, opened the great jaws to strike and he pushed the Smith & Wesson inside and fired twice.
The back of the animal's head simply dissolved as the heavy magnum bullets smashed through bone and flesh and it spun backwards into space, bouncing from the rocks below, falling clear to the plateau.
Stavrou was half way across and he paused with a cry of anger, raised his arm and fired a wild shot that ricocheted amongst the rocks to the left. Chavasse fired in reply, sending him running for cover. He stuffed the Smith & Wesson into his pocket and looked up.
Asta peered over the edge, lying on her stomach and extended a hand. He reached up, their fingers locked and he jumped, his right toe finding purchase in a tiny crack. A moment later, he was over the edge and lying beside her.
It was impossible to see the base of the slope, but a rattle of stones told them that Stavrou was climbing. There was no sign of the others.
'We seem to have lost the Munros,' Asta said.
Chavasse shook his head. 'I wouldn't be too sure. They've been born and bred in this country, remember, and they know the mountains. I should say they're already on their way to the top by some other route.'
'And Max?'
'Gone after the ambush party in the Land Rover if he has any sense. We'd better get moving.'
The corrie slanted back up the slope, a great jagged funnel, choked with boulders and scree and they scrambled up, never stopping until they emerged on to a wide ledge.
Above them, the crest of the ridge lifted in a gentle slope and they scrambled over the edge ten minutes later and found themselves on the rim of the main plateau, a grey, silent world of mist and rain.
There was a faint cry carried by the wind from somewhere on the right. Chavasse turned as Hector Munro emerged over the far rim. He paused, raising his shotgun, and then lowered it, realising he was hopelessly out of range and Chavasse urged Asta forward.
They ran across the plateau, picking their way between great jagged boulders, slipping and sliding over the rough ground and as they neared the far side, Rory Munro emerged from broken ground to the right.
Chavasse swung towards him and Munro had no time to take aim, and then they met, breast to breast, the shotgun between them.
Chavasse didn't hesitate. His knee swung up into the unprotected groin. Rory's mouth opened wide in a gasp of agony and he keeled over. Chavasse hurled the shotgun away over the rocks and as he turned, there was an angry cry and Hector Munro ran towards him. Stavrou twenty or thirty yards behind.
Asta waited on the rim of the plateau. Chavasse took her hand and they went over and down into the mist and rain, riding a great apron of shale and loose earth that moved beneath them.
They landed on a bare, steep slope, rough tussocks of grass growing from crevasses, making the descent