Vince May - Presumed Dead

Death in the mountains can come at you a thousand different ways. Alice Webley knew that. She’d spent years relishing the savage beauty of this hostile terrain. But nothing in her darkest dreams had prepared her for the savagery of her own fate.

Suddenly she’s awake. Something has her by the ankles. Hauling her face down towards the open door. A blast of freezing air hits her, bringing her to her senses. She realizes for the first time exactly where she is.

She’s being lifted, bent double. She screams his name trying to make him stop. Kicking and punching she tries to fend off the powerful hands propelling her towards the dark opening. But he’s much too strong.

Moments later she’s tumbling head over heels through space. Screaming as she falls into the black, freezing void.

Ross Webley drummed his fingers impatiently on the side rail of the launch as it ploughed through the dark waters of Monte Carlo harbor, out towards his host’s yacht: one hundred and fifty feet of floodlit white steel and bronzed glass, riding gently at anchor in the bay.

This particular gin-palace was owned by Riccardo Bonatti, a wealthy and extremely shady businessman out of Miami who enjoyed hobnobbing with the rich and famous of Europe. Ross liked the totally amoral American because he knew, deep down, they were two of a kind. Both of them, beneath a thick, highly polished veneer of respectability and manners, were hard, ruthless men who never let anything or anybody stand in the way of what they wanted.

Ross felt comfortable around Bonatti and often flew down from his home in the UK for weekend parties. Tonight though, he was in no mood to party. He was already fuming at the time it had taken to get the twenty miles from Nice airport. Unlike any other taxi he had ever been in, the one he’d got only seemed to have two speeds, slow and stop. All Ross wanted to do now was get on board the yacht and into his room so he could do some private thinking.

Looking up ahead though, he could see Bonatti waving at him from the top of the gangway and a noisy party in full swing on the upper deck. Heaving an inward sigh at the thought of more delay, he smiled and waved back, slipping effortlessly into his public image of a wealthy international playboy.

As Ross reached the top of the gangway, Bonatti pumped his hand and slapped him on the back. ‘Good to see you again, you old son-of-a-gun! Where’s that beautiful young wife of yours? Didn’t you bring her along?’

Ross forced a smile as he shook his old friend’s hand. ‘No, we stopped off in Geneva on the way down. She’s hired a car and driven up into mountains. Wanted to do some walking rather than come down here.’

‘I think maybe Alice doesn’t approve of me,’ Bonatti observed.

‘Nonsense! She thinks you’re a fine fellow!’ Ross lied, remembering the last time Bonatti’s name had come up Alice had called him a greasy pimp.

Bonatti laughed and slapped him on the back again. ‘Come on, Ross, join the party. There are some people I want you to meet, and we’ve got roulette and backgammon going on the lower deck.’

‘Look, Ricky, I’d love to, but you must let me clean up and get changed first. I’ve been travelling all day and I smell like a buffalo!’

Bonatti made a show of sniffing his friend, then laughing heartily again, showed Ross to his quarters.

As soon as the crewman had deposited his luggage and the door to the luxurious stateroom was shut, the smile slid from Ross’s face and he delved franticly into his flight case. Pulling out a scale ruler and a walking map of the Mont Blanc region, he spread it out on the table and studied an area where he’d made some pencil crosses and lines.

Damn, he thought. There’s no way anyone’s going to believe she climbed all the way up that glacier on her own in what she was wearing. Then, looking closely at the map again and taking a measurement, his eyes narrowed as he did some mental reckoning. After a few moments, he reached into his pocket for his phone and dialed his wife’s cell phone.

The call was answered on the first ring. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ Ross growled. ‘Get your map out and I’ll tell you what you’re going to do about it.’

Consciousness came swimming back to Alice after a while. She lay utterly still, not daring to move, her breath coming in short gasps, hanging over her in white plumes on the freezing alpine air.

Wind resistance had slowed her forward momentum, and she’d barely started to accelerate in free fall before she’d slammed into the near vertical, snow covered ridge.

Bouncing, arms and legs flailing, she’d tumbled fast and relentlessly down the steep mountainside for over a thousand feet, grunting with each blow. Unable to stop. Incapable of helping herself. Flooding with pain. Dimly aware of the battering she’d been taking.

As the snowfield had gradually leveled off, she’d instinctively spread herself out flat, clawing at the soft snow, desperately trying to slow herself down. It hadn’t done much good.

She’d been spun, twisted, bounced and rolled for another six hundred agonizing feet before finally slithering to a halt, face up in the snow at the top of the glacier like a discarded doll.

She’d felt crushed, bewildered, ragged, abused… then mercifully thought had left her, and she’d felt nothing.

Now, in the perfect stillness, she could hear her heart pounding wildly and her breath rasping in her throat. She could see the bright moon and stars high above in the night sky, the silhouettes of mountain peaks all around her.

As her mind started to clear, she suddenly realized the enormity of what had happened. He tried to kill me! The words built up into a scream in her head. Ross tried to kill me! She closed her eyes, but in the giddying darkness behind her eyelids, all she could see was a snapshot of her last memory of him. His contorted face bathed in red light. His demonic eyes. She searched her mind for some small crevice to crawl into. Somewhere to hide from the violence, the hatred she’d seen. But her head was hurting so much it was all she could do to stay conscious.

An earlier version of herself, the Alice Webley of a few years back, may have reacted differently. But now, as she lay there sobbing uncontrollably, she slowly started to realize something: there was nothing more he could do to her. She was no longer afraid of him.

The idea started as a tiny flame somewhere deep inside her then quickly flared and ignited her anger. He’s done his worst, played all his cards, shot his bolt, and he’s lost! He’s also not going to get away with this, she thought, gritting her teeth. I’ll be damned if I let him get away with it! Who the hell does he think he is?

She opened her eyes. ‘Move,’ she ordered herself aloud. ‘You have to move.’ Carefully, she flexed each leg in turn, then each arm. There didn’t seem to be any damage, at least, she didn’t feel any sharp pains as she moved. Just an overall aching and stiffness that made her feel like she’d been hit by a truck. The only thing that really worried her was that she couldn’t move her right arm.

She sat up stiffly. After a few moments she realized her telescopic aluminum walking pole was strapped to her right wrist and she’d been laying on it. Then, looking down at her legs and along her arms, she saw that she was wearing all her walking gear, right down to her rucksack and Baby G watch! The last thing she remembered, she’d been wearing a lemon yellow skirt and jacket with matching stilettos!