Clive Cussler - The Kingdom

“What’s that for?” asked Remi.

“Ventilation and fuel port. Once we get the first brick going, airflow and the shape of the cone will create a vortex of sorts. The heat will gush through the top of the cone and into the balloon.”

“That’s ingenious.”

“That’s a stove.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s an old-fashioned backpacking stove on steroids. They’ve been around for a century. At last my love of obscure knowledge pays off.”

“In spades. Let’s retreat to our bunker and try to rest up for the maiden-and final-flight of the High Flier .”

They slept fitfully for a total of two hours, kept awake by exhaustion, lack of food, and excitement. As soon as there was enough light to work by, they climbed out of the gondola and ate the last of their food.

Sam dismembered the remainder of the gondola save the last corner, which they pried free with the piton and knotted rope. Once the sawing was done, they had a pile of fuel that was as tall as Sam.

Having already chosen a spot on the plateau that was virtually free of ice, they carefully dragged the balloon to the launchpad. Onto the platform they stacked ballast rocks. In the center they placed the brazier, then secured it to the platform with sinew thongs.

“Let’s get cooking,” Remi said.

They used wads of paper and lichen as tinder, on top of which they placed a tripod of wicker chunks. Once they had a solid bed of coals, they continued to feed wicker into the brazier, and slowly flames began licking upward.

Remi placed her hand over the brazier’s flue. She jerked it back. “Hot!”

“Perfect. Now we wait. This is going to take a while.”

One hour turned into two. The balloon filled slowly, expanding around them like a miniature circus tent, as their fuel supply dwindled. Beneath the canopy the sunlight seemed ethereal, hazy. Sam realized they were fighting time and thermal physics, as the air cooled and seeped through the balloon’s skin.

Just before the third hour, the balloon, though still lying perpendicular to the ground, lifted and floated free. Whether reality or perception, they weren’t sure, but this seemed to be a watershed moment. Within forty minutes the balloon was standing upright, its exterior growing more taut by the minute.

“It’s working,” Remi murmured. “It’s really working.”

Sam nodded, said nothing, his eyes fixed on the craft.

Finally he said, “All aboard.”

Remi trotted to their supply pile, snatched up the engraved length of bamboo, slid it down the back of her jacket, then jogged back. She removed rocks one by one until she had room to kneel, then sit. The opposite side of the platform was now hovering a few inches off the ground.

Having already stuffed the emergency parachute pack with some essentials, and the duffel bag with their bricks and the last armload of wicker, Sam grabbed both, then knelt beside the platform.

“You ready?” he asked.

Remi didn’t blink an eye. “Let’s fly.”

NORTHERN NEPAL

The flames leapt up in the brazier’s interior, disappearing through the balloon’s mouth, until Sam and Remi were floating at knee height above the plateau.

“When I say so, push with everything you’ve got,” Sam said.

He stuffed the last two pieces of wicker into the brazier and watched, waited, eyes darting from the brazier to the balloon to the ground.

“Now!”

In unison, they coiled their legs and shoved hard.

They surged upward ten feet. Then descended just as rapidly.

“Get ready to push again!” Sam called.

Their feet struck the ice.

“Push!”

Again they shot upward and again they returned to earth, albeit more slowly.

“We’re getting there,” Sam said.

“We need a rhythm,” Remi replied. “Think, bouncing ball.”

So they began bouncing over the plateau, each time gaining a bit more altitude. To their left, the edge of the cliff loomed.

“Sam . . .” Remi warned.

“I know. Don’t look, just keep bouncing. Fly or swim!”

“Lovely!”

They shoved off once more. A gust of wind caught the balloon and shoved them down the plateau, their feet skipping over the ice. Remi’s leg slipped off the edge of the cliff, but she kept her cool, giving one last united shove with the other leg.

And then, abruptly, everything went silent save the wind whistling through the guylines.

They were airborne and climbing.

And heading southeast toward the slope.

Sam reached into the duffel and withdrew a pair of bricks. He fed them into the brazier. They heard a soft whoosh as the brick ignited. Flames shot from the flue. They began rising.

“Another,” Remi said.

Sam dropped a third brick into the brazier.

Whoosh! The balloon climbed.

The pine trees were a few hundred yards away and closing fast. A gust of wind caught the balloon and spun it. Sam and Remi clutched at the guylines and tightened their legs around the platform. After three rotations, the platform steadied and went still again.

Looking over Remi’s shoulder, Sam gauged the distance to the slope.

“How close?” Remi asked.

“About two hundred yards. Ninety seconds, give or take.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s going to be razor thin. Go for broke?”

“Absolutely.”

Sam stuffed a fourth brick into the brazier. Whoosh!

They both looked over the side of the platform. The tops of the pine trees seemed impossibly close. Remi felt something snag at her foot, and she tipped sideways. Sam leaned forward, grabbed her arm.

He added another brick. Whoosh!

Another. Whoosh!

“A hundred yards!” Sam called.

Another brick. Whoosh!

“Fifty yards!” He grabbed a brick from the duffel, shook it in his cupped hands like dice, and extended it toward Remi. “For luck.”

She blew on it.

He dropped the brick into the brazier.

Whoosh!

“Raise your feet!” Sam shouted.

They felt and heard the tip of a pine tree clawing the underside of the platform. They were jerked sideways.

“We’re snagged!” Sam called. “Lean!”

In unison, they tipped their torsos in the opposite direction, hanging over the edge while clutching a guyline. Sam kicked his leg, trying to free them from whatever lay below.

With a sharp crack the offending branch snapped. The platform righted itself. Sam and Remi sat up, looking down and around and up.

“We’re clear!” Remi shouted. “We made it!”

Sam let out the breath he’d been holding. “Never doubted it for a second.”

Remi gave him the look.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe for a second or two.”

Now clear of the ridge, the wind slackening slightly, they found themselves heading south at what Sam estimated was ten miles per hour. They had traveled less than a few hundred yards before their altitude began bleeding off.

Sam dug another brick out of the duffel. He dropped it through the feed hole and it ignited. They began rising.

Remi asked, “How many do we have left?”

Sam checked. “Ten.”

“Now might be a good time to tell me your landing Plan B.”

“On the off chance we don’t manage a perfect, feather-soft touchdown, our next best chance is pine trees-find a tight cluster and try to fly straight in.”

“What you’ve just described is a crash landing without the land.”

“Essentially.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, exactly. We hold on tight and hope the boughs act as an arresting net.”

“Like on aircraft carriers.”

“Yes.”

Remi considered this. She pursed her lips and puffed a strand of auburn hair from her forehead. “I like it.”