Chapter 12 – Over the Edge
Mac gave a final tug on the rope. He nodded encouragingly to Stacy who remained glued to the spot where she stood with Casey watching him intently as he prepared the climbing equipment. Taking a deep breath he leaned back, shook the rope out behind him and slowly stepped backwards over the edge. His heart was thumping so loudly in his chest he was surprised the others couldn't hear it. He let out a little more rope and took another step as he felt the harness take his weight. The rope stretched and held firm against the anchors that he used to secure his rope to two sturdy trees at the top of the cliff. His ears were filled with the sound of the rushing water from the river below. He took another two steps and then flexing his knees he pushed away from the wall. The rope slid smoothly through the eight as Mac pushed his brake hand down to prevent the rope from twisting. He glided down before swinging gently back to the cliff face, his knees bending and flexing as he bounced against the rock face. He paused to unclasp one of the hexes attached to the loops at his waist. He pushed the small block of metal with its attached wire loop into a crevice and pulled down hard before hooking in his secondary climb rope. He would be needing that later.
Mac looked up to see Mason and Jowls staring down at him. Jowls still held his gun ready clearly not trusting Mac but having little choice in the matter. Mac could not imagine the huge body-builder rappelling down a cliff-face. Again he pushed away from the wall and glided further from them. The hammering in his chest eased a little as he realized that it was going better than he had thought. Although it had been twenty years since he'd last rapped with his Marine buddies he discovered that it was like riding a bike. He was impressed by the new lightweight harness that fit snugly around his hips and thighs. It was a distinct improvement on the rudimentary equipment that he had used many years before. He was grateful that the padded waist belt came just below the wound to his side that was now throbbing viciously, the last of his painkillers having worn off some hours earlier. He ignored the pain forcing himself to concentrate on his descent as he approached the rock ledge.
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His heart-rate finally returned to something approaching normal as his feet touched the ledge. He glanced upward. Mason was no longer in sight but Jowls was still there, gun in hand. Securing a secondary rope he looked down over the edge of the overhang that was some sixteen feet wide and almost three feet deep at it's widest point. The wreckage was another twenty feet below him. It was tipped to one side, the ragged open end facing towards the tail of the plane that lay some thirty feet away. From the top of the cliff it had looked like a child's toy that had been ripped in two and thrown down in a temper. Now up close and personal Mac could see the damage and again was amazed at Stacy's miraculous escape. Mac moved to the end of the ledge closest to the plane and, again playing out the rope, set off down towards the wreckage. He proceeded cautiously. The wall was no longer smooth but jagged and strewn with small plants that had managed to find tiny crevices into which to sink their roots. He steadied himself with one hand, his fingers curling around a rock that jutted from the wall but the rock crumbled in his hand falling away and tumbling off the rock face to splash into the white foaming water below. He scrabbled desperately for another hold before daring to trust his weight to the rope.
It was a strange sensation to be swingingly freely. He looked up and could see the rope tight against the edge of the rock ledge above him. He watched as it rolled against the sharp rock and he prayed that it wouldn't fray. Carefully he lowered himself towards the fuselage. He could now see inside. One of the windows was cracked, the other had fallen out completely. The back of the seats were covered in leaves. Little by little he approached the opening until his feet touched the edge of the fuselage. He had half-expected it to move and fall away as soon as he reached it but the carcass of the little plane didn't budge. It was firmly wedged. He allowed more of his weight to settle on the edge of the fuselage until he was able to twist around and slide himself inside. He could see the cockpit and the body strapped into the seat. Or rather what was left of the body. Time had taken it's toll and nature it's course. Sam Garner was little more than bones and matted tufts of hair, the tattered remnants of his clothing the only thing holding the skeleton together. Mac was grateful that his daughter wasn't there to see him but he vowed that somehow they would recover his body and give him a decent burial.
Bracing his feet against the backs of the seats he lowered himself further inside the plane. It still didn't move. He looked over the back seat and spied a bag. He leaned forward. There was an ominous creaking sound and the the plane shuddered. Mac froze, his heart in his mouth. He waited a moment but nothing moved. He leaned forward a little more and snagged the bag. Opening it he explored the contents. He sighed as he saw the pink tee-shirts and flowery shorts. There was a small blue bear and a well loved doll with wispy blond hair and what looked like a make-up kit and some pink sparkly jewellery. He zipped the bag up and wondered if he could manage to get it back to Stacy so she would have at least something from her previous life but at that moment he had more pressing issues. Pushing the bag to one side he climbed over the seats. The plane groaned in protest but he forced himself onward and peered into the front seats. Sam Garner's body was sprawled over the controls, one arm hanging by his side, the other thrown out in front of him as though to protect himself from what he had known would happen. Mac felt an overwhelming moment of sadness as he spied the wedding ring on his left hand and the watch still attached to his wrist. That, at least , he could take to give to his daughter. Swallowing his revulsion, he quickly removed the watch and the ring and pushed them into his pocket. As he leaned forward he could see a leather hold-all in the foot-well of the copilot's seat. He reached for it and the plane juddered. There was a wrenching sound and something gave way. The plane tipped to one side and Mac fell against the seat. He clung to the seat but the plane only moved a few inches coming to settle at an even more acute angle.
He remained immobile for a few minutes trying to catch his breath and calm his hammering heart. He reached once more for the bag and dragged it towards him. Unzipping it he rifled through the contents but there was nothing but clothing and a shaving kit. Mac leaned back to rest. His eyes scanned the interior of the plane. What if Sam had hidden it under the seats or the floor or in the tail that lay further down stream? What if the diamonds weren't there at all? Mac almost shot out of his skin as the walkie-talkie at his belt squawked. He pulled it from it's holder.
"What's taking so long?" came the cold, hard voice of Mason.
"I'm doing my best but they're not here." Mac gripped the walkie-talkie until his knuckles were white.
"Keep looking," Mason ordered.
Mac jammed the walkie-talkie back into the holder on his harness. He leaned over the back of the seats and felt underneath them with one hand. His fingers touched the handle of a case. He pulled it out sending a silver Thermos flask that had been wedged behind it rolling across the floor. The case was made of solid orange plastic with silver metal clasps. Quickly he pulled it onto the seat and flicked up the catches. Despite it not being what he was looking for, his face broke into a broad grin when saw the contents. He began to fill his pockets with an assortment of objects from his treasure trove.
Having taken what he needed, he looked around the interior of the plane. There was nowhere to hide anything else. Then his gaze alighted on the silver flask. Mac frowned. Sam and Stacy were on the run, travelling light so why would they go to the trouble of bringing a flask? Once more he leaned cautiously over the seat-backs stretching his arm towards the flask. The plane creaked ominously but held. He shuffled forward a little more leaning as far forward as he dare. The pain in his side flared as the skin was pulled taut. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His fingers touched the flask. He rolled it towards him until he was able to get hold of it. With one swift movement he picked it up and collapsed back onto the rear seats, his breath coming in short sharp gasps as he waited for the burning sensation in his chest to subside. After a few minutes the pain eased and a little of the tension went with it. He opened his eyes and looked at the flask weighing it carefully in his hand. He smiled to himself as he knew he'd found what he was looking for. There was no way that coffee was that heavy.
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