Where could I get a gun in the peaceful countryside of Switzerland? Breaking into a gun shop was always an option.Īt the bottom of the slope, I kicked my way out of my skis and carried them back into the rack. With a shooter in play, I felt terribly exposed. I couldn’t find my goggles, but I wanted to be in cover as soon as possible so I didn’t spend much time looking for them. I stomped the snow off my boots and slipped them into the ski bindings. “Who?” I sat down with my back against a tree for a count of five hundred before I stopped shaking. I started to tremble and told my body it would have to wait until I got to the bottom of the slope, but it paid no attention, so I trembled. I retrieved my ski poles and stood panting, heart pounding.
I dropped the clip and whacked it up against the side of a tree, sending a jolt all the way down to my toes, and buried it in the snow by the side of the trail, throwing the clip as far as I could into the woods. I could hardly take it back to the ski lodge with me. Should I follow him? What would I do with him if I caught him? I considered the rifle. I reversed the rifle, backed up and fired.
I grabbed it, and swung it hard, hitting him in the left shoulder. I threw myself at him again, and he dropped the rifle. When he was half a meter away, I yelled and launched myself at him with the ski poles thrust forward, but he deflected them with the rifle. A man in black wearing a black face mask, his rifle held lightly in his right hand, slipped carefully forward, scanning to the left and to the right. I heard steps crunching toward me in the snow and ducked behind a tree. On the other hand, I hadn’t expected to have to channel the Fourth Mountain Brigade that morning. I wish my gear wasn’t burgundy, I thought. Stepping carefully into the woods, bent almost double, I advanced with a ski pole in each hand. I ripped off my goggles and kicked out of the bindings. Somebody was shooting at me? I bent as far down as I could and snowplowed to the side of the run, stopping just before I got to the trees. Halfway down the piste, something buzzed past my face. As I gathered speed I laughed aloud at the awesome feel of the wind in my face, the best antidote to my time in the Algerian desert I could think of. The view was spectacular! Snowy hills covered with pine trees stretched away and away. I was among the few early birds on the slopes we were hoping to avoid the rush of celebrities modeling their designer ski togs.
Is there life after the CIA? I wondered as I stamped my foot into the bindings of first one ski and then the other.
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