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breathing faster, and it wasn't just fear. They were at the highest point in Europe it was possible to get to without climbing gear, and the air was thin enough to make breathing difficult.
    She forced herself to take slow, even breaths as she waited for the cable car to return. Please let Andy be on it. Please Andy, don't let her down.
    The cable car emerged from the clouds, swinging over the last support pylon and heading to the top station. It was packed, helmets and skis obstructing her view of the people on it.
    It docked and the skiers streaming out through the doors, lumbering onto the snow. A noisy crowd of children sorted themselves into ski school classes, put on their skis and slid off down the mountain.
    Roz waited, even more tense than the two behind her, for Andy to appear. Another couple of skiers straggled out, clipping up their boots when they reached the snow. No sign of anyone else.
    “Go and look,” Gorev told Frida. She glared at him, but obeyed, disappearing into the building.
    Roz held her breath, but Frida emerged shaking her head. “No sign, the cable car is empty.”
    Gorev cursed. “The bastard has double-crossed us. He's taken the painting and gone off with it. Damn him.” His accent sharpened as he spoke, betraying his origins.
    “The roads are open again,” Frida said. “He must have abandoned her. She’s no use to us now.”
    She looked at Roz with all the emotion of a bug collector about to dissect a beetle. “We need to get rid of her.”
    Gorev opened his mouth as if to protest, then nodded. “You are right. She can identify us. There is no point being stupid.”
    He gripped her arm, and even though the padded jacket, the touch sent a jolt of pain through her. She struggled to get away from him, but he had no trouble holding her.
    “Bring her,” Frida said, pointing to the cable car.
    Roz's spirits lifted a little. If they went down to the town, she had a chance to get away. Her arms might actually be working by then.
    They were the only ones in the cable car, and as they got in, the operator closed the door and pressed the mechanism to head back down the valley.
    “What is your plan?” Gorev asked Frida. It was clear who was in control. But Roz had no illusions that taking out Frida would get rid of Gorev. He wasn't one of the most feared members of the Russian mafia for nothing.
    And how could she remember that, but not remember stealing the painting?
    “That’s easy,” said Frida. “We throw her out of the cable-car. Her body won't be found for months. We'll be far away by then.”
    “What about the operator?” Gorev asked, gesturing at the parka-clad driver and keeping his voice low enough that he didn't hear.
    “Point a gun at him and he'll do what he's told.”
    “And if he doesn't?”
    She shrugged. “A tragic accident, two bodies.”
    Gorev smiled a smile that chilled Roz's blood. This was a man who had no problem with tossing an innocent driver out of his own cable-car. He glided over, gun concealed by his body, until he was right behind the operator.
    “Öffnen die Tür,” he said, in halting German, and jammed the gun into the operator's side. Frida had taken hold of Roz's throbbing arm and was holding her ready.
    Open the door.
    Would the driver obey? Roz was too scared to hope. She had no doubt that Gorev would shoot him if necessary and she couldn’t bear to bring harm to the old man. But she didn't want that door open either.
    She had no illusions about her ability to fight off the conspirators in her present state.
    The operator didn't reply, didn't obey.
    “Didn't you hear me? Open the damn door.” Gorev poked him with the gun.
    “You forgot say to the magic word,” said a familiar Irish voice, and a long muscular arm whipped out at the gun.
    Andy! He had come for her. Relief and something else made Roz light-headed. She barely registered the violent scuffle as joy and delight flooded her. Andy was there. He hadn't left her to die alone.
    And he