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As the helicopter crested the ranges, flying south, the fuel levels began dropping rapidly. With less than a minute of flying time left, the pilot put the helicopter into auto-rotate for an emergency landing. A forest road emerged, racing up to meet the helicopter, its occupants pushed back into their seat by the g-forces.

Relieved and waiting for the pilot to check over his aircraft, Dotcom contemplated the near-death experience and the good fortune of having a rare forestry road emerge from the carpet of trees. It could have been it, he knew. That could have been the end. Dead. Smeared across the forest floor of a desolate and forgotten part of New Zealand.

Was it deliberate? The thought crossed his mind and sat there, scratching away at the edge of his consciousness. Maybe it was. Probably it wasn't.
No.
Actually . . .
Well, maybe.
“You think about it,” he says. “There's a lot at stake here for a lot of people.”
And there is.
Especially, as always, for Kim Dotcom.

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