Taking a last look, he started his descent. Suddenly, a faint sound caught his attention. It seemed to be coming from the right of the rock face. There it was again, a strange scuffling noise. He felt along the surface of the gigantic rock that had fallen next to the smooth cliff wall. There was a narrow fissure in the stone. It was barely wide enough to squeeze a hand through it. He pressed his face against it and peered through the slit. There was nothing to be seen except another layer of stone wall beyond a grassy area. It looked like some sort of cave.
Suddenly, something moved in front of his vision. It disappeared before he had a chance to form an impression. With bated breath, he waited. Just when he thought he had imagined the whole thing, he saw it again. This time he knew what he was looking at; the top of an animal’s head. A goat’s head! How the hell did they get in there? They must have climbed over the rocks. He watched as the animals filed from the right towards something over to his left.
What the devil? There was some kind of indentation on the ground. It was the imprint of a heavily-soled boot. So, someone had been up here and fairly recently. Approaching the stone wall under the overhang, he searched for a way to climb up beyond it. An experienced climber could get up there, but this was as far as he could go. He cursed the producers for recalling Sasha to rehearse a scene from his ‘soap’. Next time, he would have him in tow.
He turned and started back down the slope again. Behind him a faint humming sound drifted on the wind. Startled, he turned, almost losing his balance on the steep incline. His mouth fell open with disbelief. The wall of rock was moving, opening out towards him, exposing a steel panel. With a swish the panel slid back revealing a brightly lit corridor. Two dark figures, silhouetted against the harsh lights, marched purposefully towards him. As they got closer he could see they were carrying Kalashnikovs. Only their eyes could be seen behind the black balaclavas.
“Put your hands above your head,” one of them growled, “and don’t try anything or you’re a dead man.”
Nodding to his companion he waited while he patted Conrad down for firearms. With a grunt of satisfaction he pulled out the Glock pistol and shoved it into his belt. Silently, the other man gestured to Conrad. He prodded him painfully with the muzzle of his gun until he moved into the tunnel. Without a word they marched him down a corridor hewn from the rock face. A few minutes later they emerged into a natural cavern lit with bright, blue-white lights.
Men in black uniforms sat at a bank of computers scrolling down row after row of statistics. A digital map of the world, pinpointing various cities with different coloured lights, took up the whole of the far wall. On both sides men and women studied a changing kaleidoscope of images transmitted from around the globe. It was like walking into a science fiction film set.
A sharp prod in the back sent him reeling forwards towards another steel door at the side of the computer stations where another masked man waited. He faced the retinal scanner and the door slid open to reveal another smaller chamber. It was a miniature of the outer room. Flickering computer screens, digital wall maps and a curious device in one corner. Behind a large desk a man sat with his back to them. As the door clicked shut behind them he turned around, his face partially in shadow.
Long hair swept back, a prominent widow’s peak above a wrinkled face. Deep lines ran from the side of his nose to the outer corners of his thin lips. His head looked too big for his slim frame, draped in a black military-style uniform. An old man trying to look youthful.
“Sit down, Mr Conrad,” he said, gesturing towards a chair placed directly in front of the desk.
Conrad strained his eyes, registering the facial features of the man. There was something distinctly odd about his face. His eyes weren’t the eyes of an old man. Piercing, almost luminous eyes, olive skin and an aquiline nose. The skin colour didn’t seem to work with the eyes.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Conrad demanded. “How do you know my name?”
“You will find out in due course. May I offer you some coffee?”
The man who had brought him in moved to a table and poured some coffee into a mug. He picked up a ladle, scooped some milk from a container into a jug, and added it to the coffee.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”
The guard moved towards him in a threatening manner, but the other man waved him away.
“I am the Generalissimo. The supreme head of the Black Militia. This is my headquarters.”
Conrad’s brain went into overdrive. Foley’s organisation! That’s why he and Macaleer were murdered. Could this guy be one of the three KGB men on the list he had compiled? It wasn’t possible, unless their profiles were bogus.
“Nobody still alive will ever discover my real identity. Those who tried died a swift death.”
The guard pulled Conrad to his feet and pushed him towards the door. Moving from his desk the Generalissimo sat down in front of one of the computers. His face lit up with a greenish glow. It was then Conrad realised he was wearing a prosthetic mask.
On the wall above the computer console a replica of the large screen he had seen in the outer chamber glowed green. Pinpoint lights flickered over Washington, London, Berlin, Ottawa, Beijing, Paris, Tokyo: every major capital city in the world. Suddenly, the tiny light on Beijing stopped flickering and remained steady.
“Beijing is ready!” the Generalissimo exclaimed. Turning to Conrad he gave a hideous smile.
“Soon we will be in control.”
Conrad lunged at him, hands outstretched to grab at the mask. The butt of the Kalashnikov in his stomach brought him to his knees. Writhing in agony, he lay on the carpeted floor clutching his stomach.
“That was very foolish, Mr Conrad. You will be dead before you can find out who I am. Besides, who would believe you? Nothing can stop us now. Get him out of here!”
Nosing him with the gun, the militiaman pushed him through the door and back down the corridor into the main operations’ chamber. Through a haze of pain he peered at the flickering lights. Whatever they were up to straddled every continent, he realised, but what were they up to?
The guard shoved him through the main chamber towards a lift. In seconds they descended two levels. Another guard, waiting outside the lift, prodded him through a wooden door. A dim glow lit up what appeared to be a small cave accentuating shadows and rough surfaces. He whirled around at the loud thud of the door slamming shut. At eye level a pinpoint of light shone through a tiny spyhole. In the corner of the cave, a chair, half a dozen books thrown carelessly on a table, a narrow bed set against one wall and a chemical toilet.
This didn’t make any sense at all. Why would they provide him with books? He leafed through an English translation of Russian folklore, a history of famous battles, and biographies of heads of state from various countries. Suddenly, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The door creaked open. An armed guard placed a tray on the floor.
“What is this place?” Conrad shouted. “What are you doing here? Let me talk to the Generalissimo!”
The guard didn’t respond. Without a word he slammed the door shut and clunked down the corridor.
There was nothing to be seen through the spyhole except stone walls and the same eerie glow. Conrad picked up the tray of food. He prodded it with a fork. Spicy sausages, potato salad and French fries. On the side, a large portion of gateau and a steaming pot of coffee.
Glancing at his wristwatch, he realised he had been on the mountain for over four hours. If he didn’t return by nightfall alarm bells would start ringing. Dreher wouldn’t be able to send a team out to investigate once darkness fell. They would have to wait until daybreak. I’ve got to get out of this infernal place, but first I want to find out exactly what they’re up to, he decided.
The other aspect that puzzled him was why they hadn’t killed him like Foley, Macaleer and Bateman. What did they want with him? The Generalissimo said he could be useful to him, but how? Frustrated, he kicked at the
chair toppling it over then kicked the solid door. Suddenly, a muted voice filled the cave. It was the Generalissimo.
“Mr Conrad. Please eat your meal and relax. Pick up the chair.”
Conrad looked all round the cave, smoothing his hands over the wall to find hidden bugs. He stared at the panel of LCD lights hanging from the stone ceiling and focussed on the centre light. That’s where the CCTV camera was located. He would have to disable it, but first he had to warn Dreher.
He cursed; nothing, not even a glimmer of a signal on his mobile. They hadn’t even bothered to search him for it. At this level the whole facility was surrounded by solid rock. That’s why their computer systems were on the highest level. Shoulders slumped in assumed defeat, he grabbed the plate of food. No sense in letting his energy levels drop. He picked up a book and settled down on the bed.
“That’s better, Mr Conrad,” a disembodied voice purred. “Enjoy your book. You are to be our conduit to the G8 countries. We will talk again tomorrow.”
Conduit? What the hell did he mean? Puzzled, he lay back studying the room over the top of the book. There was no way out except through the door. Resting the book against his chest he pretended to massage his leg, but he was feeling for the mini smoke capsules in a concealed pocket. He only had two so each of them would have to be effective first time round. Throwing the book onto the table, he settled back and closed his eyes. When the guard came again he would make his move. He would only have one chance at it.
Time dragged, but he was used to waiting. His hours on surveillance missions had disciplined his mind to be watchful while he rested. Feigning sleep, he planned his escape down to the last detail. He had to get back down to Berg before the last cable car left otherwise he would have to negotiate perilously steep trails in the dark. Unlike Sasha, his experience of the Alps was limited to skiing on the black runs.
The scraping of the bolt sounded loud and metallic in his ears. Fully alert, he remained on the bed, eyes closed. A key turned in the lock. The guard opened the door and picked up the tray. As he turned to go Conrad reared up and snapped open the miniature smoke bomb. Veering behind the man, he delivered a vicious chop to his neck. He dropped to the ground, unconscious. Conrad didn’t waste time tying him up. In a nanosecond he grabbed the Glock the guard had taken from him earlier. Swiftly, he placed a chair under the ceiling light and disabled the CCTV camera. Through the grey haze a disembodied voice demanded.
“Stop him! Stop him you fools!”
He was already out of the door. Cautiously, he moved down the dimly lit corridor towards the lift.
“Come on! Come on!” he urged, punching the up button.
As the doors opened, two guards rushed at him. Before they could grab him he snapped another smoke bomb. Blindly, they stumbled forward into the lift. Taking advantage of their disorientation he sidestepped them, bringing the butt of his Glock down on the shorter of the men. In the confusion the second guard whirled round just as the gun made contact with his skull. Heart thumping, he punched the up button again and waited for the lift to stop on the main level.
Swiftly, he assessed the situation, scanning the walls for CCTV cameras. Nothing but stone walls mottled with damp and a door further along the corridor. That must be leading into the main chamber, he thought. Damn it, another retinal scanner! There was no way he could get out unless… ? One of the men was still unconscious. He stripped him of his uniform and put them on over his own clothes. Quickly, he yanked on the yellow armband, emblazoned with three black snow crystals, and covered his face with the balaclava.
“They must be security,” he muttered, noticing they all wore the same colour.
The other man had come round and was struggling to sit up. Grabbing him under his arms, he dragged him towards the door and pulled him up in front of the retinal scanner.
“Look into the scanner! Keep your eyes open!” he ordered, holding the Glock to the guard’s head.
Conrad pushed the guard’s face forward until the door swished open. He delivered a rabbit punch to his neck and lowered him to the ground.
Suddenly, the piercing whine of an alarm reverberated around the cavern. Armed security guards marched across the chamber coming and going through various entrances. Conrad squinted against the harsh light. Black-clad figures were still seated at state-of-the-art computers studying the rapidly changing rows of statistics. The enormous wall map gleamed with flickering pinpoint lights. The whole chamber was a buzz of controlled activity. He took a deep breath and stepped into the cavern. Could he bluff his way out?
Drawing himself to his full height, he marched close to the computers trying to read the screens. Each one seemed to be focussed on a different area of the map on the wall. Suddenly, the Generalissimo’s voice reverberated around the chamber.
“Beijing is in control, I repeat, Beijing is in control.”
“We’ve registered Beijing,” the computer operator replied, punching in a code.
“Now find Conrad! He must not be allowed to escape! Find him!”
Taking a huge breath Conrad moved along the line of computers. Set slightly apart from the others, a man was furiously jabbing at the keyboard. He seemed to be coordinating all the information. All the major cities appeared on a world map on his screen with codes alongside. What the hell was going on? Suddenly, a light flickered on the map.
“Beijing is on board!” he exclaimed.
“Beijing’s on board?” Conrad queried, sidling up behind him.
Completely absorbed in his work the man nodded briefly.
“We’re on schedule. Another four weeks and our mission will be accomplished.”
“Four weeks?” The man looked up at Conrad, a sneer on his face. “What do you expect, you idiot? That we control that many countries in a few hours? Not even the Generalissimo can do that. This is just the beginning.”
Conrad froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In four weeks all the cities on the map would be ‘on board’, but why? Cautiously, he prodded the computer operator for more information.
“What if the mission should fail?”
“Fail?” the man replied scornfully. “The Generalissimo has been planning this for decades. Why are you asking so many questions?”
“I’m interested in computers, but I’ve never learned to use one,” he responded. “It all seems very complicated to me.”
The man sniggered. Security guards, no brains, little short of thugs. He grunted and turned back to his screen.
Surreptitiously, Conrad surveyed the chamber registering every possible exit. He had to make a move soon and glean more information before it was too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an opening leading off to the right of the bank of consoles. Glancing quickly behind him, he marched purposefully towards it. A narrow corridor disappeared round a series of bends that led to a door with a drop-down latch. He lifted the latch and yanked open the door. The handle on the inside hung from a loose screw. Taking a strip of flexible plastic out of his jacket, he propped up the latch and left the door open a crack. He didn’t want to get trapped inside.
Both walls of the rough-hewn cave were lined with wooden stalls. So that’s where the goats are kept! He peered inside the nearest stall. Fresh straw and a plentiful supply of food had been provided for the animals. The walls were perfectly dry. On the far outer wall a retinal scanner sat like a watchful eye beside a gleaming steel door. That must be a way out where they can graze on the patch of grass outside.
Squatting just inside the nearest stall he waited, deciding on his next move. He couldn’t go back, slug another guard and drag him down here to open the door. There was only one way he could get out. His chance would come when someone came to let out the goats. Moving deeper into the stall, he patted a startled animal as it pawed the ground. Keeping very still he settled down to wait. He didn’t have to wait long.
Ten minutes later the distant sound of muffled footsteps tramping down the stone-flagged corridor caught his attention
. He darted to the door, removed the plastic strip and pulled the door shut. With a muted clunk the latch fell into position. He raced back to the stall, at the same time pulling out his gun.
“Damn this latch. I’d better get it fixed,” a voice muttered. When the door scraped open the guard dragged a bale of straw to prop against the door. “Where are you, my beauties?” At the sound of the voice, the goats scrambled out of the stalls. Heavy footsteps clumped across the floor and stopped in front of the steel door. For a few minutes, he petted and talked to the goats milling around him. “Not so fast little ones.” He laughed as the goats nudged his legs. “You must be patient.”
With bated breath, Conrad waited until the man faced the scanner. As the door slid open the guard turned to the goats. Suddenly, he spotted Conrad crouched just inside the stall. Before he had a chance to react Conrad was on his feet brandishing his Glock.
“One sound and you’re dead.”
In a knee-jerk reaction, the guard’s hand moved to the Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it! Drop the gun and put your hands on your head!” It fell to the ground with a loud clatter. “Turn around!” The man dropped to his knees as the gun came into contact with the back of his skull.
Conrad felt for a pulse. The guard was alive, but he would probably be unconscious for hours. He pulled the straw bale away from the inner door and raced out onto the grass patch. The goats were grazing contentedly, completely oblivious to his presence. He pushed his way through them and came up against an outcrop of solid rock about three metres high. Except for a small ledge, about halfway up, it was sheer stone. There were a few decent handholds and scrubby bushes sprouting from crevices above the ledge.
Lifting up his trouser leg, he unwound a length of reinforced steel cord from around his ankle and opened the closed hook secured at the end. Fortunately, his padded trousers had concealed the slight bulge. Holding it over his head he twirled it like a lasso and threw it up over the rocks. All he needed was to get his foot onto the shallow ledge on the rock. The hook fell back to earth just missing his face. At the third attempt it caught on the rock. He pulled gently until he felt enough tension to know it was firmly in place.
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