Nobeca

by Lloyd Nesling

  “They won’t catch us now,” Wallace yelled above the noise.

  They ran ahead of the fog until they reached the outskirts of the little village.

  “Okay, Biker, I’ll ride pillion,” Conrad said, dragging a motorcycle out from behind a stockpile of winter logs. “Just remember, this isn’t Route 66.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Bernese Oberland, Switzerland

  The Mercedes slewed to a halt outside Dreher’s chalet on Lake Thun. Before they had a chance to get out of the car the door burst open. Light poured out, puddling the snow-covered drive with pools of liquid gold. The mist had lifted revealing a midnight-blue sky scattered with bright stars. Towering mountain peaks glowed ethereally in the moonlight. Conrad breathed deeply, welcoming the sharp rush of air into his lungs.

  The chalet was warm and cosy. From the comfort of the living room, they savoured the tantalising smells emanating from the kitchen. Dreher insisted they eat before discussing what Wallace had discovered in the facility. Later, they sat in front of the blazing log fire sipping brandies.

  “The Generalissimo asked me to build a futuristic weapon from blueprints stolen from Ethan Bateman’s laboratories in the Nevada desert,” Wallace said. “He was obviously onto them so they had to eliminate him. They fund the Militia from selling on government secrets and industrial espionage. Macaleer must have discovered what they were up to in the facility. That’s what he meant when he told Colonel Bowler about an ‘army’. It was the Black Militia, as the Generalissimo calls them.”

  “How does Foley fit in with all this?” Dreher asked.

  “I think I can explain that,” Conrad interjected. “Foley had infiltrated the facility. We know he went up into the Alps pretending to be booking into a clinic. Bateman told me Foley was scared witless. He babbled something about not needing an operation any more so he was going home. We’ve had the whole story on that from MI6. Colin Lynes had arranged for a kidney transplant in exchange for military secrets. I believe they took out his good kidney to sell to the highest bidder.”

  “The bastards!” Wallace fumed. “Why would they do that?”

  “Payback – they knew Foley would expose them.”

  “They’re not just in the business of selling secrets,” Wallace continued. “That’s just a sideline. Their main purpose is to bring the G8 countries to their knees, then all the G20.”

  “It’s impossible!” Dreher exclaimed.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Ernst. I’m convinced their plan will be put into action during the United Nations summit on world poverty in New York. I’m not sure how yet, but I’m certain it’s the catalyst that will set it in motion. They’ll wage a war from cyberspace. For years, malicious e-mails have been sent round the globe in an attempt to infiltrate government and industrial systems. Some from Chinese and Russian hackers, but a lot were sent out from that facility in the Alps.”

  “So why didn’t they act before?”

  “The Generalissimo is a patient man. He’s waited a long time for this – years. He doesn’t intend to fail. He’s spent decades creating a deadly computer virus named Black Crystal. It will bring systems to a standstill, even the Pentagon and GCHQ.”

  “We’ll have to go back up there,” Conrad said. “The only way we can stop this is from inside the facility. We have to take out the Generalissimo and destroy all the computers.”

  “I agree. It’s the only way,” Dreher added. “Explosives are out of the question. The whole mountain would start moving.”

  Conrad took out his phone and punched in Breakdancer’s number. He related what Wallace had discovered.

  “We can’t keep this to ourselves any longer, Jack. There’s too much at stake. I must inform Gilbert immediately,” Pearce said.

  “Wallace and I are going back up to the facility in the early hours before dawn. It won’t be easy. They’ll be on the lookout for us now. Dreher will provide as much backup as possible this end. I’ll take Sasha with us. He knows the mountains like the back of his hand.”

  “I’ll see that the SAS are on standby. Good luck.”

  “Ernst, we’ll need trail bikes, the usual clothing, equipment and weapons.” Conrad patted his jacket. “I’ve got my Glock, but we’ll also need semi-automatic pistols, light machine guns, grenades and tear gas.”

  “They’ll be ready for you.” Dreher snapped open his mobile phone. “Zinzli, listen carefully. There’s a lot at stake.”

  Zinzli was wide awake sitting on the edge of the bed. His wife snored gently at his side. His eyes widened in disbelief as Dreher outlined the situation.

  “This must be kept quiet. We don’t want to create mass hysteria. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir, absolutely clear!”

  “And if that clown Dupont starts asking questions, send him off on some wild goose chase!”

  Sophia came out of the kitchen with a steaming percolator just as the door was slamming shut behind them.

  “Ernst, where are you going? Your coffee!”

  The Mercedes crunched up the drive, slithered onto the lakeside road and shot off into the frosty night.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  The Alps,Bernese Oberland,

  Moonlight shimmered on the snow-covered trail snaking up the mountain. Dark outcrops of rock cast shadows in their path as the three men concealed their bikes behind an overhanging boulder. Conrad cursed the moonlight, praying for cloud cover to conceal their progress.

  “Fan out and climb in a zigzag fashion until we reach the foot of the facility,” he whispered. “Stay in the shadows as much as possible. Sasha will lead and we’ll follow. He knows these mountains better than us. Don’t lose sight of him. If we get lost up here we’ve had our chips.”

  Silently, Sasha moved out and beckoned to the others to follow. They laboured slowly upwards, nostrils blowing white vapour. Climbing too fast would make them dizzy and disoriented. Difficult enough during the day, but climbing at night was extremely dangerous. Not even the Black Militia would have men out on the mountain in these conditions. It was madness, but they had no choice.

  They had been climbing for over three hours, keeping to the barely visible trails as much as possible. Luckily, the moon had disappeared behind thick cloud, but its concealment had brought new hazards. Snow drifted down in fat flakes blown into frenzied swirls by a cutting wind. It was freezing cold. Conrad’s feet were already like blocks of ice inside his thick woollen socks and snow boots. Snowflakes settled on his face, danced in front of his eyes, found their way into his mouth. He could hear Wallace gasping for breath over to his right. He tightened the strings of his snood and pulled up his hood. Suddenly, he came up against Sasha’s bulky frame crouched low under an overhang.

  “We’re at the foot of the concealed trail,” he whispered.

  Conrad peered upwards towards the facility through his night vision goggles. There wasn’t a glimmer of light or activity. If they had been spotted the Militia would be waiting for them.

  “Check your weapons,” he ordered. “We’ll rest for five minutes.” Wallace slumped down beside him. “Take some nourishment.”

  He pulled out a chocolate bar, bit off a chunk, and took a swig from a high-energy drink.

  “Okay, synchronise your watches. Wallace knows his way around so stick with him,” he warned Sasha. “It’s easy to get confused with the labyrinth of corridors. I’m going after the Generalissimo.”

  Thirty minutes later, they crouched under the fake wall. Scrambling to the cover of rocks surrounding the goat enclosure they stopped, expecting at any moment to hear gunshots or feel the prod of a rifle in the back. Nothing, except an eerie silence. One after the other they scaled the rocks and dropped down into the goat compound.

  “They’re bedded down for the night,” Conrad whispered. “We’ll have to force open the steel door. Let’s hope it doesn’t set the goats off. Get your gear out.”

  He lowered his backpack and took out a reinforced crowbar. He placed the crowbar at th
e top side of the door and another at the bottom. Sasha covered a large stone with a thick cloth and pounded at it. On the third blow the sharp end nudged inwards, but it hit metal. Conrad angled the crowbar slightly. The next blow sent it into thin air. He wiggled it up and down. It was through! Wallace did the same at the bottom of the door. Both men put their weight to it, but the door wouldn’t budge. Exhausted, they slumped to the ground.

  “Sasha, we’ll hold on to ours while you drive a third one into the centre,” Conrad instructed.

  Gasping with the effort, they hauled with all their strength. The door slid sideways a fraction.

  “Don’t let go,” Wallace gasped. “Keep up the pressure.”

  Suddenly, the door slid back. The chisels clattered against rock and fell into soft snow. With bated breath, they pressed themselves against the rocks either side of the door.

  “Okay, let’s go!”

  Conrad lunged inside the goat pen and dropped low beside the first stall, the others hard at his heels. It was empty. He crept to the next one. Empty. They were all empty. Not a goat in sight. He shone his Maglite at the internal door. It was slightly ajar. Raising his hand in warning he gave it a gentle push. The passageway was empty. Weapons at the ready they moved into the corridor, their senses alert to every sound and movement. There wasn’t a glimmer of light. Everything was eerily quiet; too quiet. Not even the muted hum of computers. He waved his torch signalling for the others to follow.

  “What the hell… !” Wallace exclaimed.

  It was bare except for a single chair and some snaking electrical leads. It was stripped of computers, desks, lighting; completely derelict. Doors leading from the chamber stood wide open. Everything had gone. The Generalissimo and his Black Militia had moved out. It was almost as though the facility had never existed.

  “You and Sasha investigate the corridors. There are a few rooms leading off from them.”

  Conrad headed for the corridor to the left of where the computer bank used to stand. “If you find anything blow your whistle.”

  Gripping the Glock firmly in both hands, he moved down the corridor keeping close to the wall. Like the main chamber, everything was abnormally quiet. He kicked open every door and peered inside. Suddenly, a faint sound caught his ear. He held his breath. There it was again, coming from lower down the passageway. The Generalissimo’s room! The door was partially open. A thin beam of light swept from side to side. Someone was in there searching for something.

  Heart thumping, every sense attuned to his surroundings, he edged quietly forward. He listened intently to the scuffling noises. With one swift movement he kicked open the door and lunged in. A black-clad man spun around and went for his gun.

  “Drop it! Put your hands over your head. Kick the gun over to me.”

  Conrad shone his flashlight into the man’s masked face. He winced and bent over trying to cover his eyes. Like lightning, he pulled a knife from his right-hand boot.

  Conrad brought his Glock down hard on his hand.

  “Okay, you bastard, tell me where they’ve gone!”

  The militiaman struggled to free himself. He twisted and smashed his fist into Conrad’s face. Suddenly, the shrill of a whistle sounded on the air. Startled, the man’s head jerked around. Still dizzy from the blow Conrad lunged at him sending him sprawling to the ground. He was on his feet again in seconds. Before Conrad could stop him he bolted through the door.

  The whistle shrilled again. Conrad dragged himself to his feet. He shook his head to clear the fuzziness. Hot pain surged through his skull threatening to bring him down again. He staggered to the door. The militiaman had disappeared. Cursing loudly, he chased after him giving a series of sharp blasts on his whistle. The sound reverberated round the walls, echoing down the corridors. Boots clattered on bare concrete sounding like a squad of soldiers on a march.

  He dived round a corner and came up short. Above him, he could just make out the grass-covered canopy slowly closing. A rush of wind and loud roaring filled the air as a helicopter rose overhead, its tail light flashing. The platform started to descend to the floor inside the cavern. The pilot banked to the right, straightened and headed off. Conrad watched the tail light flicker and vanish into a bank of low cloud.

  “What the hell was that?” Sasha shouted, running into the cavern.

  “Remember the helicopter I mentioned disappearing over the peaks. This is where it was going,” Conrad muttered through clenched teeth.

  “It’s the way they brought me in,” Wallace said. “Whoever it was either came back for something or he was completing a final check.”

  “Come on. I want to search the Generalissimo’s room. There may be something there that will give us a clue.”

  Three flashlights pierced the darkness of the Generalissimo’s quarters. There was little to be seen. Whatever the masked man had been searching for, he must have found it. Conrad spotted a stainless steel bucket and ladle protruding from an open cupboard set against the back wall. Yanking it out, he examined it closely. Something flashed into his memory and flashed out again. He couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he had missed something.

  “We’re not going to find anything more here. Let’s get going.”

  Dawn had broken by the time they left the facility. They emerged into blinding white light that seared their eyeballs. Quickly, they donned their snow glasses and secured their parkas. It was snowing much more heavily now. Every blast of icy wind sent thick flurries billowing across the Alps. Conrad pulled out his binoculars and swept the mountains. Through breaks in the flurries, he could just make out the hazy outline of the cable car wires stretching up to the Piz Gloria.

  The going was rough, the rubble path obliterated by snow, concealing the hazards underfoot.

  “Sod it!” Wallace cursed as his foot sank between two jagged stones.

  “Take it easy,” Conrad called over his shoulder. “The last thing we want is an injury up here. It could be fatal.”

  “You think I don’t know that!” Wallace answered in a surly tone.

  They had reached the bottom of the obscured trail when Sasha stopped dead. He cocked his head to one side.

  “Did you hear that?”

  They strained their ears then they heard it: the faint drone of an aircraft. Suddenly, a chopper loomed out of the curtain of snow. A shot rang out, then another.

  “He’s trying to pick us off,” Wallace shouted, pulling at the AK-47 on his back.

  “Aim for the fuel tanks,” Conrad yelled, letting off a volley of gunfire. An answering volley chattered back, echoing across the mountains. “There’s only one guy shooting. The pilot is having enough trouble staying airborne.”

  The helicopter was veering dangerously left and right as the pilot fought to keep it under control. Another burst of gunfire filled the air. Suddenly, the chopper slewed sideways, completely out of control.

  “We’ve got him!” Sasha bellowed over the roar of the wind. “He’s going down!” They followed its progress as it lost height, bouncing crazily in a drunken dance of death before disappearing. Suddenly, a loud bang reached their ears. “They’ve crashed!” The smell of smoke drifted upwards.

  “Rescue teams will be out in minutes,” Conrad yelled. “It’s unlikely anybody survived. We have to get to the wreckage before they do.”

  They slid down at breakneck speed. Conrad groaned as he hit a rock full on, knocking the breath out of him. The mangled wreckage of the chopper lay embedded in deep snow.

  “He must have been one hell of a pilot,” Wallace remarked grudgingly. “The fuselage is still in one piece.”

  The pilot lay slumped over the controls. His mouth and eyes were wide open in a silent scream. A deep gash ran from his forehead down the side of his face. Wallace stuck his hand through the shattered window and felt for a pulse. Dead as a door nail. Another man lay sprawled face upwards in the snow, arms and legs akimbo like a snow angel. Conrad pulled off the man’s balaclava.

  “This one�
�s still alive!” he shouted. He bent over the man. “Tell me where is the Generalissimo?”

  “You… can’t… stop… him… now. It’s… too… late.” Blood poured from the corners of his mouth.

  “Tell me!” Conrad shook him roughly. For a brief moment the man opened his eyes and grinned devilishly.

  “Where is he, damn you! Tell me!” The man’s head slumped backwards, his eyes still wide open.

  “Stop it, Jack! Enough, he’s gone.”

  Conrad sat back on his haunches, his breath coming in painful gasps. They would never find the Generalissimo now. What the hell were they to do? What was so important that he came back for it? He stripped off the man’s parka, revealing a gold armband emblazoned with a single black crystal. There was nothing else on him except a Swiss army knife, a small compass and some soiled tissues.

  “One of the inner circle, but only just,” Wallace muttered. “Trusted enough to be sent back to get what the Generalissimo wanted.”

  “Even soldiers have old ticket stubs, receipts, a wallet. There’s nothing on this guy to identify him. Take the balaclava. There’s a chance we can get some DNA results from saliva around the mouth opening. If he’s got a record, Interpol will have it.”

  Conrad gazed upwards. Black, ominous clouds were rolling over the peaks. The wind had picked up blowing flurries of snow against rocky outcrops. Whipping out his satellite phone he punched in Dreher’s number.

  “Ernst, listen carefully. A helicopter has crashed up here. The emergency services are probably on their way. You must stop them. We need time to search the wreckage. The pilot and another militiaman are dead.”

  “The rescue team will have started out… ”

  “Just stop them, Ernst!” Conrad cut in.

  He stowed the phone and trudged over to the wreckage, his legs knee-deep in snow. Wallace was already picking through the debris and throwing bits of metal aside. It took all their strength to tear off the door on the passenger side. Conrad squeezed inside and looked around the mangled cabin. He could see that a piece of metal had pierced the pilot’s stomach. His dead hands clutched at it in a futile attempt to rid himself of his pain. Something was protruding from under the pilot’s seat. The man’s weight had it firmly wedged underneath.