02 Avalanche Pass

by John Flanagan

  As she left, Kormann turned his anger on Pallisani. His voice was low but it cut like a whip and he lashed the other man with it.

  “We’ll move them because I say we’ll move them. Got that quite clear?” he demanded. Pallisani nodded with ill grace. Kormann continued. “Because it will keep them off balance and because if they have been planning anything, if any of them have any idea of trying to pull some kind of stunt, we’ll take them by surprise.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it,” the Italian said in a surly tone. Instantly, Kormann’s temper went to white heat and he leaned across the desk, his eyes boring into Pallisani’s.

  “But Gino, you dumb fucking wop, we will not throw them off balance or take them by surprise if you blurt out the fact that we’re going to move them in front of that girl. When she is in this room, you keep your fucking mouth shut. Understood?”

  Pallisani’s mouth set in a thin line. His resentment was plain to see but Kormann knew that he couldn’t let this small challenge go unnoticed.

  “Understood?” he repeated and finally Pallisani had to meet his gaze and nod briefly.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Kormann held his eyes for few seconds, then allowed a more conciliatory tone to come into his voice.

  “Besides, if we put them in the Atrium restaurant, the threat to them is heightened.”

  Even Pallisani should understand that, he thought. The Atrium restaurant was two stories high, with floor to ceiling glass on the wall facing the main mountain—the mountain where they had laid charges to bring down an avalanche. It wasn’t as easy an area to secure as the gym but Kormann didn’t plan to keep them there long. He’d planned all along to move them there in the last few hours, to make sure that there was no chance of survival in the avalanche.

  What Pallisani didn’t realize, of course, was how close to the end they were. He still thought the deadline was Sunday. He had no idea that he’d be in the Atrium restaurant with the hostages when Kormann brought a couple of million tons of snow, ice, rock and trees crashing through those big picture windows.

  As she piled the dishes on the trestle table, Tina Bowden was frowning to herself. They’re moving us. She thought. Why are they moving us?

  The two men had been talking about moving something or somebody. The fact that Kormann had shown that brief flash of anger that it had been mentioned in front of her was a strong indication that they planned to move the hostages. Of course, they could have been discussing the guards on the roof or the Stinger missiles, or any of a dozen other details. But why shut up in front of her if that were the case? Why move us, she wondered? And where to?

  Maybe Jesse would have some idea, she thought. She hoped she’d be able to make contact the following morning. A worm of doubt was eating at her as she realized that any move could jeopardize the plan she’d formed with Pell. A different location would mean a different set of circumstances. Here, she was confident that they could secure the heavy glass doors and hold the guards at bay—at least in the short term. They’d have her pistol, and the weapons they could take from the three guards, each of whom carried a sidearm in addition to the stubby Ingram machine carbines. That was a total of seven weapons. But her plan depended on the fact that there was only one entrance to the gym, and one that was easily defended. That was the reason Kormann had held them here in the first place, she reasoned.

  But the advantages that the gym held for the guards would also apply to the hostages, as long as she could take out the three patrolling in the room. If they moved somewhere else Kormann might change the guard detail as well. She could be faced with half a dozen men patrolling and she knew if that happened, she’d be helpless. She might take out two men, with Pell handling the other. But any more than that and it was all over.

  She shook her head hopelessly. She needed to know more. Once again, she found herself hoping that she’d get a chance to speak to Jesse the next morning. Friday, he’d said, was the day they might try something. And now that was only a day away.

  FORTY-ONE

  THE KITCHEN STOREROOM

  CANYON LODGE

  WASATCH COUNTY

  0715 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME

  THURSDAY, DAY 6

  Jesse heard the outer door open and shut and saw the line of light go on under the bottom of the storeroom door. Almost immediately, the fluorescent lights in the storeroom came to life as well, triggered by the same switch. As the light flooded the room, he twisted the Maglite to off and slipped it into his pocket.

  He’d been here since five in the morning, using the time to get something to eat other than the potato chips and chocolate bars that he’d been taking from minibars in the rooms. Not that the choice was too appetizing here, he thought moodily. He didn’t dare risk cooking, or even heating any food, so his selection was limited to cheese, crackers and a large pressed ham that he’d found in one of the fridges.

  He heard footsteps and voices in the outer room, then distinctly heard Tina call, “We’re out of coffee.”

  He grinned slightly at that. One of the first things he’d done when he entered the kitchen, over two hours previously, had been to find the packs of coffee ready for the drip filter machine and take them all back into the storeroom.

  In the kitchen, Ralph looked up with a frown as he heard Tina’s statement.

  “We can’t be,” he said in an annoyed tone. “I put three packs there yesterday.”

  Cursing him silently, realizing what had happened, Tina tried to look casual as she shrugged at him. “That was at lunch,” she said. “I used them last night, remember?”

  The guard had glanced up at the exchange. He was disinterested for the moment but that could change at any time. Ralph was moving to where the drip filter coffeemaker stood, looking increasingly annoyed. Disagree with a chef in a kitchen, no matter what the circumstances, Tina thought, and he’d start feeling put upon.

  “It wasn’t lunch,” he said. “It was last night. Remember?”

  Tina found herself reviewing her former plan. If she had a non-detectable, virulent poison, she’d put it in Ralph’s meal along with the guards’, she thought. She shrugged at him as he stared at the empty bench.

  “Well if you did, where are they?” she asked, with undefeatable logic and he had no answer to that. The bench was bare. He went to speak but the guard, thoroughly pissed by now, interrupted.

  “For Christ’s sake, who cares? Just stop whining and get some fucking coffee on, okay?”

  It had been a good move on Jesse’s part, she thought. The one thing that the guard didn’t want delayed was his coffee. She gave Ralph an “I told you so” look and shoved past him toward the storeroom door.

  “Get me some extra eggs and butter while you’re there,” he said. She might have known that once he had lost one argument, he would try to reassert his authority in another area. Again, the guard contradicted him.

  “Fuck that. Get the coffee going first. Then get the other shit,” he ordered and Tina shrugged, trying to look annoyed. Inwardly, she felt a quick surge of satisfaction. She now had two reasons to go to the storeroom, on two different occasions.

  She shoved the spring-loaded door open and went into the storeroom. Jesse was waiting for her by the cold cabinet, the three coffee packs already in his hand. She took them and, feeling ridiculously pleased to see him, stepped forward and hugged him briefly.

  “Can’t stay long,” she said, “but I’ll be back in a minute. I think they’re planning to move us.”

  She saw the quick frown of concentration on his face as she said it.

  “Any idea where to?” he asked, and she shook her head. She was backing toward the door and he followed her for a few paces. Incongruously, she noticed that he had cracker crumbs on his shirt.

  “No idea. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said.

  She emerged into the kitchen and heard the grunt of pained satisfaction from the guard.

  “About fucking time. Now let’s get that coffee.”


  It occurred to her to tell him that if he’d bothered to fill the coffeemaker with water while she’d been gone things would move a little quicker. But there was nothing to gain by antagonizing the man so she kept the thought to herself and got the coffee brewing.

  He snatched the pot off the hot plate as soon as there was a cupful in it and poured it into a mug. The stream of brewing coffee fell, hissing and spitting, onto the hotplate. Quickly, she placed another pot under it and managed to wipe most of the spill with a sponge. The rest bubbled and burned off.

  Ralph was glaring at her from his position at the big multiple cooktops.

  “Eggs and butter,” he demanded. “And get some white wine vinegar while you’re at it.” Kormann had demanded eggs Benedict this morning. The hostages would have more stew. She pretended to look annoyed at him.

  “Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on. I’m going,” she said. She knew there was no risk he’d go to fetch the items himself. He was reestablishing his territory.

  As she entered the storeroom, Jesse already had the eggs, butter and vinegar ready for her.

  “You can’t let them move you,” he said immediately. “Odds are, they’re planning to put you in a more exposed position.”

  “That’s what I figured,” she replied. “Besides, God knows what the situation is going to be if they move us. They might increase the guards. They might put us in a spot out in the open.”

  Jesse hesitated. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “Colby figures they can be in here in ten to twenty minutes,” he said. “I guess it’s going to come down to this: if they look like they’re moving you, we’re going to have to trigger things ourselves.”

  She glanced at the door. She’d been in here too long already but they needed more time to discuss all this. She pointed to the back of the room.

  “Get under cover,” she said. Then, as he hesitated, she shoved him gently in the direction she wanted. “Go. I need to buy more time here.”

  Understanding, he moved to the back of the storeroom, squeezing himself into the narrow space between the refrigerator cabinet and the end wall. She could just see him, but she knew he was there. She decided the cover was good enough. She opened the pack of eggs and let them drop onto the floor, at the same time letting out a shriek. Then she dropped to her hands and knees and let the container of vinegar and the butter roll across the floor as well.

  “Shit!” she yelled at the top of her voice. A few seconds later, the door flew open and the guard came in, in a half crouch, his Ingram ready. He relaxed as he saw her on her hands and knees, surrounded by the sticky ruin of a dozen eggs.

  “I slipped,” she said angrily and he grinned.

  “I can see.”

  Dusting herself off, she stood up and retrieved the butter and vinegar. She gestured toward the eggs on the floor.

  “I’ll get some more of these. Then I’d better clean this up.”

  He nodded and waited while she went to the dairy cabinet for more eggs. Then he stood aside as she took them out to Ralph. The chef grinned unpleasantly at her as she set the items down beside him. He’d overheard the exchange.

  “You better clean up your mess,” he said and she nodded angrily.

  “I’ll get to it,” she said. She didn’t want to appear too eager to go back to the storeroom. “I’ll get the stew heating first.” It took her five minutes to open six cans and dump them into the stew pot. Ralph, as she’d hoped he would, couldn’t help rubbing it in.

  “Don’t forget to clean up in there,” he called, swirling vinegar into the pan of simmering water he had ready to poach the eggs.

  “Okay!” she yelled at him. “I said I’d do it!” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the guard enjoying the little spat between them. He had his coffee and was munching on a Danish that he’d warmed up in one of the microwaves. He could afford to enjoy himself. Looking sulky, she headed back to the storeroom, grabbing a sponge and a roll of paper towels as she went.

  Inside, she found Jesse had already cleaned the mess up, a wad of sodden paper towel in his hand. She leaned against one of the shelves and let go a pent-up breath. He grinned at her. “You’re doing a great job,” he said and she shook her head wearily.

  “Keep telling me. I feel like shit.” She shook her head again. “You really think that professor guy is right, don’t you?”

  Jesse didn’t hesitate this time. “We’ve got to assume he is. It’s the most logical explanation. You’re going to have to take those guards out and barricade yourself in the gym. We’ve got plenty of time. If this Emery guy is right, Colby says Kormann won’t make his move until it’s close to dark. We figure he’s got a chopper coming in to pick him up and he won’t want that to happen in daylight. So we’re looking at some time late tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But he could move us any time before then,” Tina protested and Jesse nodded.

  “Yeah. I thought of that. If you get any idea he’s going to do it, I guess you’re just going to have to start the party and I’ll call for help. Once I’ve called Dent, I’ll try to divert some of their attention from you.”

  She considered his words. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “But Jesus, what if we’re wrong on this?” They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Jesse shrugged. “It’s the best we can do,” he said. “Just be ready to move if there’s any sign of a change in their routine. Colby can’t do anything to start things moving,” he told her. “The president has forbidden it. If push comes to shove, it’s up to us.”

  “Christ, I hope we’re good enough,” she said.

  FORTY-TWO

  CANYON ROAD

  WASATCH COUNTY

  1104 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME

  THURSDAY, DAY 6

  Dent Colby put down the phone and glanced up at Maloney and Emery, his eyebrows raised in a question. He had just spent ten minutes on the phone with Roger, in which time the leader of the kidnappers had demonstrated a growing sense of paranoia, accusing Colby of trying to infiltrate men over the back ridges and of more overflights.

  In addition, the kidnappers’ leader had accused Colby of stalling over the release of the Irish prisoners. In spite of Colby’s protests that things were moving as fast as possible, Roger had added a further demand. In the early nineties, a small group of terrorists—a surviving splinter group of the Bader Meinhoff movement, had been arrested after exploding a bomb in the main square of Kassel, killing half a dozen people and injuring over twenty others. The four surviving members of the group—three had been killed resisting arrest—were serving a life sentence in Nuremburg prison. Now Roger had demanded their release as well.

  But it was his closing words that sent a shiver of premonition down Colby’s spine. Before breaking the connection, Roger had told the FBI agent that he had moved the prisoners to a new location in the hotel.

  “I’ve put them in the Atrium,” he had yelled down the line. “You’ve got a plan of the building, I’m sure. Take a look at it and see what that means!”

  Then he’d hung up.

  “Well,” Colby said to the two men, who’d overheard the entire conversation, “Do we buy it?”

  Emery was shaking his head. “The bit about the Germans? I don’t think so. Where does that come from? Nobody gives a damn about them—not even the other revolutionary groups. They were loose cannons and at the time the PLO, IRA and all the others were damned glad to have them out of the way. It’s another feint.”

  Colby nodded. He was inclined to agree. The yelling, the paranoia, the accusations, they all seemed so much at odds with the behavior described by Jesse.

  “What about his claim that we’re sneaking men in there?” he asked.

  Again Emery looked skeptical. “Could be a pointer to the fact that he’s really planning something for tomorrow,” he said. “If he gets us treading lightly, and being extra careful about spooking him, it could make life a lot easier for him if he’s planning to get out of there.”

  “One thing’s for sure
,” Maloney put in. “If he has moved them to the Atrium restaurant, the risk is heightened.”

  Kormann had been right. They did have a plan of the building and the marine colonel had been studying it. Now he pointed to the plan of the Atrium restaurant.

  “To the left of the gym and facing the main mountain,” he said. “And it’s glass from floor to ceiling. If the mountain comes down on them in there, there’s no chance anyone will get out alive.”

  Colby and Emery moved to the table where he’d spread the map. Dent frowned thoughtfully. “It’s a big open area. Not the easiest place to keep prisoners confined. Jesse told us they have three men in the room with the prisoners at the moment. In a room like this, with possible exits everywhere, he’d need eight or nine to keep an eye on things. That doesn’t leave too many to man the roof defenses. Plus they’ve all got to sleep sometime. He’s stretching things pretty thin.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s left it till now,” Maloney replied. “If he’s going to make his move tomorrow, it’s not going to matter too much.”

  Dent looked at him for a moment, then at Emery. The professor’s usually smooth-cheeked face was drawn from lack of sleep. Dent knew that he’d been awake into the small hours, tossing every possible combination of circumstances around, trying to find an answer to the enigma that faced them.

  “It fits,” Emery said simply.

  Colby let go a long breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll pass it on to Washington. But we all know what they’re going to say: Sit tight and see what develops.” He pressed the intercom buzzer for the sound tech who’d monitored the phone conversation. “Get that last tape to Washington for analysis,” he said. All conversations with Roger were digitally recorded and then transmitted via satellite to Quantico, the FBI building. Trained vocal specialists analyzed the conversations, using computer models to assess Roger’s speech patterns and mannerisms. The claim was that they could detect nuances of behavior—alterations in rhythm, pitch and tone—that could determine whether a subject was lying or acting a part. So far the results had been depressingly indeterminate. With Roger, they thought maybe he was. But then again, that meant they thought that maybe he wasn’t.