by Trevor Scott
THE DOLOMITE SOLUTION
A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller #3
Trevor Scott
SALVO PRESS
An Imprint of Start Publishing LLC
New York, New York
Also by Trevor Scott
Fractured State (A Novella)
The Nature of Man
Discernment
Way of the Sword
Drifting Back
Fatal Network (Jake Adams #1)
Extreme Faction (Jake Adams #2)
The Dolomite Solution (Jake Adams #3)
Vital Force (Jake Adams #4)
Rise of the Order (Jake Adams #5)
The Cold Edge (Jake Adams #6)
Without Options (Jake Adams #7)
The Stone of Archimedes (Jake Adams #8)
Boom Town (Tony Caruso #1)
Burst of Sound (Tony Caruso #2)
Hypershot (Chad Hunter #1)
Global Shot (Chad Hunter #2)
Strong Conviction
The Dawn of Midnight
Duluthians: A Collection of Short Stories
The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods (A Young Adult Mystery)
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and not intended to represent real people or places.
THE DOLOMITE SOLUTION © 2012 by Trevor Scott.
This edition of THE DOLOMITE SOLUTION © 2013 by Salvo Press.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Salvo Press, 609 Greenwich Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10014.
Published by Salvo Press,
an imprint of Start Publishing LLC
New York, New York
Please visit us on the web at
www.start-media.com
Cover iStock Photos by Karina Tischlinger and SCM Studios.
ISBN: 978-1-62793-442-8
Visit the author at: www.trevorscott.com
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the people of Innsbruck, Austria and the Dolomite region of Northern Italy. In Germany, thanks to Susie Rode-Halitaj for her hospitality and friendship. A special thanks to the thousands of scientists currently mapping the human body in the Human Genome Project. Their dedicated work will soon find cures for ailments that kill millions each year. As always, I salute my Air Force, Army, Navy and Marine Corps colleagues past and present—millions of dedicated men and women who have kept this nation free.
1
Heavy snow swept across Axamer Litzum’s ski slopes, swirling in a furious squall. Moments later the mountain cleared like the tranquil March dusting it was supposed to be, exposing the rocky peaks to the south.
Allen Murdock leaned his lanky frame over his ski poles on the top of the main run, gazing anxiously at the chair lift as it dropped off the occasional skier. With the howling wind and biting snow, not many were braving the elements. Most had escaped to the lodge below for the warmth of the fireplace or drinks. Murdock, wearing a full orange ski suit with black slashes across the arms and legs, wouldn’t have been on the mountain either if it had not been for his insistent partner. He had his goggles down, and just below his thin nose ice was forming on his skinny black moustache. He tried unsuccessfully to lick it away.
He thought back to when he had watched on T.V. the Austrian Franz Klammer win the 1976 Olympic downhill race on this very mountain. He couldn’t imagine racing in these conditions. He was a decent skier, yet still felt somewhat intimidated by the sheer size of the Austrian Alps. He was also uncertain why his partner had wanted to meet him here when the resort was about to close.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. A lone skier slid from the chair lift and skated directly toward him, spraying snow up into his face.
Marcus Quinn lifted his goggles and shifted one side of his mouth up to form a knowing smirk, as if life were one big joke and he already knew the punch line. He was a wiry man in his mid thirties. A good six inches shorter than Murdock, his body seemed built more for the marathon than skiing. The skin on his face was taut across prominent chin and cheek bones, like his skeleton would pop through at any moment. Other than his black, waist-length ski jacket and knit watch cap, he wore khaki pants that would do nothing to keep out the wet and cold for long.
“I see you showed,” Quinn said, barely opening his mouth as he spoke.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
They had been partners for less than a month in the most unconventional sense. Having worked together in Air Force intelligence in Germany years ago, Quinn had showed up at his place in Frankfurt following five years in prison. To say Quinn had changed would have been a grave understatement. Murdock had barely recognized Quinn’s physical resemblance to the cutting image of the military officer he had been. Instead, Quinn’s arms had crudely carved tattoos, and he had muscles where flaccidity had once threatened to take over. Even more startling had been his attitude of complete petulance. In a short while in Frankfurt, Quinn’s acerbity had been placated only by his own wife’s hospitality and their combined alliance.
Quinn gazed down the mountain. The snow had lightened some, but the wind was swirling it around like a twister. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Murdock. You beat me to the parking lot and you get to live.”
Murdock was shocked. “What do you mean? We’re partners.”
“Bullshit,” Quinn yelled above the din of the wind. “We were partners. I worked my own deal with Tirol Genetics.” He seemed to look right through Murdock like he was a ghost. “You’ve become a real pain in the ass, Murdock.” He checked his watch. It was nearly four. “Go on,” he said, pointing a ski pole down the slope. “I’ll give you a head start.”
Murdock considered his options, glancing first down the mountain and then at the man he thought he knew better than this. He had been skiing for a few hours waiting for this meeting, and his legs were already aching from the pounding they had taken, his cheeks stinging from the cutting snow.
Quinn unzipped his ski jacket and showed Murdock the butt of his gun. “Or I could just shoot you right now.” A smile came to his face as he envisioned the hollow point blasting a hole through his old friend’s chest and blood flashing out onto the perfect snow behind him.
“But—”
Quinn reached for his gun. Murdock turned his skis downhill and skated off before going into the tuck of a downhill racer and disappearing into a blanket of white.
“Stupid fucker,” Quinn said to himself. He zipped his coat, adjusted his goggles over his eyes, and flew down the mountain after the man.
Murdock was skiing faster than he ever remembered going. Even with the goggles, his vision was drastically impaired. With every bump, he flew out of control. As he topped a bluff, his stomach seemingly exited through his throat. All the while, he wondered what had come over his partner. It didn’t make sense unless he had found out about his other deals. He couldn’t think of that now. He had to reach the parking lot first.
Quinn could have easily caught or passed Murdock. Instead he stayed far enough behind him to keep the pressure on, yet not make him lose control. He had a constant wicked smile across his face, catching snow in his open mouth like a dog with its head out a truck window.
Murdock was relieved when he saw the parking lot appear through the blustering snow. He started slowing down with wide, cutting turns, made a final veer in front of a snow bank, clicked off his skis, and flipped his goggles up.
Seconds later, Quinn came to a halt alongside Murdock, took off his skis and hoisted them over his head. He smiled and said, “Let’s go, Allen. I’ll buy y
ou a beer.”
Murdock sighed with relief. He knew that when Quinn said he’d do something, he damn sure meant it. But he had also come to know his sick sense of humor.
“You can put your rentals in your car,” Quinn said. “Change into your shoes. And lose that damn neon ski suit.”
After Murdock was changed, Quinn motioned him to the car.
“Where we going?” Murdock asked. “We can get a beer at the lodge.”
“No. I thought we’d go down the mountain a ways. There’s a great Gasthaus a few kilometers from here.” Quinn opened the doors electronically and got in.
Murdock hesitated, looking back at his car, and then reluctantly got in with Quinn.
Quinn didn’t say a word. He simply drove off down the mountain along the winding road. Snow made it impossible to see the edge, which might have been a blessing considering the drop-off. He picked up speed.
“What the hell are you doing?” Murdock screamed. “You’re fucking crazy.” He clutched the edge of the seat and the handle on the door.
“That’s what I’d like to know from you.” Quinn glared at him longer than safety would dictate. Then he turned back and popped a heavy metal tape into the slot, cranking it to a deafening level. “I hope you like Ozzy,” he screamed above the music.
“You’re gonna kill us,” Murdock yelled. He was clutching the handle tighter, wondering if he’d survive a jump at this speed.
“You got that half right,” Quinn muttered.
In a short while, they reached the valley and the road got better. Snow was still coming down in slanted sheets and then swirling around in mesmerizing snakes on the highway. They came to the autobahn and Quinn entered the ramp toward Innsbruck. He punched it and the car powered forward at an obscene rate. Quinn turned the music even louder.
“I thought we’d fuck over Richten like we planned,” Quinn screeched, watching Murdock through shifting eyes to his right.
Murdock wasn’t sure what to say. He had been playing one against the other, collecting pay from anyone who would dish it up. “Considering your past,” Murdock yelled, “you can understand making the most of a situation.”
Quinn pondered that. His past was why he was here in the first place. If it hadn’t been for one man, he would still be in the Air Force instead of an ex-con subjugated by greed and impulses even he didn’t truly understand.
Minutes later they were at the western edge of Innsbruck. The Opel turned off the autobahn and wound around to Innrainstrasse along the Inn River. Quinn lowered the music to the speed of the car. It was starting to get dark, but even in daylight the snow would have made it impossible to see the river. When they reached the new university, Quinn found a parking spot and got out.
“Are you coming?” he asked Murdock, leaning back inside.
“Where we going? I thought we were going for a beer?”
“Just get out,” Quinn demanded.
With a moment’s hesitation, Murdock did as he was told. Quinn locked the door with his electronic key and then started walking toward a row of buildings that skirted the edge of the river. The snow wasn’t as thick as it had been in the mountains. The earlier stuff had fallen as rain in the city, and had only recently started freezing into flakes.
“If we’re going to the scientist’s place, he’s not there,” Murdock said. “Remember? He isn’t due back for a couple of days.”
Quinn kept trudging forward. “You’re gonna love this, Allen.”
Murdock looked around for help, but he knew he was alone. He had come down from Germany just days before to work the deal with the president of Tirol Genetics. He considered his wife back in Frankfurt, wanting to come along to finish the deal as normal. Even though they had not been on the best of terms lately, she had begged to come along. And he would have allowed her if it had not been for Quinn’s insistence that she remain at home.
On the other side of the road the river swished by in a constant melody. The two of them entered the front of the building and headed straight for the stairs. When they got to the third floor, Quinn grinned as he unlocked the scientist’s apartment door and clicked on a light.
Inside, the room was ransacked. The place was rented by Tirol Genetics’ top research scientist, but he was down in the Dolomites finishing his project.
“Did you have to do this?” Murdock asked, walking around picking up a few pieces of paper and setting them on a coffee table.
“I didn’t find a thing,” Quinn admitted. “But I had a helluva time trying. Check this out.” He escorted Murdock back to the bedroom.
Quinn pushed him into the darkness and then turned on the light. Murdock jumped back a few feet when he saw the naked woman tied to the bed. Her mouth was wrapped with duct tape, and her dark hair stuck out in a mess from all angles. She looked more Slovenian or Turkish than Austrian.
“Who the hell is she,” Murdock demanded.
Quinn had taken a seat in a rocking chair, unzipped his coat, and had his gun out with the silenced barrel pointed directly at Murdock. “Take off your clothes,” Quinn said to him.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You know Ute would cut it off if she knew.”
“Do it.” Quinn’s jaw tightened and he cocked the hammer on the 9mm automatic.
Murdock did as he was told. He stood now with his hands crossed over his chest.
“Boxers,” Quinn quipped. “I had a feeling. You can’t do her with those on.”
Murdock reluctantly lost his last bit of decency.
“So she does excite you,” Quinn said. “Go ahead.”
Murdock hesitated until Quinn sent a round flying just over his head, hitting a mirror behind him.
He went to the bed and got on top of her. She was struggling, trying to protest behind the tape, and arching her chest up and bottom down like she was trying to sink into the mattress.
Quinn picked up a camera from the nightstand and started flashing instant photos, stacking them on his lap.
After Murdock had been forced to enter her again and again, he was finally allowed to get dressed. Murdock went ahead to the car, and Quinn followed after a short while.
“Why’d you make me do that?” Murdock asked as they drove off.
“Insurance.”
The snow wasn’t doing much at the moment, falling lightly to the cobblestone street. Quinn drove to the old town region and parked in a city lot along the river.
“Now where are we going?” Murdock asked. “I should go back and get my car at the resort.”
“You know you’re a nosy bastard. You ask one more question and I’ll pop your ass right there. Now get your ass out and follow me.”
Murdock did as he was told. He knew that something had changed in this man, yet he wasn’t sure what it was. He had been intense in the past, but not like this.
They stepped quietly through the narrow cobbled streets of the old town, Quinn setting a slow and steady pace. In a few blocks they were at a dark, gloomy place, with dumpsters lining one brick wall. Snow was starting to cover the alley.
“What—”
“Shhhh...” Quinn pulled Murdock against the wall. “I told you not to say a word,” Quinn whispered, his left arm wrapped around the man’s neck.
Murdock couldn’t say a word now if he wanted to. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled like the woman had squirmed under him just a short while ago, his arms flailing at his sides. He was bigger than this man. He should be able to escape, he told himself. But he couldn’t do a thing.
“Remember what you just did to that woman,” Quinn whispered. “That’s what I’m gonna do to your lovely wife, Ute.”
Murdock struggled with all his power.
“The difference is, she lets me tie her up.”
Quinn jerked back and twisted with unusual strength, like he had learned from the Marine in prison. There was a snap and Murdock’s body went limp in Quinn’s arms. Quinn dragged him behind a dumpster and lay him precisely as he wanted him, as if presenting him for burial. T
hen he shot the man and rolled him onto his own blood.
“There,” Quinn whispered softly. “Now don’t go anywhere until I get back. I’m not done with you yet.”
He slipped back through the alley toward his car.
2
Techno music blared through the dark room, while dozens of bodies mashed together in chaos, their clothes glowing in the black lights, and the strobes pulsating against their bodies as if they were being fornicated by aliens.
Jake Adams leaned against a bar trimmed in pastel neon lights, sipping an overpriced beer and protecting the drink he had bought for the woman he had known for only a few hours. He had striking features. Strong jaw. Dark hair a bit longer than most in the bar. A physique, although masked somewhat by the bulky leather jacket, like that of a fencer or decathlete. Others had said he was more than good looking, yet he had never given his appearance much thought. After all, it was only skin over muscle over bone.
The woman he came in with smiled at him as she danced with a balding man who looked happy enough to be in love with his own disgustingly flabby body, and Jake couldn’t take his eyes off the contrast that was her. She was wearing black spandex that clung to perfectly long legs, exercised, Jake guessed, by what she was doing now. Her low-cut, white cotton blouse bounced with each step, making him wonder how she kept her substantial breasts from falling out. As it was, there wasn’t much she was hiding. She was more than skin, bone and muscle.
He took another sip of beer. This wasn’t his kind of place. He had met the beautiful blonde a few blocks away at Innsbruck’s most popular jazz club, and after a few drinks she had suggested this place. Probably to show off that wonderful body, Jake thought. Which was all right with him.
It was closing in on one in the morning and Jake, who was in good enough shape at thirty-five to dance until morning, was starting to feel the effects of all the beer. He still hadn’t recovered fully from his flight a few days ago from Portland.