The Lions of Lucerne

by Brad Thor

  “I was thinking about that. If for some reason the two men got separated or couldn’t get back to their car, they would need to know they could still get up the mountain, so they would have to keep their passes on them at all times.”

  “Why not just carry enough cash to be able to buy a new ticket?”

  “That means dealing with a cashier…maybe standing in a line. There’s too much chance of being remembered or seen on a security camera. If Pilatus is where they’re staying, they’d need to get up and down as easily as possible. Hence the need for keeping the passes on them at all times. Now, if they aren’t using the hotel, where else might they be?”

  Claudia twisted her lip and frowned. “Aside from the gondola and cable car stations, the mountain only has scattered cowsheds and yurts that are used for hikers…. What are you thinking?”

  “There is a small airfield on the map here at Alpnachstad. It would be a piece of cake for Miner to get in and out from here with relatively little interference. Do you know if it’s a private airfield?”

  “From what I remember, it’s mainly for civilian aircraft, but there are one or two military hangars…. That’s it!” cried Claudia, thumping her palms against the VW’s steering wheel.

  “What?” said Scot. “What’s it?”

  “I was wrong,” said Claudia.

  “About what?”

  “About Pilatus.”

  “How so?”

  “I was wrong when I said the attraction, the tourism infrastructure such as the hotels, was built on top of the mountain, unlike the Jungfraujoch.”

  “So, either it is or it isn’t.”

  “Actually, it is and it isn’t. All of the things the tourists see are pretty much sitting on top of Pilatus. The final cable car ride up and the cogwheel railway each approach the summit from different sides of the mountain. Normally the tourists go up one side and come down the other. The marketing people at Pilatus call it the Golden Round Trip. The cable car and the cogwheel railway arrive and depart beneath the Hotel Bellevue, which is partly recessed within the mountain.”

  “So?”

  “So, when I first started climbing in competitions, I did some around Pilatus. My grandfather was a climber and he was my coach. He had done a lot of climbing on Pilatus itself. Do you know what my grandfather did for a living before he retired?”

  “No, but I hope it has something to do with what we’re talking about.”

  Claudia ignored Scot’s crack. “He was an engineer with the army.” She looked at Scot as if where this was leading should be obvious. Scot looked right back at her with a blank stare.

  “Scot, have you ever seen a Swiss military base in all your visits to Switzerland? Ever seen any piece of military hardware except for a jet that might have flown overhead?”

  “No, I never have. I always heard that despite their continuing stance of neutrality, the Swiss had a pretty good army. Nobody ever saw it, though, because…” His voice trailed off.

  Claudia finished the sentence for him. “Because everything is hidden away in the mountains. When I was accepted into the Federal Attorney’s Office, my grandfather was very proud of me. I was his only grandchild. With my security clearance and role with the Bundespolizei, he began opening up to me more, telling me about what he did with the army. Do you know now what he did?”

  “He was involved with the construction of the military mountain fortresses.”

  “Very good, Agent Harvath. Yes, he was one of the engineers on the primary design team. From what he told me, they were involved with constructing these incredible fortresses throughout Switzerland. Oftentimes they used the development of ski resorts or other tourist attractions as a cover for all of the military activity. If you were building some sort of resort or something to boost tourism, who would suspect the real reason for gondolas, cable cars, or—”

  “Cogwheel railways!” Scot broke in.

  “Yes, again,” replied Claudia. “How can someone so smart not have the good sense to stay out of the water until spring?”

  “A good swim relaxes me and helps me to think. Much like a well-placed gun in the back. So Pilatus is one of these Swiss military fortresses?”

  “No.”

  Scot’s heart sank. The pieces had all seemed to finally be coming together.

  Then Claudia spoke again. “It isn’t one now. It used to be, but my grandfather said it had been decommissioned.”

  Scot’s hopes began to rise. “Decommissioned, meaning it was abandoned?”

  “Sort of. It was sealed off and put on the inactive list.”

  “But it wasn’t destroyed?”

  “No, nothing like that. The Swiss are pragmatists. You never know when we might need something like that again. It was just sealed off and left alone.”

  “So theoretically, if Miner knew about this place, which in his position with the military there is a good chance he did, all he would have to do is figure out a way to unseal it?”

  “It might not even be that difficult. According to my grandfather, there were several ways to access these fortresses. They needed to circulate air, so there were ventilation shafts. There were also escape passages. Cargo bays for delivering materials and supplies…”

  “I’m liking your grandfather more and more. Do you think there’s any chance he might be able to help us? A person with that much knowledge could be very useful.”

  “I think my grandfather would have liked nothing better. But, he passed away two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Scot, and he really was—sorry for Claudia, sorry for himself, and most of all, sorry for the president.

  Claudia seemed not to hear him. “He told me that every structure you saw on Pilatus served a purpose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For example, Pilatus already had the very large Hotel Pilatus Kulm, but they then built the little Hotel Bellevue.”

  “What was the Bellevue’s purpose?” asked Scot.

  “That he couldn’t share, even with me, but he said nothing happens by accident. Every structure serves a purpose. There’s the purpose the tourist appreciates and then the purpose the military appreciates. Those engineers were some of the greatest minds Switzerland has ever known.”

  “Claudia, from what you’ve told me, it seems reasonable that Miner might be using this inactive fortress as his base. The question is, though, which way did he get in? You said there are many ways in, and all of the structures serve a purpose, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So there are the two hotels, and the cable car and cogwheel railway come and go from just beneath the Hotel Bellevue. Are there any other important structures on top of Mount Pilatus?”

  “Let me think. The hotels, a small weather station, a radar station, and a…” Claudia’s voice trailed off.

  “And a what, Claudia? What is it? What else is up there?”

  “A church,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes.

  Harvath repeated the words that Miner had said when they last saw him, which at that point seemed to make no sense at all, “Under God, all things are possible.”

  Claudia pressed down hard on the accelerator, and the pair sped toward Bern.

  71

  Harvath saw pictures and symbols of bears everywhere as they entered Bern. Claudia explained that the bear was the emblem of the city and the canton. They passed signs and coats of arms with bears, bakeries with bear-shaped cookies, and even a bear pit with a couple of live frolicking bears.

  Claudia was careful to make sure that they weren’t being followed. She crossed back and forth across the Aare River several times and chose small out-of-the-way streets where it would be obvious if someone was behind them. This was Scot’s first time in Bern, and he marveled at the ancient sandstone-and-mahogany buildings, the covered arcades of the Old Town, the brightly colored fountains, and the spire of the Münster church, which Claudia told him was the highest in Switzerland.

  Far below the Münster, at the
foot of an enormous retaining wall, was Claudia’s neighborhood. It was called the Matte. Once a workers and artisans’ quarter, it was now very popular with the young Bernese in the city’s various creative fields. While Claudia couldn’t exactly classify what she did for a living as creative, it did demand certain amounts of creativity from time to time, and besides, she really liked the area’s energy.

  They agreed that since Scot needed to make a phone call and use a fax, she would drop him at her friend Fabia’s travel agency, which was only a couple of blocks from her flat. Claudia’s apartment was on the fifth floor of a typical European walk-up. As much as Scot protested to the contrary, he needed to rest and five flights of stairs would have been murder on him after everything he had been through today. The thing Scot didn’t like was that there was no doubt the American hit team had followed Claudia from Bern to the Jungfrau and they probably had her apartment under surveillance right now. She was convinced, though, that she could get in and out without being seen. After getting Scot set up in Fabia’s private office, Claudia told him she would be back as soon as she ran a couple of errands and got the rest of what they needed from her apartment.

  One of Fabia’s staff was sent to a small restaurant on the corner to get Scot something to eat. She returned with typical Bernese favorites, fried veal and sauerkraut. To top it off, there was a little bar of Toblerone chocolate.

  Scot thanked the woman. Once she had closed the door, he took a couple bites of his food and spread his paperwork in front of him. He picked up the phone and dialed a number by heart.

  “Lawlor,” came the clear, curt voice over the line. The connection made it sound as if he were only across the street, rather than thousands of miles away.

  “Gary, it’s Scot.”

  “Harvath? Where the hell are you?”

  “All in good time. What’s going on at your end? Any luck getting the president back?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “I guess that answers my other question. I’m still persona non grata, correct?”

  “You are much worse than that, my friend.”

  “Gary, I think I may be able to help you out, but you have to share with me what you have first.”

  “Jesus, Harvath. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

  “Because we’ve got a history together and you know I wasn’t involved with the president’s kidnapping and I had nothing to do with Natalie Sperando and her friend being murdered.”

  “History or not, I’ll tell you what I know, but after that, you tell me where you are.”

  “Deal.”

  “We’re maxed out. The FBI, CIA, DOD…we’ve got every agent from every possible law enforcement agency working on this, and we still haven’t come up with anything. The kidnappers cut off the president’s finger and sent it to Vice President Marshfield with a ransom demand of fifty million dollars. We’re convinced they will kill the president if we don’t give in to their demands.”

  “You’re sure the finger was his?”

  “DNA and print positive.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “You’re telling me. It really shook Marshfield up.”

  “How’s he handling this?”

  “He’s hanging tough on the no-negotiation-with-terrorists policy. Other than that, he’s falling apart. He looks like shit and hasn’t slept or eaten in days. He doesn’t even consult with DaFina anymore. Every time someone comes to him for a decision on what the next move should be, he kicks them out and presumably hops on the horn to someone outside his office. There’s a rumor he’s in touch with a psychic.”

  “I hate to say this, but I could have told you this would happen. The man has no balls.”

  “Indeed. Now you know what I know. It’s your turn. Where are you?”

  “Before we start, I want you to record this. I’ve got a lot to cover and I know there are people you will want to play this back for, so get the tape rolling.”

  “I didn’t ask for your life story. I want to know where you are.”

  “I’ll tell you, but I strongly advise that you do not trace this call.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one, I won’t be here after we hang up, and two, if you trace it, the information, as secure as you think your agency is, might fall into the wrong hands. Just trust me. It’ll all be clear after I’m finished.”

  “All right, Scot. Go ahead. It’s your dime.”

  “First of all. Give me your fax number. I’m going to be sending several things through, and I want to know they are going to a secure line.”

  Lawlor gave Scot a number.

  “And you’re in your office right now, alone?”

  “Yes. What is this all about?”

  “I think I know who actually kidnapped the president and where he is being held.”

  “You what?” Lawlor couldn’t believe his ears. “Where the hell are you? What evidence do you have?”

  Scot filled Lawlor in on the entire story, starting with how he thought the kidnapping happened, all the way to his swim down the Reuss a couple of hours ago.

  “I’m faxing the contents of the envelope that was in André Martin’s locker at Union Station. If you send a man to my apartment, you’ll find the piece of chocolate I recovered from the Utah farmhouse buried in the planter box outside my bedroom window. I’m also faxing the shipping invoice for Gerhard Miner’s wine. I think when we find out who paid for it, we’ll have the connection between Miner and Senator Snyder. Can you put one of your people in South Africa on it right away?”

  “Of course. I just hope it shakes out in time.”

  “Then wish me luck.”

  “Luck? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “My job was to protect the president, and I didn’t do that properly, so now my job is to get him back.”

  “Scot, if you’re right, you could only make things worse by storming that mountain alone.”

  “First, I won’t be alone. Second, I’m tired of being on the defensive and getting shot at every twelve hours. And third, if the kidnappers intend to make good on their threat, the president doesn’t have a whole lot of time left.”

  “Scot, just take a second and think about the situation. If they kill him, they’ll never get the money. They’re not going to strangle the golden goose.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Who knows what they’ll do next. The longer we sit around on our asses, the worse his odds are.”

  “You can’t just John Wayne your way through this. Give me time to look into what you’ve told me.”

  “So you think I’m right about all of this?”

  “If what you’ve uncovered is true, you’ve made a hell of a lot more progress than all of our agencies combined. But we’re talking if.”

  “Well, if you add up all the bullets that have been fired at me since Wednesday, I’d say this whole thing is as far away from an if as you can get.”

  “I agree, but this is a hostage situation.”

  “And the clock is ticking. Listen, Gary, no matter what you say, the president was snatched on my watch and a lot of men died. I was responsible for them, and I let them all down. The only way I can make it right is to see to it that the president is returned safely and that the people behind his kidnapping pay. I won’t allow my men to have died in vain. Keep playing defense if you want, but the smart money’s on the offense.”

  With that, Harvath hung up the phone.

  72

  It took Claudia twenty minutes to run her errands and gather most of the equipment she and Scot would need. As she crept through the back door of her apartment building, his words still echoed in her mind. The fact that her apartment would be watched was a given. There was probably a person or persons watching her office as well.

  As she crept quietly up the stairs, she wished she hadn’t talked Scot out of coming with her. It was a silly thought and she knew it, but she felt safe around him. When she got to the top landing, she turned and walked
toward apartment 5B. As her left hand trailed along the iron railing, her right gripped the butt of her SIG-Sauer. She was grateful that Scot had given her his remaining three nine-millimeter rounds.

  At the door, she examined the locks closely for any signs that they had been tampered with. There were none. She pulled her keys from her pocket, selected the correct one, and gently slid it into the lock. Quietly, she turned back the upper lock and then repeated the process on the lower. The door slid noiselessly open on its hinges. Claudia pushed it the rest of the way, to make sure no one was standing behind it. Scot had warned her not to turn on the lights, because it might alert anyone watching the front of the building that she had returned home. She took a moment to let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness that was growing outside her windows and filling the apartment.

  Her weight distributed evenly between both legs and her feet in a wide stance, Claudia reached out with her left hand for the brass doorknob of the hall closet. She twisted, but it wouldn’t budge. Piece of junk, she thought to herself. You always needed to put your weight against the door and lift up on the knob to get it open. Claudia didn’t like having to get that close, but she had no choice. She took a deep breath and in one quick movement leaned against the door, twisted the handle, and popped it open.

  She immediately jumped back, not quite sure of what she expected to come flying out at her. Nothing did. She saw two of the items she was looking for and, without setting down her pistol, removed them from the closet and placed them on the entryway floor.

  Her heart was beating as she prepared to close the door, afraid someone would be standing on the other side when she swung it shut. She knew she was being too cautious, but somehow that didn’t seem like a bad thing. Moving backward toward the front door, she raised her pistol to chest level and nudged the closet door closed with her foot. There was nothing behind it except her living room.

  Claudia quickly swept the living room and the kitchen. Both were empty. It was the same in the bathroom and the linen closet. She gathered some extra medical supplies so she could change Scot’s dressing and, entering the bedroom, tossed them on the bed. She walked along its edge, toward her closet, and let out a scream as a hand reached out for her ankle.