The Lions of Lucerne

by Brad Thor

  Claudia was able to pull in several more meters of rope and thought surely he was almost there when the snow around her exploded in a hail of gunfire. There wasn’t time to warn Scot. If she stayed where she was, she was a dead woman. She reacted with the speed of a cat who’d stepped onto a hot stove.

  Tying off the rope on one of the anchor pitons, Claudia rolled hard to her left toward the shelter of a small snowbank. The bullets fell like a hailstorm as the second sentry ran toward her with his weapon blazing. Claudia fought to pull the gloves from her hands. She needed to remove the pistol from inside her suit. The gloves came free and next was the tape that covered her zipper.

  The sentry was getting closer. She could hear his boots crunching in the snow as he rushed in her direction, continuing to fire. Claudia pulled part of the tape away and then yanked down on the zipper. It opened a couple of inches and then stopped. What’s the problem? Looking down, Claudia saw the tape had become caught inside the zipper. Damn it! The opening wasn’t large enough for her to get her hand in and retrieve her gun. She pulled frantically. Come on…come on!

  The man was almost all the way up the slope and in only a matter of seconds would have her perfectly in his sights. Claudia kept pulling on the zipper, then remembered her knife. She could cut a hole in the suit and pull her pistol out that way. She unsheathed the blade, pulled the material away from her body, and plunged it in. She ripped in a downward stroke and was about to reach in for her gun when she saw the sentry appear at the top of the slope. She was too late.

  As the man stood in front of her, his weapon rising to fire, it was preceded by a little red dot. Laser sight. Claudia watched helplessly as the dot traced up her leg, then her chest, where she lost track of it before it flashed once in her eyes and then came to rest on her forehead.

  Suddenly, the sentry’s body tensed and a red dot appeared on his own forehead. For a moment, Claudia didn’t understand, then the sentry’s dot darkened and began to drip. Blood!

  Looking to her right, she saw Scot precariously perched half over the lip of the crest. He was still aiming the silenced Makarov at the sentry, who slumped to his knees and fell face first into the snow, a lake of blood forming beneath his head.

  Claudia ran to Harvath as he hoisted himself onto the crest and unslung the assault rifle. For several moments he didn’t move and didn’t speak. He just lay in the snow, staring upward.

  Finally, as Claudia leaned over him, he spoke. “Wow, talk about a cliff-hanger, eh?”

  “Are you okay?”

  Scot rubbed his throat and continued to breathe heavily. “I’ll probably be wearing turtlenecks for a while, but I’ll live. How about you?”

  “Scared, but I’ll live too. You know that’s the second time you’ve done that?”

  “Done what?”

  “Saved my life.”

  “You pulled me out of the water and off this mountain, so I’d say we’re even,” said Scot.

  “Speaking of mountains, I thought you said you were a good climber.”

  “I used to be. I don’t know what’s happened. Maybe I’m getting old.”

  In most other circumstances, Claudia would have laughed at that. Instead, she just looked down at him, so happy he was alive.

  “What happened to your suit?” said Scot referring to the slash Claudia had torn with her knife. “Were you hit?”

  “No. I did it myself.”

  “What were you going to do? Distract the guy by flashing him?”

  “Very funny. I guess I can stop worrying about you now. You’re one hundred percent intact, bad sense of humor and all. Should we check the bodies?”

  “Yeah, I guess my little nap time’s over. Where there’s two sentries, there’s bound to be more. We’ve gotta get moving before they figure out we’re here.”

  “If you want to rest a few moments more, I’ll check them.”

  “No, you take the one I just shot. I think I’d better take the other guy. He looks like he might have an ax to grind with you. Look for anything that might tell us how to get inside.”

  They searched the sentries, patting down all of their pockets.

  “Anything?” Scot asked.

  “No. Just cigarettes. Nothing else useful.”

  “My guy’s still warm, like he hasn’t been outside for that long. How about yours?”

  “Same thing, I think.”

  “Good, they probably just came on duty. Hopefully no one will be expecting them to check in for a while.”

  “But this one has a radio. What if he called in?”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. Let’s get going. Grab his weapon. You know how to use it?”

  “H&K MP5. It’s a common weapon for the Swiss police. We don’t normally use silencers, but I can handle it.”

  “Good, let’s move.”

  Claudia pulled the weapon from the dead sentry and rolled him to the edge of the crest. Harvath counted to three, and they pushed both sentries over and threw the climbing gear along with them. They kicked up as much snow as they could to cover the blood and headed down the slope.

  77

  The trail was well marked, even in winter. It twisted and turned as it wove upward around high outcroppings of rock. After a final bend, Scot and Claudia came upon a small ridge that sloped downward, and in the distance she could just make out the church.

  “That’s it,” she whispered into her headset.

  “Excellent. Let’s see if anyone’s expecting us.”

  The pair lay down in the snow, and Scot affixed the nightscope to the assault rifle. He scanned the ridge and the area surrounding the little church. While Scot did that, Claudia emptied the nine-millimeter Parabellum ammunition from two of her SIG clips and loaded up the H&K submachine gun.

  “It looks quiet. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s raised the alarm,” said Harvath, rising to a crouch. “Follow me.”

  He picked a careful path, off the trail, down to the small plateau that held the church. Several times he raised the SG551 to his shoulder and peered through the scope, scanning the area to make sure they were not walking into a trap. So far, so good.

  They reached the back of the church, and Harvath tried to look in through the stained-glass windows. It was completely dark inside. He signaled Claudia to stay low, creep around the other side, and meet him in front. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and removed the Makarov from inside his snowsuit. Cautiously, he crept around his side of the building. By the time he got to the front, Claudia was already waiting for him.

  “Anybody home?” he whispered.

  “Some footprints in the snow. They look new.”

  Claudia shined her small Mag-Lite on the ground, illuminating the prints. After examining the door of the church for any wiring or alarms, Scot tried it. It was locked. He signaled Claudia what he wanted her to do and then got into a crouched position. His eye against the nightscope and his finger on the trigger, he nodded. Claudia flipped the firing selector on the MP5 to single shot and positioned the weapon where Scot had indicated on the lock. Scot nodded again, and she fired, shattering the lock into a mass of hot, broken metal. Claudia gave the door a kick and quickly jumped back as Scot ran into the dark room, scanning every corner with the night-vision device mounted on the rifle.

  Harvath signaled Claudia to join him as he continued to sweep the room. This time she understood what it meant to cover someone’s six and she did just that. The church was very small. There were about ten wooden pews on each side of a narrow aisle. The whole room took only moments to clear.

  Suddenly and without warning, Scot put his right hand up in a fist and Claudia came to a halt where she stood. He had taped his Mag-Lite to the underside of the assault rifle and now twisted it into the on position. He scanned the floor all around them. Claudia wanted to know what he was looking for, but she remained deathly quiet and didn’t move a muscle.

  Confident no one was within earshot, Harvath finally broke the silence. “Do you see the floo
r?”

  Claudia nodded yes.

  “We dragged a lot of snow in here, and it’s already starting to melt. You see there and there?”

  She nodded again.

  “Now look over there.”

  Claudia looked in the direction Scot was pointing, and on the gray flagstones she could make out the imprints of two pairs of stocking feet. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I think our friends don’t want to make the same mistake we did and track in tons of snow, especially if this is one of the ways into the underground fortress. They take their boots off at the door and carry them in. But after standing around during a watch rotation, your feet get pretty sweaty. Believe me, I know.”

  “So they walked through the church in their socks, not knowing they were leaving a trail?”

  “Yup. Time to follow the yellow brick road.”

  Claudia fell in step behind him.

  The footprints led across the floor to a raised stone platform that held the altar. Harvath scanned the flagstones for any sign of pressure plates, making sure to follow the prints step for step. They ended at an enormous stone baptismal font, above which hung a statue of the crucified Christ.

  “A lot of folks come up here for baptisms?” asked Scot.

  “Marriages mostly.”

  “Seems kind of a pain in the butt to haul the kids and everyone up here to baptize a baby.”

  “You would bring all the same people for a wedding, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess, but it seems awfully out of place.”

  “Remember, everything has a purpose.”

  “Your grandfather’s words, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, the footprints end right here, so there must be a door of some sort. We just need to find it. But first, let’s get out of these suits. I’m burning up.”

  Scot and Claudia removed their snowsuits and hid their gear as well as they could at the far end of the church. Harvath then traded Claudia her assault rifle for the H&K submachine gun. It was a weapon he knew extremely well, and it felt good in his hands. While the SG551 with its night-vision scope was excellent for taking out targets at a distance, for close quarters’ work in tight spaces, nothing beat an MP5. Scot also gave Claudia the silenced Makarov pistol with its one remaining shot.

  Back at the baptismal font, they looked for hinges or any indication of where a door might be concealed. Almost an hour had passed since they’d entered the church.

  Finally Claudia whispered, “Scot, look at this.”

  Harvath came over to Claudia’s side, where she was using her Mag-Lite to examine a series of stone reliefs above the font. “What is it?”

  “See these?”

  “Yeah, what about them?”

  “They represent the original cantons of Switzerland, but there’s something wrong.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s an extra. It doesn’t belong,” said Claudia.

  “What is it?”

  She moved her hand over the worn stone. “It looks very old, but it isn’t. It’s been made to look that way, to match the rest of the church.”

  “Great, but what is it?”

  “It’s the crest for the army corps of engineers. It was on a ring my grandfather used to wear.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “It’s hard to tell exactly, but I think that’s the point. If you were looking specifically for their crest, you would eventually find it, even though it’s been worn down. But, if you didn’t know what you were looking for or didn’t know enough to make the connection, you would pass it right by.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Let me move over here and stand where the footprints end….” Claudia moved as she spoke. “From here, my arms are too short to reach the emblem, but a taller person, like those sentries, would have no problem.”

  “Do you think the crest springs a door?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “You’re right,” said Scot. “Stand back over there and have the Makarov ready.”

  Claudia stepped backward and used the altar for cover. Scot transferred the MP5 to his left hand and reached up with his right for the emblem. The stone was cold and rough beneath his fingers. He took a deep breath and tried to push it in. Nothing happened. He then tried pulling it out—nothing. Think, he told himself. He tried turning the crest clockwise, and it began to give.

  There was a heavy grating sound of stone scraping against stone as the entire baptismal font slid back to reveal a narrow spiral staircase leading straight down.

  Open sesame, said Scot to himself.

  Small flickers were followed by a series of lights beginning to illuminate. Scot flinched, and his finger tightened around the trigger, ready to fire. After nothing further happened, he realized that there must be an automatic mechanism that turned on the lights when the hatch was sprung. Whoever designed the stairway was quite ingenious. The first fixture was far enough down so that it wouldn’t cast any light whatsoever into the church. Scot signaled Claudia, who slung the assault rifle and followed him into the stairwell.

  78

  Scot quietly descended the metal stairs with Claudia directly behind him. He delicately placed one foot in front of the other, careful not to make any sound. They were inside the Lions’ den now, and there was no telling when or where the first one would appear.

  When they reached the bottom, Claudia could see that the energy it took to move with such stealth was depleting what fragile reserves Scot had left. She gave him that same you are going to be okay look he himself had given wounded colleagues and kidnap victims he had been tasked with rescuing over the years as a SEAL. In response to her glance, Harvath simply flashed back a thumbs-up.

  He knew there was probably a mechanism to trigger the closing of the secret door above, but he didn’t have any time to waste looking for it. A small hatchway led from the bottom of the stairs into a deserted corridor. The whole scene was eerily familiar.

  He remembered visiting one of the last remaining Nazi bunkers in Berlin. Everything he now saw was exactly the same—vintage World War II. The walls, which had been painted a utilitarian gray, were amazingly smooth considering they had been carved right out of the rough stone of the mountain itself. With it located this far below the surface, there was no doubt how solid the compound was. Even the hatchway they had just passed through was made from thick sheets of steel capable of withstanding an incredible blast. The bare bulbs that lined the walls and lit the corridors were enclosed in rusty wire cages, which only added to the feeling of total isolation that the Swiss bunker exuded at every turn.

  “Where do we start?” whispered Claudia.

  A series of three different hallways branched off from where they now stood. Squares of lighter-colored paint with holes in the corners were on the wall at the beginning of each hallway and probably marked where evacuation plaques had once been. It would have been extremely helpful to look at one of those right now and ascertain the bunker’s layout.

  “Eenie, meenie, miney…We’ll take this one.”

  “What about more sentries?”

  “The way I figure it, Miner doesn’t have a lot of men he can spare.”

  “Why not?”

  “We killed two of his men in Lucerne and two more outside. That makes four. There’s a finite number of men he would have risked bringing in on this assignment. They would have to be men he could trust, men he had worked with before, and just enough to do the job. More men means more people to split the money with and more chances of word leaking out and getting caught.

  “We’ll take this tunnel first.”

  The entire structure looked deserted. The only noise came from the overhead ventilation system, which creaked and moaned as it circulated air. Someone was here, somewhere. It was just a matter of finding them.

  Scot and Claudia passed room after room…all empty. There were barracks, a mess, and even a communications room with its equipment
covered by locked metal panels. No Smoking signs were posted every three feet, and the tunnel seemed to go on forever. When they finally reached the end, they had the choice of going right or left.

  “What do you think?” whispered Claudia.

  “I think someone around here doesn’t much care for smokers.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. All the other tunnels turned left, so I say left.”

  “I agree.”

  Carefully, the two moved forward, checking each and every room for signs of life. The fact that they had yet to see any gave them both the chills, though neither would ever have admitted it.

  They came upon another room. This one appeared to be an infirmary or operating room of some sort, and it didn’t look deserted. It had been used recently. They entered and swept the room with their weapons, Scot on point and Claudia watching his blind spots. She was quickly getting the hang of this.

  Medical instruments, saline IV bags, empty vials, and surgical equipment were scattered everywhere. A stainless steel table stood in the middle of the room. Scot depressed the foot pedal of a nearby garbage can and found a mass of bloody gauze, gloves, and paper wrappers.

  “Well, now we know someone’s been here for sure,” said Scot, beckoning Claudia to come see what he had found.

  Claudia looked inside as Scot dug around the can with the muzzle of his H&K. She never learned whether he was looking for something in particular or just out of curiosity, because a stocky man with a military flattop strode into the room at that very moment.

  The man’s first reaction was surprise. The last thing he expected to see standing in his surgery room was an armed couple going through his trash.

  In one smoothly executed move, Claudia let go of the assault rifle and drew the Makarov from her waistband. She had only one shot and she used it perfectly. The bullet entered the nurse’s brain, just above his left eye. He was killed instantly and dropped straight to the cold tile floor.

  Harvath was on the man in a heartbeat, dragging him inside, where his body couldn’t be seen from the hall.

  “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.