He finally sat on the couch, giving his eyes a rest from the hypnotic flames and gazing instead out on the mountains. The peaks were taking on a warmish glow as the city of St. Moritz began to light up, a thousand reflections bouncing off the centuries-old snowpack. He’d been many places in his travels and up until now, had thought he preferred his climate to be just a tad warmer. But here in the frozen bosom of the Alps, he’d found something very alluring, very intriguing.
Cold, but mystifying. Glacial yet…
He felt his heart take another plunge. Why wasn’t she here when he came back? Didn’t she want to see him?
He shrugged off that last thought and almost unconsciously, removed his bandolier of rifle ammo and set it on the masterfully carved solid oak table in front of him. Retrieving his knife from his boot holster, he pulled a handful of bullets from the ammo ring and began dislodging the tracer rounds from their shells. Behind each cap was a small quantity of phosphorescent powder, the kick that made Hunter’s personalized tracer bullets fire so bright and frightening.
But this powder could do more than just light up the night. When coming in contact with certain types of metal—aluminum, silver, gold—the molecules reacted in such a way as to heat up several degrees Kelvin. This warmth, though minute, was still enough to show up on a FLIR-sight or a pair of NightVision goggles, both of which Hunter was carrying with him—that is, if one knew what he was looking for. It was imperative that he bring at least a couple grams of the bright stuff with him when he met the fellow travelers at the casino tonight.
So he sat, pulling his bullets apart, gathering together the precious compound, perched on the edge of the couch hoping that at any moment he would hear her coming in.
But as it turned out, Chloe was already home.
It was very surprising that he hadn’t heard her when he first came in.
The chalet was big, and some of its bedrooms were way up top, and way in the back, and the sound didn’t travel all that well throughout. But he was extremely surprised that somehow his extrasensory receptors hadn’t felt her presence somewhere in the house. It was a disturbing indication of just how much time he’d spent dwelling on her.
He’d just emptied out the last of twelve tracer rounds when a very strange, yet familiar sound came to his ears. It was like loud purring, coming from somewhere at the back end of the chalet.
He was on his feet in an instant, all thoughts of tracer powder and gambling casinos quickly fleeing his mind. Leaving his gun behind, he went to investigate.
The stairs leading to the second floor rear were rustic and old and extremely creaky. Hunter went up them without making a sound. The second floor rear was an area used primarily for guests who’d come to ski. The floor was understandably marked up, the walls scraped by hundreds of ski pole impacts. Still, Hunter moved down the hallway with the grace of a cat; the loudest sound coming from him was the beating of his heart. It felt like it was trying to leap right out of his chest.
The purring got louder as he approached the end of the hallway. He’d been doing a lot of this thing lately, both awake and in his dreams, walking down darkened corridors, wondering what would be behind the door he chose to open. He was sure a psychoanalyst could tell him the reason for all this recent skulking. But at the moment he wasn’t too sure he wanted to know the answer.
No surprise the purring was coming from the last bedroom door on the left. His heart was now racing with his brain as to which one was making the most noise—shivers of curiosity, lust, excitement and shame were running through him at the speed of light. He felt like a bomb was about to go off inside his pants.
He finally reached the door and touched the knob. It was warm. The purring was coming from inside and had now risen to a soft growl. He stopped and listened for a moment. Whoever said that the brain was a human’s most sexual organ was certainly on the mark here, he thought with a gulp. It was all he could do to turn the knob and open the door.
But open it he did…
It was Chloe doing all the purring. She was naked, lying on her stomach in the middle of an enormous bed, one faceless Nordic type roasting her from the back, while she did another from the front. She saw Hunter—and smiled with delight. This had been a plan all along. She knew he’d come back eventually, she knew that eventually he would find her here. She’d reeled him in like an expert.
Hunter stood there, shocked, but more excited than ever. What the hell was all this? He felt like he was caught in a bad porno movie. Was watching almost as good as doing it? Was it better? At that precise instant in time, he just didn’t know.
For the next five minutes, Chloe and her companions moved from position to position, without missing a beat. Her eyes remained locked on his throughout, though there were times when the bombastic lust of it all demanded she close them and get lost in it.
To say he had a photographic memory was drastically understating the case; his mind was like four separate cameras running at once, with perfect visual and auditory reception. He was drinking this scene in by the gallon. Very quickly, he lost track of how much time had passed. Was it really just five minutes? Or ten? Or more? Hunter had no idea.
Finally, he did take a step backwards, toeing the door with him. There was a limit to everything—and an art in knowing when to go. He went as quietly as he came, turning the knob softly and finally shutting the door again. He stood there, staring at it, fighting the urge to take just one more peek.
That’s when Chloe’s purr-turned-growl became a scream. Or was it a laugh? Hunter pressed his ear back to the door—he’d been hearing this sound for days now, both awake and in his dream.
When he heard it again—the last chorus in a symphony of erotica coming from behind that closed door—he knew at last that it was indeed a laugh.
That’s when he turned on his heel and quickly hurried away.
At least that question had been answered.
Thirteen
THE CASINO WAS PACKED by the time Hunter arrived.
It was hard for him to avoid making a grand entrance. Even though he came in through a side door, he was immediately mobbed by a legion of admiring, well-dressed drunks. They quickly swept him towards the same poker table that had been the center of the action the night before.
A crowd four times as large was on hand for the sequel. The two spacemen were there, too. They were sitting in the same seats, the same confused scowls etched across their faces. It was almost like they’d never left, like they’d been waiting here all day, guarding what was left of their money, anticipating Hunter’s return.
He nodded in their direction then dramatically dropped his own heavy bag of coins on the table. The large felt-lined platform nearly buckled, the $1.5 million weighed that much.
The travelers’ eyes went wide; a gasp went through the crowd. The tuxedoed pit boss snapped his fingers and a gigantic scotch-and-ginger miraculously appeared in front of Hunter. He drank it in two gulps.
“So what’s the game, boys?” he asked them finally.
They both smiled—but nervously. They’d been planning for this moment all day. They had to get it right.
“One hand, draw poker,” one replied in a deep European accent. “Winner take all…”
Hunter laughed—he was authentically amused.
“I’m in for a million and a half,” he told them, “And you’re in for point-five. That’s a little uneven, isn’t it?”
The two men never stopped smiling. One reached into his pocket and withdrew a thin piece of metal about the size of a pocket calculator. It was polished so brightly it shimmered as he threw it on the table. Meanwhile his partner let loose with a long stream of unvoweled words, spoken in some obscure European dialect.
The pit boss was immediately in Hunter’s ear, but he didn’t need any translation. The thin piece of shiny metal was a platinum draftnote, a rare but acceptable form of currency in post-war Europe. All Hunter wanted to know was how much it was worth.
“Approximate
ly one and three quarters of a million,” the pit boss informed him, “As of our daily call to the Zurich Central Bank this morning.”
Hunter looked back up at the two men. Obviously they’d been carrying the platinum note as a backup for credit all along. Now they were willing to risk it, plus what was left of their gold chips. It was strange—he hadn’t counted on them being this greedy. What was their real motive then? To bluff him out of his winnings?
“Well, now the disadvantage is my way,” he told them. “I thought you wanted this to be even.”
“We do,” the second man said. “We want something else of yours as well.”
Again Hunter laughed. The two men were at least getting points for sheer chutzpah. Maybe that was another advantage of walking in space. Maybe the weightlessness made your balls grow bigger. But the question remained: what else could these guys possibly want of his?
“I’ve got a two-piece tank truck sitting outside, about a thousand gallons of gasoline in it,” he told them. “Will that do?”
The men laughed, a little louder now. The crowd around them laughed, too. Suddenly Hunter felt like he was the only one not in on the joke.
“Okay, what do you want?” he demanded of them.
As one, the crowd turned and looked to a spot just over Hunter’s left shoulder. Both travelers nodded in that direction, too.
Hunter turned and suddenly found a graceful, blond catwoman had silently crept up beside him and was now standing, chest heaving, at the center of attention.
It was Chloe.
“We want her…” one of the men said.
Hunter looked up at her for a moment, then back at the men.
“No way,” he said, starting to pull his bag of coins away. But then he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder—it froze him from head to toe.
“Do it,” Chloe whispered to him—her voice was husky with excitement. The crowd, too, began shivering with erotic delight. It was suddenly very obvious to Hunter that this type of thing went on here in St. Moritz all the time.
His mind quickly switched into overdrive, weighing the ramifications of this unexpected twist. One thing was certain: it was not likely that he would have another crack at these two characters. He would have to deal with them here and now. The sudden inclusion of the Chloe factor was not catastrophic, simply complicating. And somewhere, deep down in that part of his mind he’d been visiting recently, something was telling him this is what he’d wanted all along.
He took one last look at her—and saw her eyes were actually tearing up, so much she wanted to be part of the stake. He turned back to the travelers and then dropped the bag of gold back on the table. The crowd ooohed with excitement once again. This was how the rich and famous amused themselves these crazy days.
“Okay, one hand, draw poker,” Hunter finally said. “Deal them out.”
The croupier did so, slowly, making sure each card fell precisely on top of the next, with the precise angle and drop time.
The first traveler picked up his cards, scanned them, suppressed a smile, and placed them back on the table.
“I’ll stay,” he declared, waving away the croupier’s offer of draw cards.
The second man picked up his hand, looked at it, and smiled even more broadly than the first.
“I’m good, too…” he said.
The crowd gasped on cue. Neither man wanted nor required a draw card. All eyes turned back to Hunter. He looked at his hand and paused for a moment. Then drawing off four cards, he placed them aside and took four new ones from the relieved dealer.
“Check to you,” he told the men.
The first man cautiously laid down his hand. He had four Queens. The second man was a bit faster. He held four Kings. Hunter reached down and flipped his hand over. The crowd let out a long, mournful groan.
He’d drawn four Jacks.
The two men were so surprised, they weren’t sure what to do next. The pit boss, too, was shocked. He stepped forward and in a very graceful, workmanlike manner, moved Hunter’s bag of gold coins across the table, placing it in front of the two men.
Then he looked up at Chloe. She was as surprised as anyone. With very tentative steps, he escorted her over to the other side of the table as well.
The two travelers knew it was essential they get out quickly now. They stood up, loaded on their winnings, including the platinum draft, and then took Chloe by the arm.
“Nice playing with you,” one leered at Hunter. “We must have a rematch—the next time we’re in town.”
The next instant they were gone, lugging the weighty treasure with them, and hastily moving Chloe along. She managed a look over her shoulder as she was led away. Once again her eyes locked on to Hunter’s.
He was not surprised in the least to see her break into a wide, devilish smile.
It took only a few minutes for the crowd to drift away from the card table. The contest they’d been anticipating all day had indeed taken a strange twist. A fortune and one of the city’s most desirable females had been won by the two unshaven men with the spring in their step and the twinkle in their eyes.
In the end it was just Hunter and croupier, the man standing station with Hunter like a priest at a burial.
“Gambling is like that, sir,” he said to Hunter, offering words of solace.
Hunter just shrugged and got to his feet. “You’re right about that, my friend.”
With that, Hunter quickly walked away, down some steps and out the side door he’d come in.
Only then did the croupier reach down and gather up the cards Hunter had thrown away before drawing the Jacks. One by one, the croupier flipped them over.
All four of them were Aces.
Not many people saw the fellow travelers leave town.
It was about 4 A.M. Two-thirds of the citizenry was still crowded into the casino; everyone else was either sleeping or passed out. The men had packed up their means of transport, a small Audi truck, and were now in the process of fueling it via a dozen containers of gasoline they’d purchased downtown.
Sitting in the cab of the truck was Chloe, suitcases packed, and wearing a stunning black traveling suit. They had so far refused to talk to her—and she had not tried to communicate with them either. It was a tough call as to what the men were most concerned about: their regained treasure or the beautiful young girl. In truth, never in their dreams did they think they would actually win all their money back, never mind getting this blond vision as well. They really weren’t too sure what they were supposed to do with her.
Their vehicle finally fueled, they quickly brought its engine to life and were off. Tires squealing, leaving a cloud of smoke and ice in their wake, they wheeled out onto the main road and immediately turned northeast.
The major highway out of town was called the Albula Span, a road which ran up one side of the local range, and then right through one of its mountains, via a tunnel known as the Albula Pass. Once they made it through the six-mile long passage, they would be more than halfway home.
They saw no one on the main street, no one on the approach to the highway. The sound of their noisy, anxious engine echoed off the ice-encased buildings and the snow piles alike. From all appearances, the two men had made a successful getaway.
But no one saw the long line of ripples disrupting the water on the northside of the great lake either, nor the small legion of waves that lapped up against the shore a few moments later. The speedy Macchi had taken off with barely the burp of the engine and the slightly eerie whooshing sound it made as its pontoons left the water.
Climbing straight up as quickly as the clown’s feet floats would allow, Hunter had stolen silently into the air.
He was quickly up and over the small mountains to the north end of St. Moritz, the unnaturally straightened road of the Albula Span stretching before him. There were a few vehicles transversing the Alpine highway in this, the last hour before dawn. Military trucks in small convoys mostly, change-outs between the private armies gua
rding the north and west. Many were running with the headlights on—some were not.
This made no difference to Hunter. One glance into his FLIR goggles told him the precise location of the Audi truck, along with its direction and speed. The tracer powder, which he’d first sprinkled onto his gold coins, was now all over the small truck, being transferred there just as he’d hoped by the travelers themselves, after they’d run their greedy little hands through the big bag of money.
The Audi was glowing like a spark plug, its outline on the FLIR coming across as almost bluish on the field of green. Hunter positioned himself about one mile high and two miles behind the speeding truck, staying there by kicking in the engine only every thirty seconds or so and thus maintaining a slow, seventy-five-knot power glide. This tactic also cut down on some of the noise the airplane was making—and this was very important.
The last thing he wanted now was for the two men to think they were being followed.
Point Zero wasn’t that hard a place to find.
It was located approximately one hundred thirty-five kilometers northwest of St. Moritz, at the top of a peak known as the Niedencastel. It was a strange little place, a domed structure surrounded by a gaggle of antennas and satellite dishes. Everything on the outside was painted white, this in a land where just about everything was white, except the large, crystalline lake nearby, which was deep blue. The bloodless paint job was a crude, but effective attempt at camouflage. From the ground looking up, it was almost impossible to see the small tracking station.
But from the air—well, that was another story.
The Audi truck bearing the two men and Chloe arrived at the top of the mountain just after 5 A.M. Climbing to the peak alone took forty-five minutes. When they finally pulled up to the igloo, they were shocked to find the front door unlocked and wide open. Quickly hustling Chloe out of the truck, they stormed into the small passageway which held another door which led into the bubble-top building itself. This was wide open, too.
Target: Point Zero Page 12