The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  His heart kicked up. Did that mean nights too? It will if I have anything to say about it.

  Tom looked over at him, and asked, with a note of sarcasm, “So, I take it I can go to Paris for the weekend? And we’ll both return to the task at hand on Monday, both feeling a little fresher?” Tom studied the besotted expression on Sam’s face, and added, “Well, maybe not fresher, but at least your mind will have been cleared from our current predicament.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” Sam replied. “You sure you don’t mind I didn’t invite you along?”

  “Not at all. Besides, the last thing I want to do is stare at these damn mountains. Anyway, I’m keen on going snowboarding with some friends.”

  *

  Sam watched from the ground as Tom pulled the collective on his 44, and eased the helicopter back into the sky above, after dropping him off. As Tom rotated the helicopter so he again faced Sam, he gave him one last smile, which said, have a great weekend, and then he flew off.

  Sam looked at his watch.

  It was only 0740, but he still had a five-minute walk down the rickety stone road that led to the only accommodations at Tyrol. He walked into The Summit, the B&B where Aliana was staying.

  He took a seat in the foyer, and casually picked up a magazine advertising an article bearing the headline, “Europe’s Best Walks Above 4000 feet.” He started to flick through its pages without paying much attention.

  From where he sat, Sam could see a large, thick, glass window that allowed a stunning vista of the valley below, and the mountains towering high above. It was difficult to discern the height of those mountains; their distance was capable of tricking the mind into thinking they were higher than they actually were. Over the past few weeks, he had flown over all of them. He knew exactly just how high those mountains were.

  A blonde-haired gentleman behind the reservations desk approached Sam, and asked, “Can I help you?”

  The man, like so many Europeans, spoke perfect English, but his German accent was so thick that it was hard to distinguish whether he was speaking English or German. Sam recognized his voice and realized this was the same man he’d spoken to on the phone about his friend, Kevin Reed.

  His name tag simply read, ‘Carl.’

  Sam wondered if this man knew anything about the deaths of his friend and his wife. More importantly, would he make the connection between him and his murdered friends? He dismissed the idea as unlikely, given how many tourists from around the world must visit here in a single year.

  “Guten morgen,” Sam said, using the only polite German phrase he knew. Then, in English, he added, “I am meeting a friend here, a Miss...” he paused, realizing that he still didn’t know her surname, and then said, “Aliana.”

  “Ah, very good,” Carl replied, now looking slightly uncomfortable, before quickly hiding his discomfort, and asked, “May I get you a drink while you wait, sir?”

  Sam watched Carl’s response carefully.

  Did Carl’s eyes just show a glimpse of understanding when I said Aliana’s name?

  It was not a look of understanding that one man might give another when he noted that you had an attractive girlfriend, or even a look of jealousy. No, instead, it was more a look that indicated the realization that Carl had also been waiting to meet this same person.

  “Sure. A soda. Any kind, please.”

  Carl nodded his head and left.

  Aliana then walked into the foyer, and Sam stood up to greet her.

  Despite the cold air, she was wearing a white climbing tank top, and purple three-quarter length, Lycra climbing pants. European women, he’d discovered, never seemed to feel the cold. Her blonde hair was neatly arranged in an intricate braid, and she wore a mischievous smile that he would never tire of.

  She was just as lovely as he remembered.

  “Good morning, Sam. I see you made it.”

  She kissed him on both cheeks, a very European custom.

  Her lips were full, soft and beautiful.

  “Of course, did you doubt I would?” Sam asked.

  “I wasn’t sure what I thought you would do.”

  “Do you want to grab a drink while we’re still here?”

  “No, but I know this great coffee place, built into the side of a cliff. It’s down the road.” Aliana said. “They have built a cantilever deck over the side of the mountain, so you can see all the way down – I don’t know, perhaps 3000 feet.”

  “Sounds great,” Sam replied.

  Carl returned with Sam’s drink, a pink soda, and asked if the lady would also like a drink. Sam paid him, and politely told him that they were a little pressed for time, and so they were leaving.

  Aliana led the way outside.

  The paths were narrow. While they might be large enough for a motorbike, they were not quite wide enough to accommodate a car. Sam was surprised to see a small Fiat parked out in front of The Summit with several inches of snow over its window. He would have liked to know how long it had been there, and how anyone had managed to get it there.

  They walked down the winding path for about fifteen minutes, until they reached something resembling a small road.

  A restored 1965 Cobra V12, American muscle car, was carelessly parked next to the vertical cliff, and on the narrow road, which lazily followed the Tyrol River along the valley floor. Anyone trying to get around it would have had to take the trouble of placing their side wheels on the uneven edge of the road and its lethal drop. Although not very high, the short fall from the cliff to the river below would leave the occupants submerged in its deep, fast-flowing, icy waters.

  Sam hated alpine roads, and their European drivers.

  “This is my ride,” Aliana said.

  “You rented this?”

  “No, it’s one of my Dad’s. I borrowed it for the weekend.”

  Sam looked at her, impressed.

  Sam had figured that her family wasn’t short of cash. After all, no one goes to MIT, overseas student or not, unless they have a lot of money, or receive a scholarship because they’re incredibly intelligent. In Aliana’s case, he gathered that she was both.

  How ironic, he thought, as he looked at the beautifully restored antique car, that he should find someone with a similarly endless bank account?

  He removed the small back-pack he was wearing, opened the car door and sat down on the passenger’s side of the two seat sports convertible.

  Aliana inserted the key and turned on the ignition. It started immediately.

  Sam could feel the powerful 6.4L engine enticing the driver to let go of the reins.

  Aliana released the clutch, and started driving down the road. It hugged the winding road beautifully, as she carelessly made their way south, towards Italy.

  “So, where are you taking me for the weekend?” he asked.

  “It’s a surprise.” Again, her mischievous smile owned him. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Okay. Do I at least get a hint?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then, so tell me what brought you to Europe?” Sam asked. “I thought you were heading back stateside to complete your PhD?”

  “I was.” She downshifted as they reached a sharp corner and approached the start of a large hill. “But I was worried about my dad. He’s been under a lot of pressure with work lately, and he sounded pretty stressed. Since my mother’s no longer around, and I’m an only child, I kind of feel obligated to come and check up on him.”

  Once they’d cleared the sharp turn, Sam felt himself pushed back into his seat as she floored the accelerator on the straight, and the powerful 6.4 L engine kicked into the life it was built for.

  Sam felt nervous at such speeds next to the cliffs, but Aliana appeared to be adeptly controlling the powerful machine, apparently ignorant of any danger that the narrow road and cliff sides presented.

  “And was he okay?” Sam forced himself to return to the conversation.

  “Yeah, he’s struggling, though. I know he�
��s got problems, but he won’t speak to me about them. I know that something is worrying him. He’s a strong man, but I sometimes wish he wouldn’t keep all his problems to himself.”

  Sam noticed that for some reason, her facial expression did not match her words.

  “I know the type,” Sam commiserated. And he did, thinking of his own father.

  “Although my dad didn’t say it…” Aliana began and paused, “I think he was glad that I made the effort to come here, even if only for a few days.”

  He nodded his head, certain that any father would be pleased to see his daughter, especially if that daughter was Aliana.

  They came to the crest of a hill.

  Sam could see miles of curves winding down the mountain pass.

  None of them with guardrails.

  Aliana sped up as though she could sense his fear, “This is the famous Timmelsjoch Pass.” She laughed at his obvious discomfiture. “Do you know it has been the background of a number of car ads over the years? We’re now entering Italy.”

  He ignored the road, trusting in fate and wondered just how much Aliana was enjoying scaring the daylights out of him and just how safe they actually were. She’d obviously driven these roads many times before.

  Instead, he looked out at the Dolomite Mountains ahead, and said, “It’s really beautiful here.”

  She smiled at him, in such a way that he began to wonder just where she was taking him, and then said, “Just you wait.”

  *

  An hour later, Sam watched as Aliana slammed on her brakes and parked at the side of another mountain pass with a gentle skid.

  It was halfway up a large mountain. A number of cars had parked in the small rocky outcropping at the side of the road, in the typical Italian fashion with no discernible method, yet their arrangement was a perfectly harmonized disorganization. It was as though they had been strewn there, like the toss of several pairs of dice. Sam noticed three men who were organizing their climbing equipment on the hood of their red Fiat.

  In the distance, the mountains seemed to stretch high up into the sky, with just a hint of white snow cover at their peaks.

  “We’re here,” she said.

  Sam looked at the mountain peaks around them and then turned his eyes back to her.

  “That’s great. Where’s here?” he asked.

  She opened the small trunk and took out two large back packs. She handed him the first one, took the second one for herself, and then said, “The Dolomites, of course.” With a grin, she carelessly added, “Somewhere…”

  Sam drew the backpack over his shoulders, tightening its straps until the weight was comfortably distributed over his hips, chest and shoulders.

  It was quite heavy.

  He wondered how much heavier his backpack was compared to hers.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Sam said. “Now where?”

  “Follow me.”

  He watched as Aliana didn’t quite skip down the dangerous path that hugged the side of the mountain precariously, but neither did she walk carefully. Her stride was more of a halfhearted tramp than anything else.

  She wore Merrel Perimeter Gore-Tex hiking boots.

  Watching as she casually placed her feet along the narrow path without any hesitation, Sam could tell that she was no novice, and had spent many hours in these mountains during her lifetime.

  Ahead there was a little wooden arrow bearing the words, “Best Coffee above 5000 Feet.”

  They followed the signs until the path reached a sudden end. There were no more paths to follow, nor was there any notice posted that the path ended in a 5000-odd foot drop.

  He looked at Aliana and asked, “Now where?”

  “Now, we go up.”

  Sam leaned carefully over the edge.

  There was a sheer drop off that certainly appeared to be in the vicinity of the suggested 5000 feet, and apparently, it was a similar distance going uphill.

  He noticed that alongside the cliff there was an old, metal ladder that had been bolted into the side of the mountain. It’s slightly rusty, weathered appearance made it look as though the years of dilapidation was still trying to remove it from the rock wall.

  “We’re climbing up that?” Sam asked incredulously.

  “Yes. Why? Don’t you like heights?”

  Sam didn’t fear heights; however he wasn’t keen on taking needless risks with his life either.

  “Ladies first.”

  Aliana opened her backpack and withdrew a climbing harness, a “Y” shaped lanyard with two carabiners, marked with the letter “K,” indicating the German spelling.

  “You have a climbing kit too,” she told Sam, as she opened the top of his bag. “If you care to use it.”

  She fitted her safety equipment, and then made sure that Sam was okay with his. He had gone through a small mountaineering phase in his younger days, trying to challenge himself, but he’d never developed any great love of heights. He possessed a good understanding of his equipment and how to use it, but he wasn’t going to let her know that.

  Besides, it was nice to watch her take care of him.

  He could see her concern as she checked over him and his climbing gear.

  “Now, we climb,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t take too long,” she told him, as she reached the first rung of the ladder and started to make her way up.

  Sam shook his head at her and then, just like all men when they are around a beautiful woman, he followed her up, despite his reservations.

  The ladder appeared to be about forty feet long, and just before the top rung, he was relieved to see that Aliana climbed into a small opening in the side of the shale mountain.

  Inside it, was a café.

  They placed their orders and she took a seat on the counterweight iron ledge.

  Sipping his perfectly prepared Italian macchiato, he stared in wonderment at the brilliant vista ahead. He’d flown over these mountains more than a dozen times over the past two weeks, but had never really taken the time to fully appreciate its magnificence.

  It was beautiful.

  Only in Europe, could you possibly find a professional barista willing to work inside a manmade cave located on the inside of a sheer cliff face!

  He took a sip of the strong drink, looked at the face of the angel – or possibly devil – in front of him, and decided that he was in for a fantastic weekend.

  *

  Blake answered his cell.

  He was still driving through the Alps, but like every other place on earth, he still couldn’t escape from the ubiquitous phone coverage. “Yes?”

  “Have you arrived?” The voice on the line was cold.

  “Not yet, but one of my men has already made contact with them.”

  “Them? Who else is with him?” The voice became even colder and harder.

  “He didn’t say,” Blake replied, as he drove around the corner and started up the enormous hill, pushing his right foot to the floor of his BMW M5. “Some girl. She’s probably some European backpacker he picked up since he’s been over here.”

  “You should have gone there sooner,” the man remonstrated.

  “Yes, well, we were waiting to see how far he got, weren’t we?” It was a weak excuse, Blake realized, even as he gave it.

  “And, now you know…” The voice remained cold.

  “Yes, well, we really didn’t have any reason to suspect he knew any more than what he told me to begin with.”

  “Just make certain that he never gets there, all right?”

  “Of course, I’ll fix it. I said I would.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aliana watched as Sam looked out upon it all.

  The steel cable ran from off the cafe’s metal decking. The 220 foot cable spanned the distance from the café, to where it was attached to the wall of Mount Öztal, across the valley. The Tyrol River could be seen, lazily making its way along the valley floor.

  About five thousand feet below. />
  The wire bridge allowed climbers easy access to the entrance of the Dolomite National Park. Like a giant game of snakes and ladders, it was the common starting point to a myriad of different climbs, all of which were part of the famous Via Ferrata.

  Sam’s blue eyes were full of wonder and Aliana sensed that there was something else there too, something which she couldn’t quite make out – was it fear and uncertainty, or was it something else entirely?

  “What do you think, Sam?” she asked.

  “You’re taking me along the Via Ferrata?”

  “Yes, the Iron Road, but the Germans call it the Klettersteig.” Again, her mischievous smile captivated him. “The guidebook says it takes two days, but we have three, just in case you’re slow.”

  “It’s an amazing piece of engineering,” Sam said, as his hand pulled on the steel cable for reassurance.

  “It’s a monument to the human initiative for adventure, but did you know that the first Via Ferrata was built in the early nineteenth century as a means of crossing these giant mountains?” She waited for Sam to acknowledge his wonderment that someone would have built such a marvel all those years ago, and then she continued, “At the start of the First World War, Austria secretly built a Via Ferrata in order to move 40,000 soldiers across the border in record-breaking time, to seize the initiative. It became the front line of the war.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Sam replied. “I can also gather too, that they didn’t have the luxury of such safety equipment as this,” he continued, pulling at his lanyard and harness.

  “We’ll be doing it in veritable luxury, as you say; it will be easy.” She wasn’t sure if Sam was just trying to reassure himself.

  She then gave him a very basic run down of the process of climbing a Via Ferrata.

  “The essence of a modern Via Ferrata is a steel cable which runs along the route and is periodically affixed to the rock at three- to five-foot intervals. Using a Via Ferrata kit, climbers can secure themselves to the cable, limiting their chance of falling.”

  She watched as Sam nodded his head.

  “I’ve read about them.”

  Aliana continued, “A Via Ferrata set is comprised of a lanyard and two carabiners. The lanyard consists of an energy-absorbing system, such as this,” she said, pointing to the short length of dynamic rope protected by a zippered pouch that terminated with the lanyard loop.