02 Avalanche Pass (22 page)

As Ralph started selecting veal fillets from the meat fridge, Tina caught the guard’s eye and motioned toward the storeroom door.

“Need some cans of meatballs in sauce and some pasta,” she said and he nodded easily.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The lights in here came on automatically with the kitchen lights and for a moment she looked around the brightly lit racks and shelves, seeing no sign of Jesse. Then he stepped out of the shadows beside the big upright freezer at the back of the room and he realized she had been waiting to make sure she was alone. She raised a hand in greeting and moved quickly to the back of the room.

“Hi again,” he said quietly. “I got this from your room.”

“This” was her .38 Special. He placed it on the shelf beside them, then put the carton of fifty slugs with it. She reached out and picked up the gun, feeling the custom grips conform instantly to her hand. For a moment or two, the temptation to take it back into the gymnasium and empty all six chambers into Kormann’s sneering face was almost irresistible. Then she steadied herself and looked around for somewhere to conceal it. There was still the possibility that she and Ralph might be searched when they returned to the gym, she realized. Jesse read her thoughts and took the gun from her, wrapping it in Saran wrap and shoving it deep inside a large bin of rice. The box of slugs went the same way.

“Best leave it here until you know you want to use it,” he said quietly and she nodded agreement. He’d obviously had time to think of a hiding place for the gun. She began to collect cans of meatballs in tomato sauce as they talked, knowing that her time was strictly limited.

“What are you planning on doing now?” she asked.

He hesitated for a second before answering, “I thought I’d try to make contact with the federal guys out where the road’s blocked,” he said. “Strangely enough, I kind of know the agent-in-charge. If
I can keep him abreast of what’s going on in here it could give him an edge.”

She nodded. Having an observer in the enemy’s camp could be a big advantage for the FBI negotiators. Any piece of information could be of value in this situation. Then she saw the doubt in Jesse’s eyes. “What’s the problem?” she asked and couldn’t help grinning to herself as she heard the words. Here they were, held in a hotel by twenty armed men, with explosives all around the surrounding hillsides, and she was asking “what’s the problem?”.

Jesse saw the irony of the question too and for a moment there was an answering gleam of dry humor in his eyes, then he shrugged. “Can’t risk using the phone lines in here,” he said. “I was wondering if there might be another line in the terminal or over to the ski school that didn’t come through this switch?”

He’d barely finished the question when she was shaking her head. “No use,” she said. “They took out the main phone line when they came in. From what I’ve heard, they laid their own line over the mountains and they’ve plugged into that.” A thought struck her. “How about a cell phone? There’s one in my bureau drawer?”

“No use,” he replied. “I’ve got my own but we’re in a dead spot here.”

He stopped, realizing she was shaking her head again.

“Here, yes,” she said quickly. “But up on the mountain there’s coverage. At the top cable car station you’ve got a clear line of sight to an antenna halfway back to Salt Lake City.” She saw the protest rising in his eyes again and forestalled it. “I know. You can hardly go up in the cable car without being noticed. But the chairlifts should be working. The entire chairlift system is on an automatic time switch—they come on and off every day. You can ride the chairs up to Eagle Ridge, then hike around to the cable car station. It’s a hundred or so feet higher up, but it’s not impossible.”

Jesse thought about it. It seemed possible. “It’s worth a try, I guess,” he said. “Is there anything else you’ve found out about these guys that I can pass on?”

Tina chewed her lip thoughtfully. “The more I see of them, the more I’m sure they’re not terrorists,” she said finally. “They’re just
in it for the ransom. I overheard their leader telling Senator Carling that as soon as the money was paid, he’d be back on Capitol Hill. There’s been no talk of any other conditions, any political prisoners they want released, any concessions to be made—you know the sort of thing that usually goes with a terrorist group. Just the money.”

“So they don’t strike you as a bunch of crazies?” Jesse said and she shook her head.

“Just the opposite. They’re so damn controlled and sure of themselves that it’s scary. Right from the start they said they were here for business reasons only—and I believe them.”

She glanced toward the door, conscious that she had been here too long already. Jesse gestured for her to go. She grabbed up several packets of dried spaghetti noodles as she went and exited into the kitchen.

Jesse watched her go, waited for a few minutes to be sure the guard hadn’t decided to check the storeroom, then started prowling through the shelves, looking for something to eat. He had the feeling it was going to be another long day.

Agent-in-Charge Denton Colby stepped down from the humvee outside his command trailer. He nodded to the marine colonel who was behind the steering wheel.

“Thanks for the tour, Colonel Maloney,” he said. “I can see your unit’s reputation isn’t exaggerated.”

Marine Colonel Maloney had suggested that Colby inspect the RRTF encampment, talk to the men and assess their readiness. Colby had been impressed. The rapid response tactical force troops were intelligent, highly trained and dedicated. Most of their officers and senior noncoms carried combat decorations. Now, in response
to Colby’s words, the colonel gave an informal salute, one forefinger raised to the peak of his fur-lined cap. “Just wanted to be sure you knew what you had behind you, Agent Colby,” he said. “Don’t want to look like I’m pushing. I know you’re the man in charge. But if you decide you need to use force, we’re ready. We’ll go on your call.”

Colby said nothing for a moment, standing with his hands on his hips and looking toward the mountains, where a series of peaks blocked the Canyon Lodge from sight. Earlier that day, he’d sited a television camera on one of the peaks, dropping the crew off below the ridge line, and out of sight of the lodge, and leaving them to hike uphill for the last fifty feet. The camera, with a fifty-to-one digital zoom lens on it, was linked to several monitors in the camp, including one in Colby’s command trailer. It provided a constant surveillance picture of the hotel.

“It may come to that, Colonel,” he said. “If so, I know you and your men will do everything you can to get it done quickly.”

“Give me the word, sir, and once we’ve cranked our choppers, I can put fifty men on that roof inside five minutes.” The colonel spoke quietly, confidently. He wasn’t boasting. He was stating a fact. Colby nodded several times.

“You’d lose quite a few of them on the way in, Colonel,” he said and the marine nodded, acknowledging the fact.

“Every one of my men is a volunteer, sir,” he said. “Every one of them knew what sort of duty they were volunteering for. It’s our job to take casualties and make sure the hostages don’t. We all know that. We all accept it.”

“And you’ll go in the lead ship?” Colby asked.

Again, Maloney nodded. “That’s the way we train. That’s the way we’ll do it.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Colby replied. Then, hearing his name called, he looked around to the comms trailer parked on the shoulder of the road. One of his communications technicians was in the open doorway, calling to him and beckoning.

“Looks like I’ve got a call. Maybe this time they’ll tell me what they really want.”

So far, conversations with the hotel had been a series of frustrations. They had threatened the lives of the hostages and demanded the ransom. But they had steadfastly refused to begin to negotiate a handover method, threatening instead to open fire on any aircraft or vehicle that entered the valley surrounding the lodge. When Colby pointed out that he would need free passage for some kind of vehicle to deliver the money, they had angrily shouted that he was trying to trick them and hung up.

Even though the behavior sounded irrational, Denton Colby was beginning to believe that it was totally intentional, a ploy being used to keep him off balance.

He jogged now to the comms trailer and mounted the steel steps, dropping behind the desk where a gooseneck microphone was connected to the phone line.

“This is Colby,” he said. “Who’s talking that end?”

He’d spoken to two of the terrorists so far, never knowing which of them would make contact. One of them seemed to be totally irrational, ready to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation—real or imagined. The other was calmer, but no more easy to deal with. When the voice answered, he recognized the calmer of the two.

“This is me,” the voice said from the small speaker mounted over the desk. The slow-turning wheels of tape recorded every sound in the trailer.

“It’d be a lot easier if I knew your name?” Colby suggested, for perhaps the tenth time. There was the usual short bark of laughter.

“You do keep trying, don’t you, Agent Colby?” said the voice.

Colby shrugged. Even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him, he felt body language helped the tone of voice in a negotiation.

“Just a first name. It helps when we’re talking. After all, I’m willing to negotiate. I’ve told you that.”

“You’ve told me. It’s just that when it comes down to it, you’re not willing to negotiate anything meaningful.” The voice was sarcastic.

“I’m willing. You just won’t tell me how we can effect the handover.” He had to be careful here. If he sounded as if he were blaming
the other man for the present impasse, he could easily break off communications. And a continuing dialogue, Colby knew, provided the best chance of survival for the hostages.

“Figure it out, Colby. You’re a clever man.” Now there was a trace of suppressed anger in the disembodied voice and Colby backed off.

“I’m trying. Believe me, I want to get this whole mess straightened out. I don’t want anybody hurt. Not the hostages. Not me or any of my men. Not you or any of your men.”

“Sure. You’ll let us walk with the money, won’t you?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Colby said.

“Christ, man, it sounds almost as if you believe it yourself. That was really smooth. I’m impressed.” The anger was back now, and rising, and Colby sensed that once again, a conversation with the kidnappers was going to end in sudden disconnection.

“I do mean it. I’m telling you… look it’d be a lot easier if I had a name—even a first name…” he hesitated, waiting to see if there would be a reaction.

“No deal. Call me mister. That’ll do. And stop trying to trick me here with your smart-ass ‘I want to be your friend’ shit.”

“Hey, it’s no trick. And okay, maybe I don’t want to be your friend. But I do want to be able to negotiate with you. I want us to be able to trust each other.”

“Well, okay, maybe we could do a little something to establish trust. I’ll tell you what, you can call me Roger.”

“Hey, that’s fine,” said Colby. “Now we’re getting somewhere, Roger.”

“Glad you think so, Dent,” the other man replied, laying a sarcastic emphasis on the name. “Now you can do a little something for me to show we can trust you.”

“Name it. If I can do it, it’s yours,” said Colby.

“Good. Well here’s the pitch, Denton: the British government has just arrested four Irish freedom fighters in Liverpool.”

For a second or two, Colby was speechless. The night before, the TV news had carried an item about a bomb squad from an ultra right
Irish breakaway group being caught in the British seaport city. He hurried to regain his composure.

“Yeah… right… I saw that on the news last night, Roger,” he said, wondering where the hell this was going.

“They’re our comrades in arms. We want them set free. See what you can do or you can kiss four of these hostages good-bye.”

“See what I can do? They’re in Britain for Chrissake—” Colby began desperately. But the loudspeaker above the desk was silent. The other man had broken the connection.

P
resident Gorton swept an angry gaze around the assembled group.

“Irish patriots?” he asked, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “A bunch of bog stupid fucking Irish thugs and none of you had the slightest idea who we were dealing with? Gentlemen, I am speechless, totally speechless, with the absolute lack of meaningful intelligence coming to this office from your organizations.”

He paused, waiting to see if any of them might choose to defend themselves. There seemed to be nobody willing to say anything so he continued, belying his earlier claim to be totally speechless. “Now if any of you think for one minute that I am going to go cap in hand to the British Prime Minister and beg his help in this matter, you have another think coming. So when you finally collect your wits and decide to suggest some course of action to me, don’t make the mistake of including that one. Do I make myself clear?”

Again, his eyes swept the room and again he was greeted by silence. Even Haddenrich, he noticed with a small thrill of pleasure, who usually maintained an unruffled and sardonic demeanor in these meetings, seemed chastened by the failure of her organization to have seen the hand of the Irish rebel group behind the attempted extortion bid.

He had been leaning forward in his chair as his voice flailed them. Now he sat back abruptly, the springs and leather creaking under the sudden impact.

“If any of you have any ideas, any ideas at all, I’d be willing to listen to them.”

Linus Benjamin cleared his throat. It was, after all, his principle responsibility. “Mr. President,” he said. “We can’t be totally sure that these people are aligned to the Irish situation—”