02 Avalanche Pass (40 page)

He skied quickly into the thick, ungroomed snow among the trees behind the unload point and began side-stepping smoothly up the mountain. It was hard work, and the tension of the situation combined with the physical effort to drain his strength and leave him gasping for breath. But still he kept on. He had moved perhaps fifty yards from the chairlift when he realized the opportunity he’d missed.

The lift attendant’s cabin at the top of the chair, like lift attendant cabins everywhere, was fitted with an emergency stop button, which could be used to bring the chairlift to an instant halt in the event of an accident, or if a skier fell dismounting from the chair. It would have taken him maybe twenty seconds to break the glass windows on the cabin and hit the stop button, leaving his pursuers stranded on the chair, twenty or thirty feet from the ground. Now, of course, it was too late to turn back and try it.

He cursed his own stupidity, then a cold hand clutched his heart as he realized that his pursuers could have done exactly the same thing to him at the bottom of the chair. He uttered a few brief words of thanks that they hadn’t done so—whether due to ignorance of the chairlift controls or in the confusion of the chase, he didn’t know.

He redoubled his efforts, climbing higher. He was only a few yards from the groomed trail and once he reached that, his progress
would be easier. Below him, he heard the voices of the men following him as they encountered the deep snow and plunged thigh deep into it. He smiled grimly. If the going was tough for him, it would be three or four times as bad for the other men, without skis to spread their weight. With each step, they’d sink deep into the soft, piled snow.

In the lead Blackhawk, Colonel Evan Maloney hit the transmit switch on his headset.

“Colby, you read?”

There was a momentary pause, then he heard the FBI agent’s voice in his earphones.

“I read, Colonel. Still no word.” Dent knew what the marine colonel was calling about but there was still no word from Jesse. He could sense the soldier’s frustration, mirrored by the marines around him in the Blackhawk, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to hold until he heard from Jesse, one way or the other. He thought of telling the colonel so, then shrugged. Maloney knew it. Stating the obvious wouldn’t make matters any better. The line of choppers, rotors turning at idle speed, stayed where they were on the low ground behind the ridge.

You could almost touch the tension in the big room, Tina thought. The uncertainty of waiting, and the conviction that Kormann would not be content to allow matters to remain as they were, rubbed the raw edges of the nerves like sandpaper on flesh.

“Elevator just came in,” Ralph said from his position behind the barricade. Tina looked at him interrogatively and he shrugged.

“I heard the chime,” he told her. Almost at the same moment, they saw sudden movement at the end of the corridor, as a figure darted across the opening, wasting no time getting behind cover. But quick as the movement had been, they had all seen what the figure had been carrying—a khaki-colored tube, some four feet in length and maybe eight inches in diameter.

“They’ve got some kind of missile out there,” Nate Pell said suddenly, and began waving them back behind the second barricade. “Get back behind cover! Get back!”

From the corridor, Tina heard the unmistakable double clunk sound as the outer cover was discarded and the firing tube armed. In her time in the service, she’d handled and fired shoulder-mounted missiles, most of them anti-tank weapons, and she’d heard that sound before. She felt panic begin to take hold of her as she backed away from the doors, following Pell, Aldiss and the senator. She went slowly at first, then with ever-increasing urgency. Only Ralph remained by the tangle of equipment, his automatic pressed to the gap between the doors.

“Ralph!” she called. “Get back here.”

The chef didn’t look around, his gaze fixed on the corner where he knew the missile launcher would reappear. She could see he was shaking his head, refusing her instructions. He had the muzzle of the Beretta pressed against the narrow gap between the doors once more, holding it in a two-handed grip, his upper body sprawled
across two of the heavy punching bags that formed part of the door barricade. Tina started toward him, then felt a firm hand on her arm, stopping her. She turned to meet Nate Pell’s unwavering gaze.

“If they fire that thing, all hell’s going to break loose in here. He’s made his choice and there’s no point both of you being killed.”

Alston, eager to make amends for his earlier failure, had taken control of the Stinger when it had arrived. He discarded the fiberglass carrying case and shucked the tube open, arming the batteries, bypassing the infrared guidance system. Then, hesitating, he wondered if he should wait for Kormann to return. He gestured toward the radio clipped to Harrison’s belt—his own was halfway along the corridor, lost when he had dived for cover after the first volley of shots nearly nailed him and Kormann.

The other man handed him the radio and he hit the talk button.

“Kormann. This is Alston. We’re ready with the Stinger.”

There was a pause, extending so long that he was about to try again, then Kormann’s voice came over the little speaker.

“Go ahead. Blow the door. Then move in and clean ’em out.”

Alston shrugged. It seemed logical to him. When the missile hit the door, there would be confusion and pandemonium inside the gym. It was the obvious time when they should follow up, rather than wait for Kormann to return and give the hostages time to regroup and redeploy their defenses. He glanced at the other men. One of them nodded, patting the Ingram in his hand.

“Blow that mother and let’s go,” he said quietly.

Alston hefted the tube onto his shoulder, flicked up the optical crosshair sights and moved toward the corner.

W
ith one final, exhausted heave of poles and legs, Jesse skied onto the level ground at the top of the cable car. He knew the other men were still pursuing him, knew they must have fallen far behind as they struggled through the thick, ungroomed snow above the chairlift. Once they reached the access path they’d make better time, of course, but they still wouldn’t move anywhere near as fast as he could on skis.

He let the skis glide him to the terminal building and fell, exhausted, onto the bench. He waited a few moments for his breathing to settle down, then reached for the cell phone, punching the memory button for Dent’s number. As ever, the comms technician answered.

“FBI.”

Slumped against the cold metal of the building, Jesse replied curtly. “This is Parker. Get me Colby.”

He was surprised at the reaction his words evoked. Instantly, the technician was all attention.

“Yessir, Deputy Parker! Agent Colby told me to patch you straight through. Just a moment.”

There were several clicks and a whirring of atmospherics, then Jesse heard the tone of a phone ringing. It hadn’t completed its first cycle before Dent’s excited voice was on the line.

“Jesse? Is that you?”

Suddenly, he was very, very tired. “It’s all started, Dent. I’ve been spotted. I’m at the top of the cable car and I’ve got four guys coming up the hill after me.”

“Jesse, what about the hostages? Where are they?”

Jesse frowned. “Still in the gym as far as I know.”

“We’ve been told they’re in the Atrium restaurant.” Colby’s voice was urgent. Even though he couldn’t be seen, Jesse shook his head.

“No way. I’ve been on the stairwell since early morning. They couldn’t have moved them without my knowing. Sorry about this, Dent,” he added, “I guess I’ve kind of blown it.”

There was a momentary pause as Colby thought over the information. Then he asked the vital question: “Jesse, has the girl done anything yet? Are the hostages still safe?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear anything. She thought Kormann might be planning to move them but so far nothing…” he stopped. The wall of the building was vibrating and there was a heavy thud of machinery from inside.

“Just a minute, Dent,” he said urgently and, heaving himself to his feet, skied to the edge of the unloading platform.

Someone had switched on the massive electric motor that powered the cable car. Far below, he could see the car at the bottom station, a tiny figure emerging from the control room. Jesse dropped the phone and scrambled for his binoculars, focusing them quickly on the platform. The eight times magnification suddenly swam into view and he could recognize the dark-haired, sunglassed figure he had seen previously, boarding the cable car and moving to the internal control console.

The controls were at the very front of the car and he could see clearly through the large windows. It was Kormann. Jesse dropped to his knees and grabbed for the phone again.

“Dent? You there?”

“What is it, Jesse?”

“It’s Kormann. He’s in the cable car and he’s on his way up. It’s started!”

“Hang tight, Jesse. The cavalry’s on the way.”

Dent passed the cell phone to the marine sergeant beside him, then pressed the transmit button on the headset that connected him to Maloney.

“Colonel, this is Colby. He’s making his move. Let’s go!”

His voice was a gabble of excitement and instantly Maloney’s voice came back at him. “Confirm we are go.” The marine wanted to be absolutely sure of what he’d heard, Colby knew. He spoke clearly and slowly this time.

“This is Agent-in-Charge Colby. On my authority: Begin the assault. Go! Go! Go!”

“Roger, go. All units: launch and attack your targets.”

Colby felt the floor lurch under his feet again as the Blackhawk rose to ten feet above the ground. Then, fourth in line behind the two lead Apaches and Maloney’s Blackhawk, it skimmed over the ridge. Now only open ground lay between it and the hotel.

Jesse, from his vantage point above the hotel, heard the choppers first—a rising roar of jet engines and whacking rotors. Then he saw the first of them, the two narrow-bodied Apaches that were to clear the way for the troop carriers.

The cable car had passed the first pylon. It was almost a quarter of the way up the mountain and Jesse watched as it slowly hauled itself
up the thin wire cable. Already, one of the Apaches was moving to intercept the cable car. The thin-bodied attack helicopter was armed with missiles and a rotary-barreled mini-gun and he watched it rapidly moving in for the kill.

The four drab-painted Blackhawks had cleared the ridge now. They fanned out in a line abreast, jinking to throw off the aim of the gunners on the roof. The first hammering rattle of the fifty calibers opened up and Jesse saw pieces fly from the ship second from the left in the line. Black smoke poured from the cowling below the big rotor blades and instantly the chopper began to lose height. It landed heavily on the uneven slope, about a mile out from the hotel, enveloped now in the black smoke that welled from its ruptured oil lines. He could see tiny figures running from the downed aircraft.

A second Apache was closing on the hotel, smoke pouring back from the rotary mini-gun slung beneath its chin. There were bullet strikes on the concrete balustrade around the roof, then Jesse saw a flash of light and a line of white smoke curved toward the helicopter as one of the Stingers fired.

The pilot had been in the act of firing off a volley of rockets as he saw the missile fire. He jerked the Apache into a hard right break, the salvo of rockets sent screaming over the top of the hotel building to explode harmlessly in the canyon wall half a mile away. A small section of the hill collapsed and slid slowly down into the canyon. It was a warning of what could happen if too many shots went astray.

As the Apache curved away from the Stinger, hugging the canyon wall, banked almost ninety degrees, the fifties opened up again on the incoming Blackhawks. Another troop carrier was trailing a thin banner of smoke but the remaining three kept coming into the face of the fire. Then another flash of light signaled the launch of another missile from the roof—but this time, the target wasn’t heading for the hotel.

The lead Apache, swinging wide to intercept Kormann in the cable car, had presented a clear view of its hot jet exhaust to one of the Stingers. It was a target that the heat-seeking missile couldn’t resist and its operator heard the lock tone rise to a warbling shriek,
while the red “locked on” light beside the sight burned brightly. He squeezed the trigger and the missile arced away.

Jesse watched in horror as the white smoke trail seared toward the Apache, unseen by the pilot or gunner. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if making a last minute course correction, then flew straight into the jet tailpipe where its warhead exploded, showering shrapnel fragments into the interior of the engine.

The disintegrating engine components, whirling at several thousand RPM, added to the destruction and the Apache staggered, then seemed to tear itself apart in midair. Like a shot bird, it lurched to one side, then fell into the valley below, spilling burning jet fuel in a large circle around the wreck as it hit the ground.

He grabbed the phone again. He was still connected to the FBI agent. “Dent! Dent!” he yelled, then Colby replied, also yelling to be heard over the racket of the Blackhawk’s straining jet engine.