The Cathar Secret: A Lang Reilly Thriller (42 page)

     He watched the little auto as it circled the parking lot and headed back onto the highway before he joined the lift ticket line. He had worked his way up to the middle of the line when a smart car pulled into the far end of the lot. Years before the first of the comically tiny autos had entered the United Sates, Lang had gotten used to seeing them on the streets of European cities; so he paid little attention at first glance.

     Then he noted an absence of a ski rack. The car was far too diminutive to carry anything other than child's skis inside. The driver got out. He wore what might have been ski clothes with a ski mask against the cold. Even without seeing his face, his slow, deliberate steps around to the passenger side betrayed him as elderly.

     From what Lang had observed earlier, Oberkoenigsburg's slopes appealed to the young and adventurous, either expert skiers or kids who believed that they could never get hurt. With a number of other resorts
nearby, why would an old man, someone with brittle bones and a stiff gait, choose this one? There certainly was no senior discount.

     Lang thought about it. He had seen news features about senior citizens who still climbed mountains, rode trail bikes, or canoed white water. A former U.S. president, Bush Sr., maybe, jumped out of an airplane in celebration of his eightieth birthday. The geriatric set acted younger and younger these days.

     Or increasingly foolish.

     But then, a skydiving octogenarian had a whole lot less to lose than a twenty-year-old with his entire life ahead of him.

     But trying a mountain composed almost exclusively of black diamond slopes?

     Lang forgot the age question when the man opened the passenger door, letting out a small child.

     There was no way a kid that small could ski here.

     Lang glanced up the slope, past the town, near the summit where he knew there was a
Bier Stube
, or restaurant, or someplace that served food and drink. Even from down here at the base, he could see a number of people lounging on the open platform just outside the establishment. Unlike a number of ski resorts Lang had seen, it was possible to ride the lift down as well as up. Possibly, the old man was simply taking a favored grandson for a lift ride and lunch. More than possible. The booth in front of which Lang stood advertised specially discounted round-trip tickets to those without skis.

     Even so, he had seen no small children on his previous trip here. The open double seats of the lifts, the drop below . . . He doubted he would put Manfred on one and he knew Gurt would never allow it.

     A polite cough at his elbow made him turn. He was now first in line. He paid for a non-ski ticket and stood aside, watching the old man and the child.

     The kid was so bundled up that determining its sex was impossible, knit cap pulled down and collar of the jacket buttoned across the lower part of the face. Its hand in the old man's, the two walked to the end of the ticket line. Lang found something to do, pretending to search for skis among a rack of them beside the booth.

     If only he could get a look at the child's face.

     The old man carefully steered the kid around objects and other passengers for the lift, a rock outcrop. It was as if he were directing a somnambulist sleepwalking an obstacle course. The child's eyes were open, fixed straight ahead as though unaware of its surroundings.

     Could the tyke be blind? No, it was something else. As if it were under some sort of spell. Then it hit, an idea exploding inside Lang's head like a skyrocket.

     A spell. Like hypnotism!

     Of course! Wynn-Three's supposed past life had surfaced under hypnotism. If there were such a thing as reincarnation, his previous life held the key to treasure hidden more than sixty years ago. That would be the reason for the kidnapping: to bring forth this former death camp prisoner and let him, in the form of a hypnotized Wynn-Three, lead the way.

     If the child
was
Wynn-Three.

     Falling in behind the man and child, Lang took the next chair behind them on the lift.

     The lift from the parking lot ended at the town, halfway between the bottom of the mountain and the highest ski trail just under the top of the mountain. To reach the higher level with its impressive view and longer runs, passengers had to switch to the lift at the town. It was there that Friedrich Gratz and Otto Dortmann were still on the bench, surveying those both exiting the first lift and boarding the second.

     "There!" Otto was pointing excitedly. "Just getting on the lift, a man and a small child!"

     Gratz looked around nervously, "Shh! We do not need to alert the whole town!"

     Otto started to stand. "They have to get off or change lifts right here. We can take the boy as soon as . . ."

     Gratz put a restraining hand on his comrade's arm. "First, we have to be sure that is, in fact, the doctor and the little boy. Second, the child is no good to us without the doctor."

     Otto was looking at Gratz. "But, what . . . ?"

     "If they get off here in the town, we follow them. If they change lifts as they will most likely do if that is the child, we get on the lift, too, see where they go. The
Herr Doktor
may well lead us to what we are looking for."

     Goggles concealing the upper part of their faces and collars of jackets
turned up, the two took the second chair behind the man and child as soon as the pair changed lifts to continue to the higher ski run. Between them was a man seated by himself.

     Wordless, Otto and Gratz watched the ski slope pass beneath them. There were at least two points where the cable was less than three meters from the ground, certainly close enough to hear the hiss of skis on snow as skiers sped past below.

     At the end of the lift, both men stood, stepping forward to let the chair make a U-turn and begin its descent back down the mountain.

     Not wanting a chance misstep and fall to bring the child out of hypnosis, Heim grunted as he lifted the little boy into his arms and carried him toward the platform, where a forest of skis were planted in the snow as their owners enjoyed socializing over hot beverages and lunch.

     With a hasty look over his shoulder, Heim set the child down and led him into the enclosed part of the establishment, a high A-frame. Inside, the crowd and its attendant noise thinned out as the old man passed the buffet line. Small hands clasping in his own, he took a narrow hallway to the back of the building where the restrooms were. Next to them he found stairs leading down. At the bottom, he found himself outside underneath the platform and with a clear view of the mountain's summit perhaps three hundred meters away.

     Kneeling so his face was next to the child's, he asked, "Solomon Mustawitz, can you hear me?"

     The child, staring straight ahead, nodded slowly. "Yesss."

     Heim turned the child's shoulders toward the peak and pointed. "Can you see?"

     "Yesss."

     "Can you see where the mine is, the place all the crates were taken?"

     The child was silent for so long Heim feared that he had not heard. He was about to ask the question again when the little boy held up a hand, two fingers extended in the "V" sign. "Under the 'V.'"

     Heim studied the barren top of the mountain for a full minute before asking, "What 'V'?"

     "The tree."

     Heim swallowed his frustration. "There are no trees."

     Wynn-Three nodded again, this time slowly. "Under the tree," he said.

     Heim took his time, thinking. Then, "There were trees there when the crates were taken down into the mineshaft?"

     "Under the 'V.' Under the tree."

     "Can you show me where the tree was?"

     "At the end of the railroad, where the cogs ended."

     At last Heim felt he was getting somewhere. Cog railways had been common where mine shafts were in steep places. "There was a cog railway just outside the mine?"

     A nod.

     Heim inhaled deeply, the cold air searing his lungs. A cog railway, a tree that made a "V." This resort was, what, only a few years old? The tree's stump could well be out there under the snow along with the rails and mechanism for the railway.

     He used his most gentle bedside manner. "Solomon, do you think you can locate where the tree was?"

     Again, a nod.

     Heim gave the little boy's shoulder a firm push toward the summit. "Lead me there."

     Careful to keep the A-frame and its deck between him and the skiers on the lift, Heim followed as the small boy edged his way through knee-deep snow.

     Lang Reilly had followed the old man and child inside the building. When they had headed for the toilets, he had ordered a mulled wine and sat at a vacant table. He had learned from Manfred how often small boys needed to use the restroom. The sunny weather had drawn most of the establishment's patrons outside to sit at tables on the deck despite the cold. Other than those serving themselves at the buffet, he had the place almost to himself. When several minutes passed without their return, he got up and went to the men's room himself.

     He was surprised to find it empty.

     Back in the hallway, he spied the steps. Descending cautiously lest he be seen, he reached the bottom. He was greeted by two sets of tracks in the snow, one adult's, the other a small child's. Stepping behind one of the deck's support posts for cover, he visually followed the trail. At the end, he saw the man and child as they trekked toward the summit.

     He could think of only one reason they would have crossed the clearly
marked boundaries of the ski area to slog through loose snow: the small figure was Wynn-Three and the man with him was using the child to locate something.

     Agency training from years ago halted the urge to dash after them. He had been taught to think through a situation before making decisions, a practice that had saved his life more than once. The man could well be armed. Despite the Browning in the small of his back, Lang wanted no gunfire. Not only would the sound likely summon the police, Wynn-Three could easily take a stray bullet. Besides, whether or not the man's search was successful, he would have to return this way. The other side of the mountain was a sheer drop.

     There was also the option of calling the local police, a potentially embarrassing situation if the pair he saw were not whom he thought. Then there was the question of how fast the authorities could act. He was unwilling to risk harm to the little boy if he could not convince the cops of the urgency of moving swiftly.

     He chose his first option: to wait and see what happened.

     Then the oddly matched pair disappeared.

     It was only after several anxious seconds Lang zeroed in on a pile of boulders that screened all but the very top of the peak from view. The snow covering them blended perfectly with the snow behind so that the slope looked uninterrupted to the casual observer. Those rocks could hide his approach until he was nearly at the top.

     Should he take advantage of the unanticipated cover or remain?

     Far below Lang, Gratz was returning with a single Styrofoam cup of steaming mulled wine.

     He offered it to Otto. "Three euros a cup! Leave half of it for me."

     Otto ignored the sweet aroma and the chance to warm himself as he gestured excitedly with the binoculars. "What took you so long? The old man and child boarded the lift minutes ago!"

     Three euros forgotten, Gratz snatched the glasses from Otto, putting them to his own eyes and training them on the lift as it wound up the slope. "Where?"

     "They have already gone into the building up there just now."

     "Are you sure they are who we are looking for?"

     Otto nodded his head. "I could not see the face of either but they had no skis, and who would bring a child so small up there?"

     Gratz tossed the cup into a trash barrel, heading for the lift. "Let's go!"

Near the Summit

Oberkoenigsburg

H
ALF DRAGGING, HALF PUSHING AN EXHAUSTED
Wynn-Three, Heim stopped to catch his breath in the thin Alpine air as well as to let the child rest a moment. Looking around to make certain he had not been seen by the ski patrol in a prohibited area, he noted that the ridge that formed the top of the peak was perhaps less than fifty meters away but almost vertical. Heim thought the heart pounding in his chest from the unaccustomed exercise skipped a beat. If the mine's entrance had been there, it would be inaccessible to anyone without mountain-climbing gear. Or a cog railway.

     Wait. The sheer sides of the ridge were too steep to allow snow to accumulate. He was looking at bare rock. The scar of any previous excavation would be clearly visible. What he could not see was any sign of a railroad or tree stump. Surrounding him and the boy was only layers of snow piled and roughed by the mountain wind.

     He scooped the child into his arms. "Where is it? Where is the entrance?"

     "Vee," Wynn-Three said, pointing uphill.

     There was no "V," only hummocks of wind-driven snow, some higher than Heim's head.

     "Where?"

     Heim was trying to sound gentle, not let his growing frustration flavor his voice with anger that might startle the child into consciousness.

     "Vee," Wynn-Three insisted, arm still extended.

     With the sigh of a man undertaking a potentially pointless task, Heim followed the direction indicated. He had taken only a few steps before he tripped and went down face first, his fall cushioned by the snow. His first reaction was to check the boy.

     Instead of the blank countenance of a hypnotized subject, the child's face was wrinkled in fear and shock. Tears were coursing down cheeks made red by the cold.

     "I want my mommy!"

     Wynn-Three had woken up.

     "I'm taking you to her now," was the first thing Heim could think of. He instinctively spoke in English.