The Descent From Truth (7 page)

Chapter 9

Evening had settled over Silver Hill by the time the helicopter deposited Alex and Frederick at the resort. Two vehicles waited by the landing pad: a gray shuttle van and a black Chevrolet Tahoe that the resort used for hauling VIPs. When Alex stepped out of the helicopter cuddling Frederick, who had cried and fretted throughout the noisy, vibrating ride, a middle-aged woman in a white uniform emerged from the shuttle van with her arms extended. “Frederick,” she cooed. “Come here, sweetie.”

Frederick wrapped both arms around Alex’s neck. The woman tugged. Frederick whined and clung tighter.

Alex gently separated the clasping little fingers and pulled the tense arms from his neck. “You have to go, tiger. She’ll take you to your mama. Everything will be all right.”

Frederick’s whine became a howl. His terror-tinged screams were muffled when the woman settled with him in the shuttle van, but they remained audible until the gray vehicle pulled away. The sound twisted Alex’s gut as he watched the van ease its way up the ice-crusted slope to Silver Hill.

A voice from the past intruded on his misery: “Sergeant Bryson, I presume.” It came from behind him, but it echoed over the months of his campaigning across Peru’s mountains with his Special Forces team.

He spun around. “Captain Faust!”

“Memory like an elephant.” Faust grinned and extended his hand. “You’re looking great.”

Alex gripped his ex-commander’s hand. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“We’re in civvies now, so let’s can the
sir
crap. How’s the job going?”

“It pays the rent.” A couple of inches shorter than Alex and six years older, Faust looked pretty much as he had when they first met. Alex had thought then that the captain’s narrow face, icy-blue eyes, and military-short, blond hair would make him an ideal photographer’s model for an Alpine resort or a Nordic sports-equipment manufacturer. “Thanks for setting it up.”

“You deserve it. The Army gave you a raw deal.”

“I thought you were in Lima.”

“I came north to ramrod Koenig’s security team. And to take you back with me.”

Alex’s mind raced to catch up. “You want me to go to Lima?”

“Got a crackerjack gig for you down there. Your minimum wage days are over.” Faust punched Alex’s shoulder playfully. “You’ve salvaged Koenig’s pet project. That’ll have him eating out of your hand.” His grin widened. “Let’s go talk to the old boy.”

Alex stumbled mentally. Frederick was a project? “You need to send someone to pick up the kidnapper. There’s no heat in the cabin, and she isn’t dressed for the cold.”

A terse nod. “Have to handle diplomacy first.” Pressure from Faust’s hand on his shoulder gave Alex a firm sense that he should head for the flight operations building, a short walk through the snow from the helicopter landing pad. Faust borrowed the supervisor’s office, telephoned his boss, and put the phone on speaker.

“We have Frederick,” he said when Koenig came on the line. “The resort doctor will look him over, but he appears to be in good health. Standing beside me is Alex Bryson, the guy who captured the girl and brought Frederick in.”

“Good work, young man,” Koenig said in British-accented and elegantly modulated English. “Theo, contact the household staff in Lima, have them clean out the girl’s quarters and dispose of her belongings.” A click on the line signaled the end of the connection.

Faust rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder as they walked out of the office and into the operations ready room. “The helo’s being refueled,” he said. “You’ll need to show the pilot where you left Pia. Meanwhile, they’re setting up a room for you at the lodge. We’ll get together tomorrow for drinks and dinner. Let’s make it eight o’clock.” A rough slap on Alex’s back, and Faust left the operations building.

Alex found a coffee urn. Steaming cup in hand, he settled onto a couch with his feet propped on a battered, cigarette-burned coffee table to wait for the helicopter to be made ready. He picked up a day-old copy of the
Denver Post
and read a front-page account of Frederick’s disappearance. The baby and his nanny, accompanied by a driver and a bodyguard, had been en route to Silver Hill Ski Resort. According to the bodyguard, another vehicle rear-ended their limousine. They spun off the road, slid sideways down a slope, and rammed a grove of cedars head-on. He bumped his head and blacked out. When he came to he found the driver dead, Frederick and the nanny gone. Blowing snow had obliterated all footprints and tire tracks. The reporter speculated that the nanny had cohorts in the trailing vehicle, that they took the Koenig boy while the bodyguard was unconscious.

Alex had been wrestling with fresh remorse over leaving Pia trussed in the snow-bound cabin. The article helped him regain his perspective. Whatever happened, it served her right. She’d betrayed the Koenig family’s trust and endangered Frederick. And she had swung that cast-iron skillet with deadly intent. She would probably have killed Frederick, too.

No, he couldn’t buy that. She was a kidnapper, that much was clear. And she’d certainly tried to do him in. But the way she’d been with Frederick, he couldn’t believe she would deliberately hurt the kid.

But she tried to leave the cabin when they heard the TV newscast about the kidnapping. Would she have done that if it wasn’t true?

Suppose she had claimed the report was a mistake, a mix-up? Would he have believed her? He sipped his coffee and stared at the newspaper. Without the fight, maybe he would have trussed her more gently, but he would nevertheless have hogtied her.

He tossed the paper aside and refilled his cup. On his way back to the couch, he flipped on a television. Half asleep, he barely heard a regional newscast until the camera focused on a stylishly dressed woman with blond hair pulled severely back. The announcer identified her as Frederick Koenig’s mother.

Alex sat up straight and tried to read her expression. Boredom, he decided.

“I am so glad our baby is safe,” she said. Her Spanish accent was pronounced, her voice flat. She could have been reading from a script. “We are grateful to the authorities for their effort. Our love goes out to the American people for their outpouring of sympathy during this crisis.”

Alex stared at the screen as the camera focused back on the newscaster. What kind of mother would react so blandly to her child’s rescue?

“So ends the grand caper that wasn’t,” the newscaster said. “The saga that mobilized every lawman in Colorado and virtually shut down Denver International Airport ends not with a bang, but a whimper. The culprit, thought to be a kidnapper, proved to be nothing more sinister than a hit-and-run incident and a Rocky Mountain snowstorm. Cold and hungry but unharmed, little Frederick Koenig and his nanny were found in a cabin not far from their disabled limousine and are now winging their way home to Lima. While her husband resumes planning the fate of Silver Hill Ski Resort and the vast acreage of the Colorado Land and Cattle Company, Mrs. Koenig is doing what celebrity gossips claim she has done every day during her family’s visit: she’s going shopping.”

No kidnapping? Frederick and Pia on their way home? What the hell was going on? Alex stared at the television while a pitchman for the Rocky Mountain Appliance Emporium screamed that record cold weather was ruining business. “Washers and dryers by the truckload, and they’ve got to go. Instant credit and cash back. No reasonable offer refused.”

“Let’s go, Bryson,” someone called from the doorway. It was the Silver Hill security man who had shown him around the ski resort’s minuscule village when he first signed on. In a mental fog, Alex followed the man to the helicopter landing pad. Neither of the two other helicopter passengers wore the silvery-gray jumpsuit and parka that made up the Silver Hill security force’s uniform. They were not people Alex had seen before. One pointed to the empty copilot’s seat. “Guide us in, ace. That’s all you have to do.”

Alex strapped himself into the seat, slipped on a headset, and keyed the intercom. “Run due south to the Warrior River,” he told the pilot. “Then west along the southern rim. I’ll let you know when I spot the cabin.”

The pilot gave him a thumbs-up, and the helicopter lifted off. Alex stared out the windshield, still trying to make sense of what he had heard on the TV and what Koenig had said to Faust on the telephone. With Frederick safe, Koenig seemed to have lost interest in Pia. He must have given the media a whitewash story to smooth over the facts—whatever they were.

Twelve minutes after takeoff, the cabin came into view in bright moonlight. No smoke visible from the chimney. How long ago had the log Alex left in the cabin’s fireplace been consumed or gone out? A vision of Pia’s body on the couch, as stiff as a side of beef in a frozen-meat locker, made acid boil in his stomach.

The helicopter settled in the snow. The engine wound down, the rotor’s clatter died. “Where’d you stash her?” asked the man who had directed Alex to the copilot seat.

“Front room.” Alex freed himself from his seatbelt and started to rise.

The man put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “You wait here.”

Alex settled back while the two men stepped down into the snow. What if he’d tied Pia’s wrists and ankles too tightly? Even if she wasn’t frozen, by now gangrene could have set in. She’d be a candidate for quadruple amputation.

The men returned supporting her, one on each side grasping her arms. She tried to walk, but her legs quit halfway to the helicopter. The men either didn’t notice or didn’t care. They hustled her the rest of the way with her feet dragging in the snow.

Alex met them at the hatch. “I’ll take her.” He lifted her into a seat and strapped the seat belt and shoulder harness around her.

The passenger compartment had two benches that faced each other, with barely enough shared leg room between. Alex sat with one of the men on the rear, forward-facing bench. On the other, Pia slumped by the second man. She reeked of urine. Mucus from the split on her forehead had once again sealed her left eyelid closed. She stared at Alex with the other eye. The purple knot on her forehead had ballooned. The swelling held the split skin agape. Alex had experienced enough head injuries to know she felt like someone was banging inside her skull with a hammer.

They made the brief run back to Silver Hill in silence, and the Chevy Tahoe met them at the helicopter landing pad. Griping about the urine stench, the men in the helicopter seemed content to let Alex carry Pia to the Tahoe and strap her into the rear seat. The driver braked at the lodge, and the man who had given orders during the flight grinned at Alex. “Your stop, ace.”

“I’ll help you get the prisoner settled.”

The man shook his head. “Faust will take it from here.”

* * *

In his room, Alex found a full complement of toiletries. He even had a choice between a safety razor and an electric. Drawers held boxer- and jockey-style shorts nestling alongside T-shirts and sleeveless undershirts. A closet contained a wide selection of outerwear, everything a decent fit. Of course they would know his size—they had his employment physical. And they must have pressured local shop owners to sell after hours. No price tags, but everything looked expensive. Not what he would have bought.

He ordered a snack from room service, then stood for a long time in the shower, letting hot water loosen tense muscles. Where had they taken Pia? Maybe he should have insisted on going with her. Apparently, Koenig thought owning half his country entitled him to treat people anyway he wanted: . . . c
lean out the girl’s quarters and dispose of her belongings
.

As Alex toweled himself dry, someone knocked. Expecting room service, he slipped on a robe and padded barefoot to the door.

Faust entered and plopped into a chair. He rested his booted feet on the coffee table. “You did good, Alex. Erased any doubt Koenig might have had about putting you on the payroll.”

“On the payroll to do what?”

“For now, as my assistant. But things are about to get interesting in Peru. When the dust settles, I’ll be running a world-class mining operation. To handle it, I’ll need a dozen men like you. People I can trust.”

Alex shook his head. “What do I know about mining?”

“You know soldiering. You’ll train a cadre of officers to maintain security in a mining district. And in your district, your word will be law. You’ll have all the—”

Another knock at the door. This time it was room service. As the waiter set out Alex’s snack, Faust got to his feet. “Pick up your final Silver Hill paycheck and wrap up whatever you need to here. We’ll talk some more tomorrow over dinner. Remember, eight o’clock. Meet me in the cocktail lounge.” He slapped Alex’s back. “I’ve got to go up the hill, make sure Pia understands her situation.”

He had to go
up
the hill? Everything except the office complex and the ski lift was downhill from the lodge. “You keeping her in the office?”

A nod. “The lodge would put her too close to her kid. I’m not about to give her a second chance to snatch him.”

Her
kid? What the hell? “Koenig seemed to be letting you decide what happens to her. Why is that?”