The Lions Of Lucerne

14

With Sam Harper, the Secret Service’s number one man on-site, missing in action, Tom Hollenbeck was now in charge. When word reached him that Agent Harvath and the president’s daughter had been recovered and brought in unconscious, he left instructions that he was to be notified immediately when either one came to.

The storm was making it impossible to coordinate search-and-rescue efforts. Even so, Hollenbeck contacted Hill Air Force Base’s commanding officer and requested that they locate the two closest choppers with advanced heat-seeking FLIR, or forward looking infrared, units and have them flown to Deer Valley as soon as humanly possible. Hollenbeck hoped that by the time they got there, there would be no need for them, but contingency plans always had to be made.

All the officers the Secret Service had available were sent out to try and locate the president and his team. As Longo was still having no luck getting the Service’s Motorola radios to work, Palmer had taken it upon herself to get hold of Deer Valley’s resort manager and have him send over as many portable CB radios as he could scrounge. Communications wouldn’t be secure, but at this point that was the least of the Secret Service’s worries.

Every available ski patroller and search-and-rescue volunteer from the surrounding three counties had been called in to help with the search. At risk were not only the president, his daughter, and their protective details, but the countless number of civilians who had been skiing on runs affected by the avalanche.

Hollenbeck sent Palmer out with a civilian team to comb the area where Agent Harvath and Amanda had been found. The remaining Secret Service agents took two of the best search-and-rescue people from Deer Valley’s team and as many local law enforcement personnel as they could muster to help coordinate their search for the president. As much as he hated it, Hollenbeck knew that his job was to stay behind and run the operation from the command center.

When the call came that Agent Harvath was regaining consciousness, Hollenbeck grabbed a microcassette recorder, his parka, and flew out the door.

The soft, orange glow of a bedside lamp was the first thing Scot noticed as he began to come to. As his eyes opened further, he saw the boards of knotty pine that paneled the ceiling and below that a wallpaper border that ran the length of the room and depicted moose and deer in a wooded area. The blanket on top of him was heavy. It felt as if he had on more than one, but the one he could see was red and gray wool with white snowflakes. As Scot looked further down toward his feet, he noticed the footboard was carved from rough-hewn logs. He then realized he was in one of the guest rooms of the president’s chalet and it was still night.

“Well, it looks like the wee lad is finally waking up,” came a voice with a mock Scottish accent.

Scot’s reflexes kicked in, and he tried to sit up. “Amanda! Where’s-”

“Whoa!” came the voice again. This time the funny accent was gone and the man spoke in his normal Texas drawl. “She’s here, Scot. Just across the hall. Dr. Paulos is taking care of her.”

“How is she?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. My main concern is you right now, so let’s relax and let me take a look.” The doctor removed a penlight from the bag next to him and shined it in both of Scot’s eyes.

“I want to see her.”

“First I am going to complete my exam; then we are going to get an update from Dr. Paulos, and then if he says it’s okay, you can see her.”

The voice, bad accent and all, belonged to Dr. Skip Trawick. He and John Paulos had been friends of Scot’s since his ski team days. Scot was a pretty good mimic, but the Scottish accent was one he just couldn’t get down, so Skip always used it as his funny way of saying hello.

As head of the advance team for the trip to Park City, Scot had recommended both Skip and Dr. Paulos as the on-site medical pros. Now he wondered if that had been such a good idea.

“Damn it, Skip. Who the hell do you think got you and John these gigs as docs for the presidential party? Let me up; I have to see her.”

“You, my friend, haven’t changed a bit. You know that? Still as haggis-headed as ever.”

“Cut the crap.”

“It would be my pleasure, but first the exam. Now, how many fingers do you see?”

“None, you haven’t poured anything yet.”

“So far I’m going to say your neurological function is the same as it always was, low to subpar.”

“Yuk, yuk, yuk. C’mon, Skip. I want to peek in on her. I have to know how she is.”

“As soon as I am finished. Any areas of severe pain?”

“Yeah, right in my ass. I’m going to give you to the count of three to help me out of this bed, or I’m going to shove you off and do it myself. One-”

“Alive and kicking. That’s a good sign, isn’t it, Dr. Trawick?” asked Tom Hollenbeck as he threw his parka on a chair next to the door and made his way over to the bed.

“Maybe. The patient, though, claims to have a pain in the ass,” replied Dr. Trawick.

“The patient is a pain in the ass,” said Hollenbeck. “What’s the story? Anything broken, concussion?”

“I haven’t been able to complete my examination, as of yet. The patient is not being compliant.”

“Not compliant? Skip, you son of a-I’ll give you noncompliant.”

“And a wee bit aggressive,” said Skip, the Scottish accent back again.

“Jesus, Skip. You’re on duty. Could you at least pretend to be a professional for a few minutes? On second thought, fuck this. I’m getting up,” said Scot.

“Hold on there, Harvath,” Hollenbeck said sternly. “I want you to cooperate. None of this tough-guy stuff. You just lie there and let the doc take a look at you.”

“Fine. Go ahead, Skip. The sooner you’re finished, the sooner I can get over to Amanda.”

“You’re not going anywhere until I get a full statement from you. Just settle down, would ya? My God, Scot. We’ve got a very serious situation on our hands right now, so get focused,” said Hollenbeck.

“I’m sorry, Tom. You’re right. If the good doctor would unplug me from this IV, I’d be happy to get started.”

“No way, José. The IV stays in. You came in severely dehydrated. I want to get some more fluids into you first,” said Dr. Trawick as he continued to examine Scot from head to toe.

“I brought a tape recorder with me. We’ll take your statement verbally,” said Hollenbeck.

“Verbally? But what about him?” said Scot as he motioned to Dr. Trawick.

“What about me? I’m still on nonoperational Special Forces duty, Scot.”

“Oh, so that’s what you call shagging kegs when members of your old unit come to town,” said Harvath.

“Listen, as one of the ‘Quiet Professionals,’ I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, yeah? Coulda’ fooled me, ‘cause it’s always open.”

Hollenbeck hated to break up the lovefest, but he had bigger concerns. “Dr. Trawick, I don’t have time for you to sign a National Security Non-Disclosure Document. I am aware of your status as a Special Forces operative, and I know that you’ve maintained your top secret clearance. In the interest of tending to your patient and the ongoing emergency, I want to make sure you understand that nothing said within this room is to be repeated.”

“No problem, Agent Hollenbeck. You have my word.”

“Can you also get his word that he’ll shut up and not repeat that lame-ass story of how he served his country by treating an elephant in the Kuwaiti zoo during Desert Storm?”

“Now who’s the comedian? Why don’t you try to sit up? I want to listen to your heart and check your ribs.”

Harvath stifled a groan as Dr. Trawick helped him sit up. The agents who brought him in had cut away his sweater and turtleneck, as well as his Lycra pants, placing him in a hospital-style gown before putting him into bed. As Harvath leaned forward, his gown was open in back and Hollenbeck saw what looked like a topographical map of green, blue, and yellow islands, bruises that covered his back and shoulders.

“Holy shit. Are you sure you’re up to this?” asked Hollenbeck.

Trawick said, “I’m going to shoot some adrenaline into your IV, and that should help give you a little more strength. You want anything for the pain?”

“No, let’s get this over with, and then I want you to clear me for the hot tub downstairs so I can soak this out.”

“Scot, this isn’t some post-ski-competition session. You walloped yourself quite a few times back in those days, and God knows you scared the bejesus outta me more than once, but your body has suffered some serious trauma here. So far it doesn’t look like anything is broken. If there’s no blood in your urine, I might postpone having you to go to the hospital for further tests, but if I do, you’re gonna stay right here in this bed for several days at least. Now shut up for a second and take a deep breath.”

Scot did as he was told, and Hollenbeck waited until the doctor had removed the stethoscope from his ears before he launched into a series of questions and recorded everything on tape for later transcription.

Scot ran down the list-seeing the president, Harper, and the rest of the team at the last lap, Amanda’s wipeout and the communications outage, the decision to take her through the bowl to get back to the house, the avalanche, getting to the outcropping, being buried, digging out, and trying to get Amanda’s unconscious body back to the house.

Occasionally, Dr. Trawick broke in with questions that pushed Scot to reach a little further back. Long-term memory questions like, What’s your address, your telephone and driver’s license numbers? were easy for him to answer, but he had problems with some short-term memory questions such as, What hotel are you staying in, what airline did you fly to Utah on, and when was your last visit to the White House?

When he was finished recounting his tale, the room was completely silent. After a moment, Dr. Trawick let out a long whistle.

“You know how lucky you are to be alive, boy?” he asked.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I worry, though, about the short-term memory loss. I don’t know how much is gone.”

“Like you said, Skip. It’s just like the old days. I got whacked in the head and I’m a little fuzzy…on some utterly unimportant stuff, I might add, but it’ll come back.”

“I’m sure it will, but at some point I am going to need to run some tests on you, nonetheless.”

Scot ignored Skip and turned to Hollenbeck and asked, “What’s the status on the others? The president, Harp, Maxwell?”

Hollenbeck inhaled deeply before he responded. “At this point, there is no status. The radios are still down, and you and Amanda are the only ones we have recovered.”

Scot couldn’t believe his ears. “No status? That’s ridiculous. Nothing from the CAT or JAR teams? Nothing off the Smocks? You can’t even get his five cents’ worth?” Five cents’ worth referred to the homing device that every president was provided with by the Secret Service. It was an Indian head nickel containing a transmitter that operated on a special frequency that could deliver GPS coordinates. The president always carried this coin on his person and referred to it as his “good luck piece.” Although tonight, it didn’t seem to be bringing anyone any good luck.

“The Motorolas, the Smocks, everything was intermittent throughout the day. Because it was across the entire communications platform, we wrote it off to weather or mountain shadow anomalies. It wasn’t until we were down for several minutes that we raised the alarm. So, in answer to your question, we have no status.”

“What about search-and-rescue?”

“All available agents have been sent to Death Chute with some of the ski patrol and sheriff’s department S-and-R guys. Agent Palmer is leading a civilian team back where we picked you and Goldilocks up. I think Palmer’s team is going to have better luck.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You were picked up in the bowl. The bowl is easily accessible. We’ve already got some construction lamps and related equipment en route. I must have personally spoken with every construction company within a hundred-mile radius. Any and all heavy earthmoving equipment that exists is trying to make its way there right now.”

“But what about the president and Sam?”

“You tell me, Scot. You’ve skied Death Chute. You were the one who was in charge of securing it. What kind of equipment do you think we could get onto a nearly vertical drop face?”

“Choppers.”

“Grounded.”

“Not our stuff. Not those Marine pilots.”

“Yes, even our stuff and even our guys. When you feel up to it, take a peek out the window. You can’t even see your hand in front of your face. It’s a complete whiteout. What’s more, we can’t get lights up where we need them, and we certainly can’t get any cranes or bulldozers in there because the area is so inaccessible.”

As the severity of the situation began to sink in, Harvath pressed his palms against his forehead.

“What we do have going for us,” Hollenbeck continued, “is that you saw the president’s detail make it to the first plateau around the treed area. The CAT team waiting at the bottom never saw them come out, so we have a general idea of where they might be.”

“But that snow came roaring down the mountain. They could have been totally swept past the CAT team.”

“I don’t think so. If you really did see Ahern and Houchins wipe out by the trees, then the rest of the detail would have held up for them. I am going to assume that they heard and interpreted the avalanche the same way you did and went into the trees. We’ve got over fifty people up there right now with dogs. We have to hope for the best. The mushers will work the pups, and the rest will link and sink.” Link and sink was a search-and-rescue technique in which a line of people moved forward side by side, as if linked by an invisible chain, sinking long aluminum poles into the snow every foot, in an effort to feel something or someone underneath.

Scot looked up at Hollenbeck. “Have you called Washington yet?”

“Yeah. They told me we’re authorized for anything we need.”

Dr. Trawick cleared his throat, indicating that he was through with his examination. Scot and Agent Hollenbeck both turned to look at him.

“There’s no question that you took quite a beating. I am still amazed that, all things considered, you didn’t break anything. In light of what happened, your injuries are relatively minor.”

“Good, then I can-”

“Hold on a second. I’m not finished. When I say your injuries are minor, that doesn’t mean they aren’t serious. While nothing appears to be broken, you may have a few cracked ribs. I want to wrap you with an Ace, ice the bruised areas, and then get you into my office for some X rays and probably a CT scan. Until then, you are to stay in bed. I am going to keep you on the IV for another twelve hours and monitor you. What I am most concerned about is your head trauma. So, for the time being, you are staying put.”

“Thanks all the same, Doc, but I plan on going back out there to help in the search. They need every live body they can get.”

“You’re welcome all the same, but you’re not going anywhere. Your body is of no use to anyone in this condition. You go out there like this and they’ll end up having to waste time carrying you right back in again.”

“I doubt that-”

“And, beyond the total fatigue and exhaustion you have suffered, there’s also some frostbite and mild hypothermia. Any average person probably would have died out there. Your survival says a lot about your training and will to live. I repeat, you are one lucky S.O.B.”

“Are you finished now, because I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta do?” said Scot as he tried to raise himself off the bed.

“Lie down,” barked Hollenbeck. “That’s an order! Harvath, why do you insist on being such a jackass sometimes?”

“Tom, with all due respect, I was head of the advance team. The safety of the presidential party as well as my fellow agents was and is my responsibility. You need my help.”

“Not in this condition I don’t. Forget it.”

“I’m not going to debate this with you, Tom.”

“You’re damn right you’re not. You are staying in that bed until Dr. Trawick or Dr. Paulos says otherwise. You got me?”

“C’mon, Tom. Be realistic.”

A crackle, followed by Hollenbeck’s call sign over the CB radio clipped to his belt, prevented him from arguing any further with Scot, and he raised his hand for silence.

“This is Birdhouse. Over.”

“Birdhouse, this is Hermes. We’ve got something. Over.”

“Copy, Hermes. What’s the situation? Over.”

Despite the effort, Scot sat straight up to listen to the exchange.

“Birdhouse, it appears as if we have recovered two agents from Hat Trick’s detail. They are extricating them as we speak.”

Thank God, Hollenbeck thought to himself. “What’s their condition? Over.”

“Still extracting, hold on a sec…I’m moving over to get a better view.”

“Roger that. Birdhouse is holding.”

Several seconds passed.

“Birdhouse! Birdhouse! Hat Trick’s agents are down! Unnatural causes. I repeat, unnatural causes.”

Hollenbeck couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Scot strained forward to take in every piece of information. He knew that there was absolute pandemonium on the face of Death Chute right now. All of the agents would have their guns drawn, feeling vulnerable in the dark, not knowing if the threat was still present or long since gone.

“Hermes, this is Birdhouse. Tell your team to sweep and reap. I repeat, your team is to sweep and reap. Do you copy? Over.” Sweep and reap was the command to scour the immediate area for hostile targets. If any were encountered, the threat was to be neutralized by taking the perpetrators into custody or by punching their tickets as quickly as possible.

“Roger, Birdhouse. Hermes’s team will sweep and reap. Over.”

Hollenbeck had four CAT teams outside, and he got on the radio and mobilized them next. Two headed off toward Death Chute, and the other two took defensive positions around the house. As he completed his commands, he turned back to see Scot trying to get out of bed. This was more than he needed to handle. He turned to Dr. Trawick. “Sedate him. Now.”

“We can’t do that. Not in his condition.”

“Fine. I want a guard on this door tonight. He doesn’t leave.”

Harvath was only able to squeeze out a couple words of protest before Hollenbeck grabbed his parka and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Scot knew he was licked, at least for now.