The Lions Of Lucerne

77

The trail was well marked, even in winter. It twisted and turned as it wove upward around high outcroppings of rock. After a final bend, Scot and Claudia came upon a small ridge that sloped downward, and in the distance she could just make out the church.

“That’s it,” she whispered into her headset.

“Excellent. Let’s see if anyone’s expecting us.”

The pair lay down in the snow, and Scot affixed the nightscope to the assault rifle. He scanned the ridge and the area surrounding the little church. While Scot did that, Claudia emptied the nine-millimeter Parabellum ammunition from two of her SIG clips and loaded up the H amp;K submachine gun.

“It looks quiet. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s raised the alarm,” said Harvath, rising to a crouch. “Follow me.”

He picked a careful path, off the trail, down to the small plateau that held the church. Several times he raised the SG551 to his shoulder and peered through the scope, scanning the area to make sure they were not walking into a trap. So far, so good.

They reached the back of the church, and Harvath tried to look in through the stained-glass windows. It was completely dark inside. He signaled Claudia to stay low, creep around the other side, and meet him in front. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and removed the Makarov from inside his snowsuit. Cautiously, he crept around his side of the building. By the time he got to the front, Claudia was already waiting for him.

“Anybody home?” he whispered.

“Some footprints in the snow. They look new.”

Claudia shined her small Mag-Lite on the ground, illuminating the prints. After examining the door of the church for any wiring or alarms, Scot tried it. It was locked. He signaled Claudia what he wanted her to do and then got into a crouched position. His eye against the nightscope and his finger on the trigger, he nodded. Claudia flipped the firing selector on the MP5 to single shot and positioned the weapon where Scot had indicated on the lock. Scot nodded again, and she fired, shattering the lock into a mass of hot, broken metal. Claudia gave the door a kick and quickly jumped back as Scot ran into the dark room, scanning every corner with the night-vision device mounted on the rifle.

Harvath signaled Claudia to join him as he continued to sweep the room. This time she understood what it meant to cover someone’s six and she did just that. The church was very small. There were about ten wooden pews on each side of a narrow aisle. The whole room took only moments to clear.

Suddenly and without warning, Scot put his right hand up in a fist and Claudia came to a halt where she stood. He had taped his Mag-Lite to the underside of the assault rifle and now twisted it into the on position. He scanned the floor all around them. Claudia wanted to know what he was looking for, but she remained deathly quiet and didn’t move a muscle.

Confident no one was within earshot, Harvath finally broke the silence. “Do you see the floor?”

Claudia nodded yes.

“We dragged a lot of snow in here, and it’s already starting to melt. You see there and there?”

She nodded again.

“Now look over there.”

Claudia looked in the direction Scot was pointing, and on the gray flagstones she could make out the imprints of two pairs of stocking feet. “What is it?” she asked.

“I think our friends don’t want to make the same mistake we did and track in tons of snow, especially if this is one of the ways into the underground fortress. They take their boots off at the door and carry them in. But after standing around during a watch rotation, your feet get pretty sweaty. Believe me, I know.”

“So they walked through the church in their socks, not knowing they were leaving a trail?”

“Yup. Time to follow the yellow brick road.”

Claudia fell in step behind him.

The footprints led across the floor to a raised stone platform that held the altar. Harvath scanned the flagstones for any sign of pressure plates, making sure to follow the prints step for step. They ended at an enormous stone baptismal font, above which hung a statue of the crucified Christ.

“A lot of folks come up here for baptisms?” asked Scot.

“Marriages mostly.”

“Seems kind of a pain in the butt to haul the kids and everyone up here to baptize a baby.”

“You would bring all the same people for a wedding, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess, but it seems awfully out of place.”

“Remember, everything has a purpose.”

“Your grandfather’s words, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, the footprints end right here, so there must be a door of some sort. We just need to find it. But first, let’s get out of these suits. I’m burning up.”

Scot and Claudia removed their snowsuits and hid their gear as well as they could at the far end of the church. Harvath then traded Claudia her assault rifle for the H amp;K submachine gun. It was a weapon he knew extremely well, and it felt good in his hands. While the SG551 with its night-vision scope was excellent for taking out targets at a distance, for close quarters’ work in tight spaces, nothing beat an MP5. Scot also gave Claudia the silenced Makarov pistol with its one remaining shot.

Back at the baptismal font, they looked for hinges or any indication of where a door might be concealed. Almost an hour had passed since they’d entered the church.

Finally Claudia whispered, “Scot, look at this.”

Harvath came over to Claudia’s side, where she was using her Mag-Lite to examine a series of stone reliefs above the font. “What is it?”

“See these?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“They represent the original cantons of Switzerland, but there’s something wrong.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s an extra. It doesn’t belong,” said Claudia.

“What is it?”

She moved her hand over the worn stone. “It looks very old, but it isn’t. It’s been made to look that way, to match the rest of the church.”

“Great, but what is it?”

“It’s the crest for the army corps of engineers. It was on a ring my grandfather used to wear.”

“Are you positive?”

“It’s hard to tell exactly, but I think that’s the point. If you were looking specifically for their crest, you would eventually find it, even though it’s been worn down. But, if you didn’t know what you were looking for or didn’t know enough to make the connection, you would pass it right by.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Let me move over here and stand where the footprints end…” Claudia moved as she spoke. “From here, my arms are too short to reach the emblem, but a taller person, like those sentries, would have no problem.”

“Do you think the crest springs a door?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“You’re right,” said Scot. “Stand back over there and have the Makarov ready.”

Claudia stepped backward and used the altar for cover. Scot transferred the MP5 to his left hand and reached up with his right for the emblem. The stone was cold and rough beneath his fingers. He took a deep breath and tried to push it in. Nothing happened. He then tried pulling it out-nothing. Think, he told himself. He tried turning the crest clockwise, and it began to give.

There was a heavy grating sound of stone scraping against stone as the entire baptismal font slid back to reveal a narrow spiral staircase leading straight down.

Open sesame, said Scot to himself.

Small flickers were followed by a series of lights beginning to illuminate. Scot flinched, and his finger tightened around the trigger, ready to fire. After nothing further happened, he realized that there must be an automatic mechanism that turned on the lights when the hatch was sprung. Whoever designed the stairway was quite ingenious. The first fixture was far enough down so that it wouldn’t cast any light whatsoever into the church. Scot signaled Claudia, who slung the assault rifle and followed him into the stairwell.