The Lions Of Lucerne

78

Scot quietly descended the metal stairs with Claudia directly behind him. He delicately placed one foot in front of the other, careful not to make any sound. They were inside the Lions’ den now, and there was no telling when or where the first one would appear.

When they reached the bottom, Claudia could see that the energy it took to move with such stealth was depleting what fragile reserves Scot had left. She gave him that same you are going to be okay look he himself had given wounded colleagues and kidnap victims he had been tasked with rescuing over the years as a SEAL. In response to her glance, Harvath simply flashed back a thumbs-up.

He knew there was probably a mechanism to trigger the closing of the secret door above, but he didn’t have any time to waste looking for it. A small hatchway led from the bottom of the stairs into a deserted corridor. The whole scene was eerily familiar.

He remembered visiting one of the last remaining Nazi bunkers in Berlin. Everything he now saw was exactly the same-vintage World War II. The walls, which had been painted a utilitarian gray, were amazingly smooth considering they had been carved right out of the rough stone of the mountain itself. With it located this far below the surface, there was no doubt how solid the compound was. Even the hatchway they had just passed through was made from thick sheets of steel capable of withstanding an incredible blast. The bare bulbs that lined the walls and lit the corridors were enclosed in rusty wire cages, which only added to the feeling of total isolation that the Swiss bunker exuded at every turn.

“Where do we start?” whispered Claudia.

A series of three different hallways branched off from where they now stood. Squares of lighter-colored paint with holes in the corners were on the wall at the beginning of each hallway and probably marked where evacuation plaques had once been. It would have been extremely helpful to look at one of those right now and ascertain the bunker’s layout.

“Eenie, meenie, miney…We’ll take this one.”

“What about more sentries?”

“The way I figure it, Miner doesn’t have a lot of men he can spare.”

“Why not?”

“We killed two of his men in Lucerne and two more outside. That makes four. There’s a finite number of men he would have risked bringing in on this assignment. They would have to be men he could trust, men he had worked with before, and just enough to do the job. More men means more people to split the money with and more chances of word leaking out and getting caught.

“We’ll take this tunnel first.”

The entire structure looked deserted. The only noise came from the overhead ventilation system, which creaked and moaned as it circulated air. Someone was here, somewhere. It was just a matter of finding them.

Scot and Claudia passed room after room…all empty. There were barracks, a mess, and even a communications room with its equipment covered by locked metal panels. No Smoking signs were posted every three feet, and the tunnel seemed to go on forever. When they finally reached the end, they had the choice of going right or left.

“What do you think?” whispered Claudia.

“I think someone around here doesn’t much care for smokers.”

“What?”

“Never mind. All the other tunnels turned left, so I say left.”

“I agree.”

Carefully, the two moved forward, checking each and every room for signs of life. The fact that they had yet to see any gave them both the chills, though neither would ever have admitted it.

They came upon another room. This one appeared to be an infirmary or operating room of some sort, and it didn’t look deserted. It had been used recently. They entered and swept the room with their weapons, Scot on point and Claudia watching his blind spots. She was quickly getting the hang of this.

Medical instruments, saline IV bags, empty vials, and surgical equipment were scattered everywhere. A stainless steel table stood in the middle of the room. Scot depressed the foot pedal of a nearby garbage can and found a mass of bloody gauze, gloves, and paper wrappers.

“Well, now we know someone’s been here for sure,” said Scot, beckoning Claudia to come see what he had found.

Claudia looked inside as Scot dug around the can with the muzzle of his H amp;K. She never learned whether he was looking for something in particular or just out of curiosity, because a stocky man with a military flattop strode into the room at that very moment.

The man’s first reaction was surprise. The last thing he expected to see standing in his surgery room was an armed couple going through his trash.

In one smoothly executed move, Claudia let go of the assault rifle and drew the Makarov from her waistband. She had only one shot and she used it perfectly. The bullet entered the nurse’s brain, just above his left eye. He was killed instantly and dropped straight to the cold tile floor.

Harvath was on the man in a heartbeat, dragging him inside, where his body couldn’t be seen from the hall.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.

“Growing up on a farm in Grindelwald, you find lots of ways to amuse yourself.”

“I doubt you learned that kind of shooting on a farm. Help me get him all the way inside.”

Claudia was just as amazed as Scot at her own deadly accuracy because, in fact, she hadn’t aimed at the man’s head; she had been aiming at his chest. Either he moved or she moved, or they both did just at the last second. It really didn’t matter. What mattered was that the man had been neutralized before he could sound an alarm.

“We must be getting close. They wouldn’t have spread themselves too thin. There are probably three or four rooms that they’re using. They will be as close together as possible. Let’s get moving before anyone comes looking for this guy.”

Harvath checked the hallway, twice, before signaling to Claudia that it was safe to come out. They continued in the same direction, hugging a flat wall with no further doors. A group of crates were pushed up against the left-hand side, and they had to swing out to the right to get around them.

As soon as they stepped into the middle of the hallway, a yell broke out behind them. “Eindringlinge! Eindringlinge!” (Intruders!), followed by a spray of automatic weapon fire.

Scot grabbed Claudia and threw her behind the crates for cover and then landed right on top of her.

“I guess they know we’re here,” she said.

“You think so? Listen, I’ll take care of the guy with the big mouth, and you make sure nobody comes from the other direction.”

Harvath flipped on the laser sight, swung the MP5 around the side of the crates, and rolled out onto his stomach. The man at the other end of the corridor was on full auto, and the bullets sent pieces of gray-painted rock everywhere. Despite how close the shots were falling, Harvath focused his concentration, gently squeezed the trigger, and fired. The spray from the other end of the corridor came to an abrupt halt, and the man fell to the floor, dead.

That’s one down, he thought, but how many more to go?

“Scot, I think you’d better get back here,” said Claudia, immediately answering his question.

He rolled behind the crates and began hearing what Claudia had heard-footsteps, and lots of them, coming fast from the opposite direction. Claudia had the assault rifle ready to go. When the first of the men appeared around the corner, she let loose with a deafening round of fire. Everyone’s weapons to this point had been silenced, so the unsilenced SG551 Swiss SWAT assault rifle sounded like a rapidly booming cannon. The men retreated back around the corner.

“Now’s our chance. Let’s go.”

Harvath jumped up and pushed Claudia around the crates, in the direction they had originally come. Scot ran as best he could backward, guarding their six, as Claudia ran as fast as her legs would carry her forward. They came upon and passed right through the T intersection where they had been five minutes ago. Now they were running down the corridor to the right, opposite of all the other tunnels.

Only sporadic doors were visible along this passageway, and they were all locked. This hallway was carved much rougher than the others and seemed to be some sort of access or service tunnel. Eventually, it began to curve back around to the left. Scot and Claudia kept running.

Fifty meters later, the tunnel opened up onto a large cargo bay complete with overhead winches. Huge pallets stacked with food and bottled water sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room. Scot walked over to examine the pallets.

“Evian,” he said.

“There’s also French wine and Italian pastas,” said Claudia.

“Somebody’s got good taste.”

“But, how’d they get it in here?”

“That way,” said Scot, pointing to a set of railway tracks on the far side of the bay that led into a dark tunnel. “I’ll bet you a year’s worth of water that those tracks link up somehow with the cogwheel railway.”

At the far end of the pallets was a smaller pallet covered with a green canvas tarp. Scot walked over to it and drew it back. Underneath were crates of ammunition and wooden boxes filled with various weapons. The look on Claudia’s face said it all as she stepped closer.

“Let me guess,” said Harvath. “Your stolen weapons.”

“Yes. I don’t know why I’m going to say this, but I can’t believe it.”

“Well, that takes care of everything on your Christmas list. Now for mine. Where’s that U.S. president I asked for?”

From behind the pallet closest to Claudia, the groundsman sprang up and placed the point of his pistol against her temple. “That is not part of the tour, I’m afraid,” he said.

Harvath’s eyes bored into the man, and he tightened the grip on his MP5.

“I suggest you drop your weapons,” said the groundsman.

Claudia hesitated until he grabbed her left arm and gave it a good, strong jerk. She let her assault rifle clatter to the floor.

Scot also hesitated, but then set the H amp;K down gently.

“Very good,” the groundsman said, as he ran his hands along Claudia’s body. He found her holster and removed the SIG-Sauer. “And what about you?” said the killer, indicating he was speaking to Harvath. “You American cowboys never only have one weapon. I should expect at least five or six, no? Let’s go. Out with the rest of them!” He kept a firm grip on Claudia’s arm as he pointed his pistol at Scot to emphasize the seriousness of his point.

“You know,” began Harvath, “I really hate it when people point things at me. It doesn’t matter whether it’s guns, knives, or…now, Claudia!”

Harvath dove for the deck on the off chance an involuntary spasm might cause the pistol the killer had trained on him to go off. Claudia clumsily drove the blade of her knife deep into the side of her captor’s throat and stepped back. He clutched ineffectively at the blade, falling to his knees in agony. As the blood gushed from his neck, all that was visible of the knife was the bone handle.

Claudia rushed to Scot, who pulled her into his arms. “You okay?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Not bad, but remind me to teach you sometime the correct way to use one of those things.”

Claudia stared at the man, who had killed so many in his lifetime, lying on the floor dying. “My grandfather gave me that knife. I never climbed without it.”

Scot was about to say that he liked Claudia’s grandfather more and more with each passing minute, but he didn’t get the chance. A group of men emerged from the access tunnel and began shooting.

Claudia tried to reach for her assault rifle, but Scot pulled her away.

“There’s no time. Let’s move!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and running toward the opposite end of the cargo bay. The pallets provided some cover at first, but the bullets got closer and closer as they broke into the open and ran for the nearest hallway.