Swiss Alps
Max awoke, shaking his head clear, trying to remember what had stirred him from his sleep. He sat up and checked out the room. His eyes adjusted as he stared out the balcony window from the comfort of the hotel room bed. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat in silence as he rubbed his hands on his face. It was 5:20 in the morning and he knew himself well enough to know that it would be futile to try to go back to sleep, so he slid off the bed, lay face down on the carpeted floor, and performed his morning exercises. Once finished he found his pants and boots, put them on, and walked to the balcony door, grabbing his aviator coat from the desk chair against the wall before stepping out into the cold. He pulled out his Zippo lighter and lit the small Belmont cigarette he had put in his mouth, took a long drag and looked back through the balcony at the silhouette of Solange’s naked body inside their hotel room at the spa.
Outside, the floodlights cut through the dark, stormy dawn. Max wiped the inches of accumulated snow off the balcony railing and leaned back against the outside wall, staring at the millions of snowflakes falling from high above his perch. Individual ones glimmered as they crossed the beam of one of the hotel’s lights and disappeared down the steep slope and over the cliff below his second-story balcony.
He thought about the briefcase and its contents. Was it just a theory...or had the Nazis actually built such a device? Had his father ever looked into it? What about Ditter’s signature? It had him listed there as a pilot for the doctor. Either way, he knew that he had to present the case to his superiors. It was most likely a last-ditch attempt to try to turn the tide of the Second World War in one form or another, but the science behind it seemed something the United States might have an interest in, and he knew the right persons to give the information to: the Francis brothers—little mousy geniuses he’d met and befriended in Annapolis who now worked in Naval Intelligence.
Besides, they owed him one since it was Max and Val who’d finally found them the twin girls that took their virginity. Max gave a quick laugh at the thought of that night.
His first priority, though, was 20 feet away, and he figured that adding a few more days to something that had been hidden for over 60 years would not make a difference. He took one last drag of the small Venezuelan cigarette and flicked it out into the snow as he turned to step back inside.
“Leave it open. This room needs to let out some of the steam from the night’s activities,” Solange said while stretching her long body. She patted the bedside and Max began to walk toward the bed, but was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
“What time did you order room service?” he asked.
“Six, then we have massages at seven.” She covered her naked body with the thin bed sheet and put a pillow over her face.
“Well, good thing they’re early, ’cause I am starving,” Max said through his yawn while walking to the door. He reached out, unlocked it, turned the handle, and pulled.
Max froze as the cold steel from a suppressed MP5 submachine gun pushed up against his temple.
“Don’t move and stay quiet,” commanded in English a whispering, thickly accented German voice. “Hands where I can see them.”
Max raised his hands as his heart rate picked up. A rush of adrenaline shot through his body.
“Good, now back up.”
Max knew that he was not facing an amateur by the way the man moved and the equipment he carried. Of special interest was the submachine gun pointed at his head. He knew the weapon well. It was the SEAL’s weapon of choice for silent, close-quarter combat. He had used it many times and knew its deadly power. The fact that it was the suppressor model, one that could shoot a full clip of bullets at a target in silence, didn’t make the situation any more comforting.
The black-hooded man spoke in German to someone behind him, still staring down his sights at Max. “Clear.”
The room filled with three clones of the first man, each pointing his own deadly weapon at Max.
Crap, now there are four.
“Don’t make any sudden moves, Solange,” Max said, and for breaking the silence was hit hard by the muzzle of the MP5. Max staggered back and caught himself on the edge of the bed. He could feel the warm blood trickling down the side of his head as he moved closer to Solange. His calf then rubbed against the butt of his father’s .22, which he had stuffed between the mattresses earlier that night.
“What the hell is this?” Solange shouted as she removed the pillow from her face.
One of the black-clad soldiers pointed his MP5 at Solange and motioned for her to be silent. She did as she was told.
Two of the soldiers parted and let a fifth man come in.
It was Solange who spoke first.
“Father?”
Klaus Wehr looked coldly at Solange wrapped up in the bed sheet.
“Wehr, what is this?” Max asked with authority.
“We are here to reclaim property that was stolen from us.”
“Come again?” Max asked.
“You have items in your possession that do not belong to you.” Wehr paused and looked around as if deciding whether to continue. “Lieutenant Commander, your plane, the Fi-156 Storch, belonged to Doctor Hans Kammler, attaché to Germany’s High Command and servant of the SS. Along with that, you also have paperwork that is of great importance to us.”
“If I might ask, who are us?” Max asked.
“I am General Klaus Wehr of the German SS Phoenix command,” he said proudly.
Max looked toward the closet. Phoenix Command?
“Now, the papers please.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Max said, looking up at Wehr.
“Do you honestly take us for fools? I have been looking for that specific type of aircraft for a long time. So, when our people notified us of one we had never seen before flying south of Paris, I had them keep an eye on the Storch. Once you landed and tied down in Courchevel, we flew in to take a closer look. By Chance Ditter invited you to dinner—ha, strange how the world works. So, after dinner and as you slept in your room that night, I had my men search out the serial numbers of your plane. To my delight, they matched the plane that was stolen from Doctor Kammler so many years ago in Colombia.” He smirked with pleasure as he continued the story. “In 1966, when my team and I arrived at the doctor’s estate, we found him dead in his study. Worse, we found that the contents in his safe were missing. All was lost, I thought, until we searched the property and discovered that the doctor’s plane was also missing. We looked for years, but none of the aircraft we found matched the doctor’s, and we had almost given up hope until you re-opened that door. I knew then that there might be a chance.”
Shit, I am running out of time. Keep him talking. “A chance at what?”
“A chance for our race to rule once more. You see, I was never told the specifics about what the papers held. I was told to be patient, and that all would come to fruition. It took 20 years for that to happen. Finally, it was my time to serve, but that moment was taken away from me, by your father, I suppose. But now we have found our plane, and all we needed was proof that you had the papers, as well. That is when your curiosity, and my daughter, helped in the search.”
Max turned to look at Solange.
“No, she’s not part of this, but the fact remains that she did translate the information to you, and the transmitter in your car picked up that conversation, leading us here.” Wehr spread his arms out. “Now, if you will, the papers please.”
Max looked toward the closet once again. Wehr immediately walked to it, opened its door, and removed the briefcase containing the Nazi files. He took a moment to review what was inside, and produced the thin black notebook. He flipped through it and stopped when he found what he was looking for. Wehr pulled out his own notebook and compared the numbers on the pages. He let out a sigh and turned to his men.
“Our calculations were wrong, but now we have what we came for and there is little time to prepare. Hermann and Wolf, stay here with me; the rest clear the path to the helicopters.”
One of the two commandos closest to the door reached out and inched it open. He exited to the right as the second followed closing the door behind him.
Good, two down, three to go. Hermann’s by the door, Wolf’s next to the balcony. Think... what now?
Wehr picked up Solange’s clothes and threw them at her. “Get dressed. You are coming with us.”
“No.”
Wehr motioned to Wolf, who shot a silent burst at Solange’s pillow. Solange froze in fear as the feathers from the pillow danced in the still air.
“Solange, go with them,” Max said. “I’ll find you.”
Solange dressed in front of all of them. Wehr reached out, grabbed her, and forcibly began to lead her out of the room behind Hermann.
“What do we do with the American?” Wolf asked.
Wehr turned to look at Max. “He knows too much. Take him with us, then we’ll throw him out of the helicopter.”
“N—!” Solange started before Wehr clamped his hand over her mouth.
Crap, not good. I need a distraction. Adrenaline poured into Max’s system; his heart rate increased exponentially. He had to do something—anything—or he was a dead man.
Knock, knock.
Everybody turned to the door except for Max, who took the small window of opportunity and made his move. He reached down, grabbed the .22 from under the mattress, and leapt at Wolf, managing to get off two shots...one missing Wolf, the other penetrating his lower jaw.
Wolf was dead before Max tackled him through the open balcony. They both tumbled over the railing, falling 15 feet down onto the steep snow-covered slope. Max and the body began to slide toward the cliff’s edge. The sound of bullets thudded all around him and sent snow up and over him. Max flipped and grabbed Wolf’s body, placing it between him and the raining bullets.
The bullets traveled alongside Max and found their mark, burying themselves in Wolf’s limbs and bulletproof jacket. Max relaxed for a second when the shooting stopped, but tensed immediately as he and Wolf’s lifeless body flew off the cliff’s edge.
--------
“Just leave it outside. I’ll get it in a moment,” Wehr told the waiter through the door.
He listened as the waiter walked away, and then looked at Hermann.
“He’s dead. If the bullets didn’t kill him, the 100-meter fall did,” Hermann said as he took off his mask. “What do we do about the other loose end?”
“Get eyes on him for now. He’s the only other person who knows. If he does anything, take him out.”
“Understood.” Hermann began to speak into his throat mike. He looked up at his father. “Done.”
“Good. Let’s go,” Wehr said, still holding his hand over Solange’s mouth.
Solange gave Hermann a cold stare of hatred as Wehr led her out the room and to the emergency exit door to their right.
Max came to atop Wolf’s body on a small outcropping jutting from the side of the cliff’s granite wall. Beside him was the thick trunk of the tree that had stopped his fall into the abyss below. He had gone over the edge, but seconds into free-fall had been caught by the tip of a pine tree. The tree bent with the force of both him and the body, then threw them back against the cliff face, where they’d slid down and become wedged between the tree and rock face.
Max looked up as he heard two helicopters fly overhead, and watched the strobe lights disappear into the heavy snowfall. He looked down at his right hand, which still held the .22, and put it back inside his coat. Wolf’s twisted body lay at his feet. Max knelt down in the small space and began to inspect the body. He took note that the MP5 was missing, but an automatic gun was still in its thigh holster. He removed the thin gun and inspected it. It was a Glock 36, with the exception that the one he now held had a longer clip that held more bullets, and it was suppressed. He made sure it was loaded and put it, along with its extra clips, in one of his coat pockets. Next he removed Wolf’s bulletproof vest. The vest had a multitude of pockets. Max checked each one and found six magazine clips for the missing MP5, a radio, a gun-cleaning kit, two energy bars, a flashlight and a small, flat, plastic bottle of water.
Max removed his aviator coat and shook as the cold wind blew against his bare skin. He took the fleece-lined jacket off the body and slipped it on. Next he slid into the bulletproof vest, and finally covered it all up with his coat.
Max put on the leather gloves that he kept in the aviator jacket’s chest pocket and tied up his leather boots for the climb ahead. He stuck the flashlight in his mouth, pointed it at the granite wall, and swung his arms in a circular motion, trying to circulate warm blood into his numbing fingers while looking up at the cracks and imperfections on the wall and calculating the easiest route up the face. He took hold of Wolf’s body and pried it up and out of the wedge. He slid it over the outcropping and watched as the falling body disappeared into the dense mist below.
Max stuck his hand into a crevasse and made a fist, which wedged his hand in place, and pulled himself up. He did the same with the other hand and alternated as he began to scale the side of the cliff. After a few slippery minutes of climbing he was kneeling on the edge, flashlight off, looking up at the hotel and to his balcony. The balcony door to his room was shut and the lights within were off.
He hunched down and walked around the building’s perimeter to the front of the hotel to enter through the lobby, which was empty save for the night shift desk clerk, who was asleep at the front desk. Max tried to shake him awake. The clerk slipped off his chair and fell hard to the ground. On closer inspection, Max saw that the man had a hole above his right eye where a small caliber bullet had entered.
A scream came from Max’s left. Down the hall he saw one of the hotel maids staring at him in horror.
“No, it’s not....” Max tried to explain, but the maid ran off. “Aw, crap,” he said as he stared at his image in the wall mirror of him holding the Glock in his right hand.
I have to get out of here!
He spun and ran out the front of the hotel to his car.
The snow crunched under the weight of his boots when a whistling sound passed next to his ear. He immediately knew what it was and crouched down as he picked up his speed, looking for the origin of the bullet, and saw a man shooting at him 20 meters away from the side of a black Range Rover. Max took aim with his newly acquired Glock and responded with a silent burst. The shooter dove away from his SUV and over a snow bank.
Max jumped a small mound and found himself face to face with the man from the night in the alley. The man reached for the gun at his side, but Max swung his gun forward and point blank shot him in the chest before he could draw his weapon. The man flew back from the force of the .45 caliber bullet and tumbled back into the snow.
Max looked at the Audi. The driver’s side door was open and mist exited through the tailpipe. He closed the trunk, ran around to the front and jumped in, slammed the car into first gear and skidded away, picking up speed as he fishtailed out of the parking area and onto the main road.
“Thanks for warming it up for me!” Max yelled as he passed the squirming man on the ground. The Audi plowed through a snow bank, sending a spray of fresh powder up into the air. He kept close to the mountainside as he left the parking area, being careful on the sharp turn as the car drifted onto the snow-covered mountain road. Max took a quick glance at the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the bouncing headlights of the black Range Rover flying around the bend behind him.
“Don’t these guys ever quit?” Max heard three smacks on the side of the Audi, and leaned down into the passenger’s seat. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” he screamed as he regained control of the Audi and accelerated out of the turn. “You want me? Come and get me!” Max downshifted and the four wheels spun as they searched for a grip on the slick road.
The new Range Rover was no match for the old Audi, but its driver was persistent, and Max found it hard to outpace the SUV as he concentrated on not slipping off the road and keeping his speed up. The car drifted at every turn as he slid down the alpine road toward the sharpest outside turn he remembered on the way up. It was there where he would set his trap.
Max took the turn to make his snow tracks look like the others behind him, but this time he turned off the headlights and let the car spin away from him until it faced the opposite direction. The car slid over to the side and Max reached back for the duffel bag. He had only seconds as he took the keys from his pocket and fumbled them into the lock. The door flew open as he hurried out and ran over to a small pine tree near the apex of the turn.
The Range Rover came fast around a far turn and picked up speed on the straightaway. Just as the driver of the SUV began his turn, Max stepped out from behind the tree, and took aim with the loaded and cocked vintage triple rifle.
BOOM!
The shoulder stock dug into him as the 45-70 bullet exploded out the top barrel and flew at the left front tire. The tire exploded as Max took aim, moved his index finger to the second trigger, and squeezed. This time the rear wheel disintegrated. The SUV lost traction, sliding uncontrollably until it disappeared over the edge, taking the guardrail with it. The muffled sounds of the Range Rover tumbling over diminished the farther it fell down the cliff side.
Max stood on the edge of the road, finger on the third trigger, aiming the triple rifle down into the ravine, and waited in the silence of the storm. Satisfied he was safe, he walked back to the Audi. The Audi then spun 180 degrees, and Max headed down the mountain road, back toward Geneva.
Max sat in the warmth of the Audi’s cabin, looking over the deactivated Russian-made tracker that he’d found under the driver’s seat. He turned it around a few times in his hand, then looked out through the windshield at the deserted street that ran past his father’s flat. Walking into the house could be a trap, but not one soul had walked along the street since he had arrived 45 minutes ago. He would have to make it a short stay.
It had been four hours since the incident at the spa, giving him enough time to go over everything that had happened. Max was sure that the authorities would have the information from his credit card charges in the hotel. Also, Interpol would find out which guests were missing once the poor maid—the one who saw him standing over the dead body of the front desk clerk—gave her description of the armed man. Put two and two together, and match that description to his passport photo in the system, show it to the eyewitness, and they would have their main suspect.
Max was sure that he wouldn’t be implicated in the murder of the desk clerk because the bullet in the clerk’s head was not from his gun or the Glock he now possessed, and with time, the ballistic experts would know that; but Max did not have the weeks it would take for an investigation to clear him. He figured he had less than 24 hours to get the girl, and if time allowed, stop whatever the Nazis were up to.
Nazis. I can’t believe I’m even thinking it.
He’d started to pull a plan together, but he was missing a piece of the puzzle: Ditter.
Max had pulled over at one of the many gas stations along the way back to the city and used a pay phone to reach Val, knowing he was less than two hours away, but could not be contacted. Pierre, however, had changed his flight plan and was on his way to Geneva. Hopefully, Val would have received his message and maybe he could convince the military to help him out, but for now it was all up in the air.
Max debated making the next call, but his gut told him to trust Ditter. He looked at his iPhone, making sure it was off and the sim card removed so it couldn’t be tracked.
Max scanned the snow-covered street once more and turned off the engine. He stepped out and casually walked down the sidewalk until reaching the front door of his father’s place. The snow was undisturbed, which was a good sign. He unlocked and pushed in the heavy front door, stepped through, leaving it slightly open for a quick getaway.
Something did not feel right. He took the Glock out and held it ready for action as he scanned the now silent alarm panel.
The alarm’s off. FUCK!
The glass shelves next to him exploded, along with the sofa to his left, forcing Max to run away from the front door. He sprinted as fast as he could from the foyer and the flying shards of glass, furniture, and plaster, and headed straight through the glass hallway, shooting back at the unseen attacker in the courtyard. The glass around him fragmented behind every stride he took, as the bullets traveling through the broken glass ended their path in the red brick wall to his left. Max was at top speed, fleeing the raining death as he reached the end of the hall, where he propelled himself up and over the stainless steel bar.
The smacking of suppressed nine-millimeter bullets riddled the bar, but did not penetrate its thick stainless steel skin. Max readied himself for the right moment as liquor and glass from the shattered bottles rained over him. Then the whispered shooting stopped.
Max took the opening, jumped over the bar, and ran through the broken glass wall toward the pine tree in the middle of the courtyard. He found his target in the final steps of reloading his MP5, and shot him in the head. In one fluid motion he dropped the empty Glock, grabbed the MP5 from the still-standing dead man’s hands, and chambered in a round. Using the tree as cover, he scanned the kitchen and second floor for more targets.
The tree began to splinter as another barrage of bullets hit around Max’s head. Max let the new assailant finish his tree-trimming exercise, then peeked out the other side and saw his target’s exposed right foot. He took careful aim and shot the foot. The man behind the steel column in the garage screamed and rushed Max.
Max, who did not expect the man to rush him, ran backward, shooting the sides of the tree, discouraging his target from going around it, while still keeping the tree between him and his target. Once back inside the house, Max leapt behind the low sofa and fired a final burst at his target’s face.
One of the bullets hit its mark and the back of the man’s head burst. Breathing heavily, Max scanned the lower floor once more. He turned to go up the back stairs and stopped frozen in his tracks.
A tall man in a gray pinstriped suit was pointing a small gun at his head from behind the kitchen counter.
Fuck.
“You’re empty. Gun down, now,” the man said calmly.
Max obeyed. If he were to go for the .22 in his jacket pocket he’d be dead. Once again he needed a distraction.
“On your knees, hands where I can see them,” the tall man said, then pulled out his cell phone and spoke. “He killed my two men, but I have him. Do you want me to bring him in?”
The man smiled and Max knew the answer.
He was going to die.
Max waited for the opportunity to go for his gun and die fighting, but the time never came.
The man flipped closed his phone and pulled the trigger.
A bullet left the barrel, traveled its short distance, and hit its target.
Max stared in disbelief. He was still on his knees, hand in his pocket holding his .22 as the headless body of the once tall man collapsed to the floor.
The assassin had pulled the trigger just as another bullet had smashed into the side of his head, sending the dead body sideways and the bullet off its intended target.
Max turned to look for the starting trajectory of the mystery bullet. He focused on another man standing next to the pine tree, holding one of the dead assailants’ guns.
“Hey, Max,” the man said as he walked toward him.
“Hey, Val.” Max let out the breath he had been holding. “Good timing.”
Val let out a short laugh as he helped his friend up and took note of the .22 in Max’s hand. “At first I thought you were on your knees, pleading for him not to kill you. But now that I see the .22 in your hand, well, I knew you could have never been such a pussy.” Val smiled wide and sat down on the couch, giving the destroyed interior a good look. “Nice place you got here.” Val waved his hands around. “Excluding all the bodies, broken glass, and bullet holes, of course.” He then looked up at his best friend. “So, what’s the story this time?”
Max picked out the radial engine sound before the ’Giro was in sight. The winged aircraft with its four rotating rotor blades came down to their position in the middle of a snow-covered pasture east of Geneva. The ’Giro made a constant swish-whooping sound as it flared and stopped five feet from where it had landed. Its radial engine throttled up, creating its own miniature blizzard of snow across the field as it taxied over to Max and Val.
They both leaned against the car, watching the ’Giro’s engine shut down and its rotors come to a stop. A hatch on the left side opened, and Pierre unfolded his tall, thin body out onto the wing. He waved at Max and jumped down to the snow-covered ground.
“Val, this is my friend, Pierre.”
They shook hands and nodded. Pierre looked at Max. “Max, what is going on? You don’t look to be in any sort of trouble.”
“Max has left tons of trouble in his wake,” Val laughed. “It’s just not caught up to us… yet.”
“That’s why we are meeting here. I must ask you a great favor and you can decline if you wish,” Max said.
Pierre seemed uncertain. “Mon ami, I feel like I have known you since you were a young child.” He kicked some snow around with his boot, then looked up. “What is it you need of me?”
“I need you and the ’Giro; we need to fly to Zurich and pick up a man there. Then we are off to here.” Max unrolled an old blueprint on the hood of the Audi.
“Meckler Castle. Never heard of it,” Pierre said as he studied the drawings. “Where is it?”
“We don’t know, but I may know a man who could help us find it: Major Ditter Von Ludger.”
“Who?”
“A man I met in Courchevel. How are you doing on fuel?”
“I have enough to get us to Zurich, but we will have to get fuel there.”
“Good. I will explain the situation on the way.” Max turned to Val. “You know what to do. I will contact you with the coordinates. If you can’t convince them, so be it. Either case, we will pick you up before we head out.”
“Are you sure you can trust this Ditter character?”
“My gut tells me yes. But I need to be careful; so far two family members are not as nice as I thought they were. Either way, I’ll get the information.”
“Don’t worry. I got your back, pal, like always.” Val smiled, saluted Max, and got into the Audi.
Max watched as Val accelerated away from them, and then turned to Pierre. “Would you mind giving me a lesson on how to fly this thing?”
“After you,” Pierre said as he slapped Max on his shoulder.
The teakettle whistled and spit water vapor into the kitchen as Ditter rushed in and took it off the stove. He poured the tea into a blue coffee mug and leaned up against the kitchen island counter. “Wir werden es zwischen elf und eins sein ... mit meinem Glück zeigen sie sich eine Minute vor einem." he complained to the hot mug in his hands about the contractors inspection time frame.
Ditter took a sip of the hot tea and reveled in the silence. He was home alone and the complete lack of voices was music to his ears. No bickering about the maids or the weather or whatever else the women in the house could think of. Pure, unadulterated silence. His moment was short-lived when the house phone rang.
“Hallo?”
“It’s Max. I am close by. Can I come over?”
“Close by? I thought you were in Geneva,” Ditter answered in English.
“Change of plans. I’ll tell you all about it in five minutes.”
The phone line was cut off. Ditter looked at the phone, wondering what Max was doing in Zurich. He shrugged, hung up, and took a cookie from a jar on his way back to his office.
He stood at the window behind his desk, looking out into the forest.
--------
A man lying in a prone position on top of a waterproof blanket about 50 yards inside the forest watched through his sniper scope as Ditter drank from his mug. From this distance the shot would be an easy one. He adjusted his earpiece as a voice crackled through.
“Yes, sir, target received a call from an American called Max.” He listened to the instructions coming through his ear piece. “Yes, sir. I will take them both out when they are together. Understood.”
Now things got a bit more complicated. He called in his second, who sat next to the driver in a car a block from the house. “We have a go on target plus one. Switch to secondary plan.”
Max stepped off the light-rail trolley at Zurich Klusplatz, walked a few yards down the street, and took a right off Witikonerstrasse, blending into the crowd as he walked north to Hegibachstrasse. He turned east to Hitzigweg. At the end of the street and to the right stood Ditter’s home. The street was quiet and the white winter snowfall had started to turn gray from the dirt kicked up by the occasional passing car. As he rounded the street he looked around, analyzing the parked cars in sight. Up ahead was a forest of trees stripped bare from the cold winter, the odd green pine dotting the bleak forest with a hint of color peeking through the white snow that still clung to its branches.
It was too quiet for his liking.
Ditter’s house was perched on the top of a hill. Its back yard was the forest, and in front lay a view of downtown Zurich. The house was a two-story with what looked like good attic space. It was designed in the typical Bavarian mountain style with whitewashed walls and blue trim. The garage sat 100 feet from the front of the home and dug into the hill the house was built on.
Max looked around as he stepped up the stairs leading away from the street, and once at the front door, rang the bell. After a few moments Ditter unlocked the door.
“Ditter, we need to talk…somewhere away from the windows.” He pushed himself in and slammed the door behind him.
“What are you talking about?” Ditter asked as he watched Max peek into the kitchen.
“There are two people a block away, sitting in a car and watching the house. Odds are there could be more.” Max walked by Ditter.
“Max, hold on.” Ditter grabbed him by the arm. “I don’t understand? What do you mean by watching my house?”
“Ditter, I am going to ask you once, and trust me, I will know if you’re lying when you answer.”
“Ask me what? What is going on?”
“Are you involved with a place called Meckler Castle?”
Ditter froze in place. “I have not heard that name in many, many years. How do you know about it?”
“Never mind that. Where is it?” Max grabbed both Ditter’s arms and squeezed.
“Max, let go of me. Now!”
Max looked into Ditter’s eyes and loosened his grip. “Where?” he asked once more.
“It is in Austria close to the Swiss border, but I really don’t know since I flew there from the north in a snow storm and escaped to the south on foot.”
Max looked past Ditter as he put the sentence he had just heard into perspective. He looked back at Ditter and let go of his grip. “What do you mean, escaped?”
Ditter smiled. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”
“Ditter…they took Solange and tried to have me killed.”
“Solange? Killed? They? What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you that on the ride to the airfield.”
“No, tell me now!” Ditter insisted.
“Klaus and Hermann Wehr took her to Meckler Castle. Something is happening tonight and they tried to have me killed. We need to go. You need to take me there.”
Ditter paused for a moment, then he turned. “I.... Here, come with me.”
Max’s reaction was quick as the door to the study opened and a red dot appeared on Ditter’s forehead. He dove, tackling Ditter just as the office window shattered and a bullet hit the wall behind them. A split second later dozens of bullets began to pepper the room as Max dragged Ditter back into the hallway.
The front door burst open. Max pulled out his Glock and began firing at the front door, holding back the assassin.
Ditter took hold of Max and yelled at him, “Follow me!”
Max slipped on the area rug as he scrambled to get up. The hall then erupted as thousands of wood splinters flew in all directions as the assassin at the door let loose his MP5. Max dove through the kitchen door. He slid across the tile floor, stopping against the center kitchen island. The assassin burst into the room, submachine gun blazing, just as Max grabbed hold of the teakettle and threw its boiling hot water at him.
The assassin lifted his arm to block the water, which gave Max a small window of opportunity. He kicked up his left foot and knocked the MP5 from his hands. The assassin quickly reached in for his sidearm, but Max slapped it away.
It was now a hand-to-hand fight. Max threw a one-two punch combination that was blocked and returned with a swift kick to Max’s belly. Max turned just in time to reduce the impact of the blow, but left his left side open to attack, which the assassin took advantage of by striking Max hard in his rib cage. Max stumbled back and caught himself on the kitchen counter, where there was a set of kitchen knives. He reached out for the wood block and was hit once more in the kidney.
Max fell to the floor and was about to get pummeled when out of nowhere a frying pan flew across the kitchen, hitting the assassin in the head, but not before he managed to grab one of the knives on the counter. Max got up and looked at his attacker as he lost his balance. Clearly, Ditter’s efforts made the odds better for Max, who launched himself at the knife just as the assassin lunged forward. Max was cut, but not before he grabbed hold of the hand wielding the knife and twisted it into the assassin’s belly.
Luckily for the assassin, his bulletproof vest stopped the knife. Max, feeling the resistance of the vest, spun and wrapped his arm around the assassin’s neck, twisted his head, and cleanly snapped the spinal cord. The body flopped to the floor. Ditter grabbed Max when he heard the office door being kicked open, and pulled him into a side closet that led down some stairs.
“Move!” Ditter yelled and Max obeyed, running after him down a thin tunnel just as a flash-bang grenade went off at the stairs behind them. The loud bang echoed through the tunnel and came close to rupturing Max’s eardrums. Max stammered and reached a metal door that Ditter held open as he screamed at Max, whose ears were ringing, to hurry. He ran through and Ditter shut the door and locked it.
They were now inside the garage. To Max’s left was a 1960s Jaguar E type and to his right a Mercedes G wagon. Ditter went for the SUV. “I drive!” he said as Max went around and threw himself into the passenger’s seat just as two bullets cut through the steel door and hit the back of the Jag.
Ditter started the Mercedes wagon, and its V8 engine came roaring to life. He popped the clutch and burst through the closed garage door. The garage door split in two as the wagon leapt out into the slick street. They slid sideways, but Ditter knew what he was doing and controlled the skid as they flew past the sidewalk. Thirty seconds later a Volkswagen Passat spun 180 degrees, bounced off Ditter’s neighbor’s wall, and accelerated away to give chase.
“Well, I guess this makes you one of the good guys,” Max said as he wrapped his scarf around his cut hand.
“We have company,” Ditter said as he took a quick glance in the rearview mirror.
“We need to get somewhere busy. Head to the center of town.”
“No. I have a better plan.”
“I’m all ears!”
“Help me with the cross streets.”
Suddenly, the rear glass exploded as a bullet hit the top left-hand corner of the trunk door.
“Clear!” Max yelled as they came to a cross street, letting Ditter know that there was no cross traffic. Ditter spun the steering wheel and made another quick left-hand turn onto Aurorastrasse.
Any other day the long winding road would have been a pleasure to enjoy sitting on the passenger’s side, but today was not that type of day as the wagon slid sideways, passing a police car. Max made eye contact with the police officer in the cruiser. He was in mid-sip of his Starbucks coffee when the wagon flew past in front of him. The officer floored it and missed crashing into the Passat as he entered the road, fishtailing as it, too, joined the chase.
“Police are in it now. Can we lose them?”
“Not if they call in the helicopter.” Ditter shifted his body securely into his seat. “Here we go! Hold on!”
The street did a slow turn to the left, abutting a golf course, and Ditter took the path less followed as he plowed through the golf cart path and onto the golf course. White powder snow flew in all directions as the wagon bounced onto the fairway. Ditter turned his head from side to side, as if looking for something familiar. “Ha!” he exclaimed and corrected his path, heading in the direction of a mound.
The wagon flew onto the mound and caught some air before settling back down on the soft snow. The Passat followed the same path, but the police officer was off target. He took the left side and plunged into a sand trap hidden by the snow.
The wagon passed 60 miles per hour as it cut its path through the golf course. Up ahead was another road. Ditter accelerated as he took out a metal pedestrian pole and jumped onto the road, then aimed left, breaking through a chain strung across a side road and entering one of the many forest trails. The Passat followed, not giving up an inch.
“I know these woods like the back of my hand,” Ditter said as he swung the steering wheel left and right, coming so close to the trees that he managed to rip off the side mirrors. The Passat was not doing as well as the four-by-four Mercedes, and Ditter managed to build up a considerable lead.
“We need to get to Dubendorf Airfield,” Max said.
“Let’s lose them first.”
Max looked back and watched as the Passat slipped and slid through the woods. They came into an open area the size of a baseball diamond and Ditter gunned it. The Passat also made it there, but the wagon was long gone. The car stopped, then spun on its wheels and headed back the way they had come.
“Looks like we lost them.”
“You sure? I don’t want to give up this lead.”
“Yes. How do we get to the airport?”
Ditter turned the wheel onto another trail and eased up on the accelerator. After a few minutes they left the forest and jumped on a local road, then pulled onto Untere Greerenstrasse. Both of them kept a keen eye on all the cars around them. The assassins were still out there. The road wound through a beautiful section of forest and opened up into another small town.
“Go to that field.” Max pointed to an open field north of a small town. “Where are we?”
“The town up ahead is Düendorf. What is the plan?” Ditter asked as the wagon bounced off the road and onto a field.
“Park it under the trees. I have someone at the airport who can get us out of here.” Max flipped open the prepaid cell phone he’d bought in Geneva and dialed a number. He looked at the compass on the dashboard “We’re southwest of Düendorf, parked in the forest tree line. Silver SUV Mercedes Benz G wagon. Pick us up; I don’t want to risk showing up at the airfield. Bring her down quick; we need to leave fast.” Max flipped closed the phone and looked at Ditter, who was staring out into the field.
“What is going on, Max?” Ditter asked, clearly shaken.
Max told him everything that had happened before he arrived at Ditter’s house. Shocked, Ditter turned off the SUV and they both stepped out.
“I have known the Wehrs for a very long time. Christ, the man even married my former daughter-in-law.”
“No one ever knows what happens behind closed doors, Ditter.”
“But to hide something like this. To keep it secret for so long...”
“Yes, but you managed to keep the knowledge of the castle a secret, as well.”
“I will not argue that point.”
“What happened there?” Max asked as the cell phone rang. He flipped it open. “Good...I see you, just keep that heading.”
Ditter looked up at the sky as he heard the sound of a radial engine.
Two thousand feet above them, Pierre looked through a pair of binoculars at the SUV in the middle of the field, and then scanned the area once more for any other cars or people.
Max kept the phone to his ear as he watched the ’Giro.
“I see you...looks clear. How is the ground?” asked Pierre.
Max went out into the field and walked around. “Six inch—sorry, 10 centimeters soft, then the ground is frozen.”
“Coming down.”
Pierre throttled down and banked the ’Giro to the left, putting it into a high velocity, spiraling descent. Ditter watched in amazement as the strange aircraft from above corkscrewed its way down toward him.
The ’Giro leveled out at 200 feet, then did a quick fly-by and swung its tail around. Pierre then expertly coaxed the aircraft down onto the soft snow a few car lengths from the Mercedes. Max and Ditter both jumped out from the tree cover and jogged to it. Once at the ’Giro’s side, Max opened the hatch and they both climbed in.
Ditter smiled at Max. “What a beautiful machine!”
Max nodded and adjusted the Bose headphones around his ears as he sat in the copilot’s seat. He buckled himself in as Pierre began to throttle up.
Pierre reached up and put his hand on the rotor clutch activator, and waited for the rotor to spin up. The rotor spun past 150 revolutions per minute and he disconnected the clutch, released the brakes, and the ’Giro hopped forward a few feet. Max felt the pressure on the seat as Pierre pulled back on the yoke and performed a short, high-angle-of-attack take-off.
Max reached back and touched the noise cancellation button on Ditter’s headset. “Better?” Max spoke through the headphone’s microphone.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Ditter, this is Pierre Bouvier. Pierre, meet Ditter Von Ludger.” He looked right, then left. “Keep a lookout for the police helicopters.”
Pierre looked around, searching the horizon and kept the ’Giro low. “I don’t see any helicopters; looks like we are clear. I will keep this bearing for another 10 minutes, then we head to the meeting point.”
“Sounds good to me.” Max looked back at Ditter. “We have no clue as to the location of this castle. Which way do we go?”
“How well do you know the Alps, Pierre?” Ditter asked.
“I used to fly rescue helicopter missions in them about 20 years ago.”
The ’Giro bucked as it flew through some unstable air.
“Good. Then you know how to fly down close to them.” Ditter looked down at the map Max had given him, and with his finger traced an imaginary line. “Head east toward the border of Liechtenstein and Switzerland. We follow the river south to Sargans where it turns southeast until the town of Karlihof. From there we fly east to Schiers. After that, it’s a guessing game.”
“You don’t know its location?” Pierre asked.
“I really couldn’t tell you. I escaped from the castle in 1944, and it took me three days of hiking before I saw the village of Schiers from atop a peak, and by that time I was half dead. I would have never made it if I hadn’t stumbled into a high alpine summer cattle shed. So between the wandering and the time gone by, it may take us a while to find the castle.”
Pierre and Max looked at each other, then back at Ditter.
“What happened? How did you escape?” Max asked.
Ditter looked out the window and smiled at how lucky he had been so many years ago, and began to tell his story.
The small town of Schiers was located in a valley surrounded by mountains. Ditter looked through his binoculars. “You have to head up that valley.” He pointed with his bony finger as he spoke through his microphone.
Pierre nodded and aimed the nose of the ’Giro northeast up the valley, increasing altitude as the ground came up under them.
“Great! Just got a text message from the brothers,” Val said from the back seat.
Ditter looked at the new member of the group surrounded by bags of climbing equipment and clothes.
“Which one?” asked Max.
“Xavier. Christ, his freakin’ code is a pain in my ass. Okay…if I am decoding this right, it seems like someone, as in you, poked the hornet’s nest.”
Val and Max had discussed involving the military in this situation. They knew the only way to approach the military would be through their old friends the Francis brothers, who now worked in Naval Intelligence—Jack in San Diego, Xavier in Washington. The brothers had a cryptic way to send information over the Internet. So, they took it upon themselves to teach Val and Max the code many years ago.
“By the way, Max, you owe me big for all this climbing shit. I maxed out my credit card. Fuck, shit is expensive when the U.S. government doesn’t give it to you.”
“Never mind that. What’s it say?” Max asked about the message.
“It took them a while to respond, but it seems that your man is on a list. Lucky for us they have a few interested parties that are willing to stick their necks out for a promotion. I relayed that once we find the castle I will transmit the GPS coordinates to them. Then we’ll know what type of support we’ll get.”
“You must have told them a hell of a story.”
“Yeah, that and the fact that the bodies of three professional assassins were found in your father’s place helped a little. They wanted your ass at the embassy to answer questions, but I told them you were ‘missing.’ That put a stop to that…for the time being, anyway, but eventually you are gonna have a hell of a week answering questions. Fuck…in reality we are ALL going to have a hell of a week! Thanks for all this, Max...” Val said sarcastically as the ’Giro bounced through some more unstable air.
It was hard flying for Pierre as the ’Giro battled the high winds whipping around the mountain peaks. After an hour of weaving in and out of valleys, Ditter spotted what he was looking for.
“There! It looks like a plain at the base of that cliff…” He paused, searching for any evidence of a man-made structure through the ever-present cloud cover, but couldn’t find one. “It has to be here...somewhere,” Ditter said in desperation.
The world was white and gray all around the ’Giro. Only back in the town, miles away, was there any sign of life.
“Wait...a...minute...” Val whispered as he pushed his binoculars against the Plexiglas window. “Damn, that’s good camouflage, looks like the castle’s walls and roof are made from the same material as the mountain, so it blends right into the granite cliff.” He pointed at the mountain. “The straight lines gave it away. Ditter, look at the top of the peak, then scan down inside that narrow valley, and what do you know...we have ourselves a castle!”
“I see it!” Ditter said, excited. “There it is! Meckler Castle.”
“Going to be a bitch getting in there without being seen,” Val said as he looked over the castle through his binoculars.
Max flew the ’Giro as Pierre studied the structure.
“There is the Storch!” Pierre said. “Oh, yes, I can make that landing; there is more than enough space. Here, let me have the controls.”
Pierre handed over his binoculars to Max, and took control of the ’Giro’s yoke. Max looked over the castle, trying hard to make mental notes of everything he saw. He studied the small runway. A few people were dragging his Storch into a hangar. He then scanned down the cliff face, looking for the small rectangular cliff entrance Ditter had mentioned.
“Well, at least we won’t have to climb that far.” It was Val again who spotted the cliff entrance. “I’d be worried about the sentries, though. They have a whole bunch. I count 50 so far.”
“Pierre, keep it straight and level. Let’s fly off their field of view before we turn. They might have radar, so use the mountain to shield our signature as we turn back to that patch of dead grass we saw earlier. We will have to do some quick climbing so we are not caught up there in the dark.” He looked back at Ditter. “Are you up for it, Ditter?”
Ditter nodded as he stared at the castle through the frosted glass, lost in thought.