by Brad Taylor
A guy went flying by us, wearing Lycra pants and a CamelBak, hit the slope, and continued on. Brett said, “Okay, I’m off. I’ll get first eyes on the OP.”
Knuckles said, “While we hump the rucks up. Seems fair.”
I laughed and said, “You can run it if you want. I’m sure Brett will swap out.”
Quickly, Veep said, “I’m good. I’ll take the slow pace.”
Brett grinned and said, “See you two at the bunker,” and took off running, chasing the guy who had passed us. Knuckles watched him go and said, “I don’t really feel the need to prove myself.”
Veep said, “Me either.”
I said, “What happened to ‘The only easy day was yesterday’?”
Knuckles turned to the trail, hollering over his shoulder, “Says the guy riding the cable car.”
We left them and Jennifer said, “I sort of feel guilty when you never give me the hard jobs. I don’t think it’s fair.”
I said, “You think riding this cable car looking for North Korean terrorists would be better with me and Knuckles? Or me and you?”
We reached the funicular train station, a ticket window out front, and she said, “I get it, but it doesn’t seem fair.”
I purchased our tickets, went through the gate, and took a seat next to a bunch of other tourists. She sat next to me and I said, “Fair’s got nothing to do with it. Somebody’s got to take the train. And it seems to me the last time you volunteered for an OP, you bitched at me afterward.”
“Where?”
“Lesotho. Remember? You wanted to see some dinosaur tracks?”
The train appeared, rolling down the mountain and stopping. Calling it a “train” was a little bit much. Built to resemble the original one, it was more like a tram you’d see at Disney World, with wooden benches and open cabins. She stood up, saying, “Yeah, but it was pouring rain then.”
We took a seat on the front bench, where we would both have a view on the way up the mountain. I said, “Oh, so it’s only the dry weather when you want to do the hard thing?”
Another couple sat next to us, shutting down the conversation. The train began to roll, pulled up the side of the mountain by a cable. The higher we went, the more we could see, idyllic pastures beside us, old houses surrounded by cows wandering about, and Lake Lucerne down below. Paralleling our route was the trail, and on it, I could make out Brett, running like a gazelle, passing other hikers on his route.
We reached the end of the railroad section and unloaded, some moving to the cable car and others taking the trail, having cleared the lower level with the train. We boarded a modern double-decker car, all chrome and steel, and began moving upward. The terrain went from idyllic pasture to rugged mountain, making me wonder if the tourists walking the trail had done it backward. They should have walked to the cable car and taken it, instead of the other way around.
The car hoisted higher into the air, leaving the terminal, and I said, “Upper deck.”
We climbed the small circular stairs, and found ourselves with a view showing the mountains in front of us and the lake far, far below.
Jennifer said, “This is incredible.”
I thought it was neat, but it wasn’t exactly earthshaking. You could see the same thing in the Rockies. I looked down and saw a group of tourists on the winding trail, two trying to help a third sitting down next to a tree. I pointed and said, “Still rather be down there?”
She punched my shoulder, and we broke above the trees. I looked out to the right, scanning where we thought the bunker would be, and I saw it. Built on a spit of ridgeline, it looked like a one-room farmhouse, with a stone foundation and weathered wood siding sunk into a copse of trees. It was completely alone. No fences or anything else around it. The house had no reason to be up this high. It had to be the one.
The walking trail zigzagged about forty meters from it, not actually going past. I saw two hikers, and then Jennifer tugged my arm, pointing behind us. I saw Brett, still chugging his way uphill. I got on the radio and said, “Blood, you’ll see the bunker in about a minute. The ridge looks just like the photos, so I think your OP will work.”
He said, “Roger,” aggravating the hell out of me that he wasn’t out of breath.
The car kept climbing, the view unfolding and actually making me feel a little bad about not doing the hard thing, when Brett came back on the net.
“I’ve got the bunker in sight, but I just passed two Asians, both carrying backpacks.”
I ignored the scenery.
“Say again?”
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Brett said, “I’m still moving up, but I just went by two Asian males. They were in the vicinity of the bunker. Both have on backpacks.”
Knuckles said, “We’re twenty minutes behind you. We’ll assess.”
Brett said, “They aren’t going down. They’re going up. Pike, do you want me to interdict?”
I said, “Knuckles, how soon can you close on them?”
“We can start running right now and be there in ten, but we’ll have to drop the rucks.”
I said, “Brett, how sure are you that they came from the bunker?”
“Not sure at all. I mean, I just passed them.”
My gut was telling me they were the North Koreans, and we’d missed the transfer from the bunker, but I couldn’t attack two people just because of their ethnicity. If I was wrong, what was I going to do? Kill them to prevent exposure of the Taskforce?
I said, “They’re headed to the top?”
“Yeah. They’re going higher.”
I said, “Don’t interdict. We’ll meet them. We have it. Break contact and continue the mission.”
Brett said, “Ah, yes. I forgot how smart you are. Jumping ahead of them instead of walking up the mountain like everyone else.”
I laughed and said, “Just get the OP set up so Knuckles and Veep can crack the bunker. And maybe pull out the beef jerky, because if they’re not the bad guys, it’s going to be a long couple of days.”
We rode the cable car to the top, Jennifer oohing and aahing about the view, to the point it was beginning to be annoying. I mean, it certainly was good, but I’d seen the same in multiple countries.
We reached the top, and exited the cable car station with everyone else. We walked up the stairs, and broke the plane to the observation deck. The light hit me, and I said, “Holy shit.”
For once, the word “breathtaking” mattered, because what spilled out before me truly took my breath away. The panorama beyond the observation deck looked like the hand of God had painted a landscape. The snow-topped mountains were competing with the clouds and the valley down below, all juxtaposed in a still life whose essence could never be captured in a photograph or painting. It was quite possibly one of the finest views I’d ever seen.
I forgot about the mission for a moment and turned to Jennifer. “I had no idea . . .”
I saw her hand to her mouth, as astounded as I was. We walked onto the deck, taking in the surroundings, and then were brought back to the present.
“Pike, this is Blood. I’ve got the OP established. Waiting on the stragglers.”
Knuckles came on and said, “Sorry you wanted to run. How do you have the OP established when we’re carrying everything?”
Brett said, “Touché. But I do have eyes on.”
I said, “What about the Asians?”
“Long gone. No idea.”
I said, “We have the trigger. Get to work.”
Off the net, Jennifer said, “So we need to find the trail?”
“Yep. It’s got to end up here somewhere.”
Off to the left I saw a jogger appear on a trail running down the ridgeline, but he was well below us. To the right was another gravel path leading right into the deck. I said, “That’s got to be it.”
We crossed the deck,
and saw a sign saying the path led to the actual summit of the mountain. Jennifer said, “That’s not it.”
She turned around, and said, “Pike, that jogger is here.”
Sure enough, he ran by us, continuing up. I said, “Come on.”
On the other side of the deck was a flight of modern, stainless steel stairs straight out of an art gallery. At the bottom was a gravel trail.
I said, “That’s it.”
The trail led right down a ridgeline, the incline to the right giving a sense of vertigo from the drop-off. Ahead, I saw an incongruous pillbox. A concrete base with a mushroom head of wood. Out here in the middle of nowhere.
I said, “Oh, man. I think we identified the wrong structure.”
Jennifer said, “You think that’s the bunker?”
“Yeah, I do. Why else would the targets be walking up to it? They didn’t want to buy a ticket for the cable car. No record. They’re taking the long way up for a reason.”
She said, “There’s a couple of benches on the slope. Want to sit down?”
The wind was really whipping where we were, the clouds swirling around us, and I’d have rather waited on the observation deck, or even on the leeward side of the mountain, where our observation post was established, but I supposed I’d earned the pain. I said, “Yeah, I guess.”
She laughed and sat down next to a defunct firepit, saying, “That wasn’t very confident. Maybe we should have taken the OP.”
I said, “With this wind, I know we should have.”
We waited forty minutes, watching men and women reach the top, all walking with a purpose, and I began to think the North Koreans were doing something different. If they were North Koreans.
I said, “Okay, I’ve had about enough of this gale. Let’s get back to the deck. We can still see the stairs from there.”
Tucking herself into my body, because I was now a windbreak, Jennifer said, “But we can’t see the bunker.”
Which was true. I started to come up with another excuse when two Asian men reached the top. They walked behind us, headed to the mushroom structure, and I recognized one of them. I hugged Jennifer tight and whispered, “That’s the waiter from Lucerne.”
She stiffened and said, “The one who killed Periwinkle?”
I said, “Yep. It’s them.”
They passed us, and I waited on them to do something with the mushroom. They did not. They walked right by it, heading up to the deck. I let them get on the stairs and said, “Time to go.”
We followed them up to the deck, and they spent no time at all on the view, heading straight to the cable car. I said, “They’ve been to the bunker.”
Jennifer said, “Why?”
“Who walks all the way up the side of this mountain and then doesn’t enjoy the scenery? It’s almost sacrilegious. They just used that hike as cover to penetrate the bunker.”
I let them disappear, then moved rapidly down the stairs, saying, “Come on. We’ll get on the same car and tag them.”
We got in line behind them, me with my back to them, facing Jennifer. If I knew the waiter, he probably knew me, but he wouldn’t remember Jennifer on sight.
The cable car arrived and we boarded, immediately going to the top, away from the Koreans. The cable car broke free and we began descending. I said, “Get me a Cotton Mouth. We’re going to tag him.”
Jennifer reached into my backpack and rummaged around. Knuckles had given us a TTL kit, but most of the devices required Taskforce assistance to use, meaning we had to have platforms to track them. Only one would allow us to implant and not have planes or drones or surveillance on the cell network to execute. And that was the Cotton Mouth.
A small disk about the size of a quarter, it felt like a cloth bubble with liquid inside. A burst device that projected a signal to satellites, it had an adhesive backing that would let it be affixed to just about anything and had a battery life of nine hours, with a chemical compound that literally ate itself as it expended power. The signal it gave was so weak that a tree canopy would block it, but it would give its burst faithfully for our satellites to pick up. It wasn’t optimal, as there were major time gaps in coverage between bursts, and the signal would only triangulate with a clear sky, but it was the best I could use right here. I didn’t have a drone overhead, and I didn’t have time to penetrate the Swiss cellular system. It would have to do.
She handed it to me and I said, “Nope. This is yours. He’s seen me. We stared each other down in the restaurant in Lucerne.”
Jennifer said, “He’s seen me, too.”
I said, “Yep. But only when he poured you water. When the action occurred, he was solely focused on me. Get it done.”
She snapped the disk in two, like she was breaking a ChemLight or glow stick, spreading the liquid with her thumbs under the cover. She peeled off the backing and said, “Be back shortly.”
She turned to go and I said, “Get the pack. Not the man.”
She said, “You think he’s carrying the Red Mercury?”
“I do. I want to know where that pack is, not so much where he is. Get the pack.”
She nodded and disappeared down the stairs. Seventy-two seconds later, she returned. Not that I was checking my watch. I said, “And?”
“No issues.”
I nodded and said, “Good work. We might just save the day again.”
She let a wan smile leak out and said, “Only if we find Amena.”
It was a gut punch. I closed down, disgusted at myself for forgetting what really mattered. Jennifer grabbed my hands, regretting what she’d said. “It’s not your fault.”
I remained quiet, wondering about Amena. Wondering if she was still alive.
She said, “Pike—”
And we reached the end of the line. I shook her off, not wanting to discuss my failures, saying, “I’m leaving here and heading up to the bunker. Let the Koreans exit first, then you follow them down on the rail. Keep them under surveillance, but stay loose. Let the beacon do the work.”
She said, “Pike, I didn’t mean that. You didn’t abandon Amena. You didn’t have a choice.”
I saw the Koreans exit, and walked to the stairs, snarling, “I did abandon her. It was my choice. Just make sure it was worth it.”
She knew better than to say anything else. We exited the car as the last passengers. Most had gone to the railway stop. Some went to the trail. I flicked my head to the train and left her there without another word, my brain seething at my choice of abandoning the girl who had saved more lives than half of the Taskforce.
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I hit the trail at a jog, getting on the radio. “I’m off at the railway stop and headed up. I’ve confirmed and tagged the North Korean team. What’s the status?”
Knuckles came on, saying, “We’ve had eyes on for an hour, and no motion. You confirmed?”
I said, “The guys you saw were the ones. I recognized one of them from the Yasir meeting at the restaurant. We don’t have time to fuck around. They’ve been in there. What we need to know now is what they have. We’re going to crack that thing in daylight.”
I heard, “Roger that. Hope Creed is right on this.”
After twenty minutes, I reached the split in the trail to the bunker. I paused, saying, “I’m coming in, where are you?”
Brett said, “This is Blood. I have you. I’ve got security. Knuckles and Veep are on the door. You’re clear to approach.”
I left the worn path, taking a goat trail to the hut and finding Knuckles and Veep dressed like snipers, half ghillies over their shoulders. Veep was setting the frequencies for a blast jamming device while Knuckles was choosing lockpicks for a basic bolt lock.
Knuckles said, “Creed was right about the alarm. It works on cellular.”
Creed had told us that the bunker had three levels of security. The first was a s
imple bolt lock, something anyone with skill could penetrate, as Knuckles was about to prove.
The second was the alarm system. It needed to be turned off by a key card issued by the bank. We had no key card, but triggering the alarm meant the signal had to be sent somehow. If someone broke the window of a car, the alarm was a loud blaring. Crack a bank, and it was an electronic signal sent to the police. Break into something out in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t going to be a signal sent on a wire or an audible alert. It was going to be on the cell network. And so we’d brought a jamming device that blocked the cellular frequencies from talking to a tower. Which meant we couldn’t talk on our phones while we were there, but that was a risk I was willing to take. Instead, we’d resort to old-school handheld radios to communicate between Brett’s security position and our B&E team.
The third protection was a keypad inside the steel door. And we had a way to defeat that as well.
Veep said, “It’s transmitting. Go to work.”
Knuckles said, “Someone time me. I’m going to beat the record.”
I chuckled and keyed my radio. “Blood, Blood, we’re about to enter. You got eyes on?”
He said, “Yeah. I got you. You’re clear.”
Thirty seconds later, Knuckles threw his hands in the air like a calf roper at a rodeo and said, “Time!”
I stepped forward and tested the door. It was unlocked. I said, “You missed your calling,” then swung it open.
We walked inside the gloom, and Veep said, “Creed thinks the final door is down a stairwell.”
The interior wasn’t like anything the outside presented. It was a flat concrete floor, the walls lined with metal, belying the rustic exterior. In the center was a steel ladder leading down a hole. I shined a light in the shaft and saw a floor about twenty feet down. I said, “Creed’s good so far.”
We went down and were faced with what looked like a typical vault door, with a keypad on the right. The third security measure.
Veep dug into his bag and pulled out a small tool kit, handing it to Knuckles and saying, “Pull off the casing.”
