Amsel nodded, adjusting his grip on the Steyr as he brought his eye to the scope and hunted for his first target. “Come on, come on …,” Eddie muttered. The guard was still closing on the man by the lift—who had turned to watch his approach, raising a hand in nonchalant greeting. Any closer and it would be instantly obvious that the walker had been shot—
A deep, flat whoomph came from the Steyr’s suppressor as it muffled the sound of the shot, Amsel jerking backward with the recoil. The sniper was using subsonic ammunition to minimize noise, but the bullet’s relatively low speed meant it would take over two seconds to reach its target. Eddie watched the shimmering shape in the thermal imager, hoping that Amsel was as good as he boasted …
The man suddenly staggered, what looked like a white halo flaring around his head—a spray of hot blood. Eddie immediately panned across to the ski lift. The man there was reacting with surprise, a puff of warm breath leaving his mouth as he called out to his companion. He had seen him fall, but through the blowing snow didn’t yet know why.
He would soon realize that this was more than a simple stumble, though. Eddie heard Amsel shift position as he found his next target, but kept his electronically enhanced gaze fixed on the ski lift. The man called out again, the glow of his breath brighter, more forceful.
The rifle thumped a second time. Eddie kept watching, tension rising. The guard fumbled for something on his chest.
A radio.
He raised it to his mouth—
Another halo. The guard slumped into the snow, a hot white pool slowly forming around his head.
“Good shot,” said Eddie. But he had no time to offer more than cursory praise, already moving his sight back across the slope to find the remaining sentries. “Next one’s by the little clump of trees off to the right, then the last one’s near that hut with the sign on top.”
Amsel confirmed that he had spotted them. Two more silenced shots, and the perimeter was clear. Eddie stood and put on his own skis. “All right,” he said, “let’s piste off.”
The nine men began their rapid descent toward the hotel.
Warden brought Nina to a set of wooden doors. A sign beside them read ALPIN GESELLSCHAFTSRAUM: the Alpine Lounge. “Here we are,” he told her.
He pushed open the doors theatrically and stepped through. Nina followed him into what was surely the Blauspeer’s centerpiece, a huge Gothic room with a high vaulted ceiling crisscrossed by thick beams of dark timber, tall windows looking out over the valley. The view was currently obscured by snow, but Nina’s eyes were on the room’s occupants rather than the scenery outside.
Bright spotlights on the lowest beams shone down to illuminate a large circular table at the room’s center. Around it sat fourteen people, twelve of them men, all at least middle-aged and the oldest well into his eighties.
The Group. The secretive organization pulling the strings of governments all over the world. A meeting of nearly unimaginable power and wealth … yet unknown to almost everybody whose lives it affected.
There were two unoccupied seats. Warden went to one, gesturing at the other beside it. “We’d be honored if you’d join us for dinner, Dr. Wilde,” he said. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking in the calculating gazes regarding her as she sat and put the case on the table. There were no place settings, but she saw several large cloth-draped catering trolleys near an open dumbwaiter; presumably the Group’s members had business to discuss before they ate.
She was not just involved in that business. She was that business.
Nina tried to will away the knot in her stomach as Warden took his seat and made introductions. The oldest, Rudolf Meerkrieger, a German media magnate controlling newspapers and broadcasting stations in over thirty countries. Anisim Gorchakov, the oligarch with his hand on the taps of the vast Russian natural gas reserves that fed the homes and industries of Europe and beyond. Sheik Fawwaz al-Faisal, head of a Middle Eastern consortium that decided the region’s supply—and hence the price—of oil on a daily basis. The rotund Bull brothers, Frederick and William, American identical twins distinguishable only by the colors of their ties, who had made their colossal joint fortune in hedge funds by speculating on commodities such as fuel and food, driving up prices and cashing in on shortages. Victoria Brannigan, Australian heiress to a mining and refining empire that produced the raw materials on which the world’s manufacturers depended, and the Dutch Caspar Van der Zee, in charge of the shipping fleet that carried those materials to where they were needed and the finished products made from them back to consumers.
And the others, different but the same, the invisible hand controlling the market revealed in plain sight. The men and women whose word could appoint or topple leaders, turn famine into glut and back again, all in service of their hunger for profit—and urge to control.
“So, I finally get to meet you all,” said Nina once the round of greetings was concluded. “Well, not all. Mr. Takashi couldn’t make it, obviously.”
“No, unfortunately,” said Warden. “A shame—he was the one who convinced us of the potential value of earth energy. If it can be harnessed, of course—but with your help, that will now be possible.” He indicated the case. “One of the reasons we chose this hotel for our meeting is that this mountain is a natural earth energy confluence point. When you put the statues together, it should produce the same effect as it did in Tokyo, and allow you to pinpoint the location of the meteorite.”
Nina saw that not a single member of the Group showed any regret over Takashi’s death. To them, it was a mere inconvenience—nothing to become emotional about. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said dismissively.
That produced emotion: muted shock, constrained outrage at the minor yet unmistakable challenge. They had assumed she was there to become a willing part of their plan; resistance was evidently not on the agenda. “Is there a problem, Dr. Wilde?” asked Meerkrieger, his aged voice creaking like tree bark.
“I have a few questions I’d like answered first.”
“Of course,” said Warden smoothly. “We want you to be completely comfortable with your role. What would you like to know?”
“More about the meteorite, the Atlantean sky stone, first of all. You think it’s composed of a naturally superconducting material, yes?”
Warden nodded. “That’s right. We don’t know how big it is, but hopefully it’ll allow the extraction of enough of the metal to supply multiple earth energy collection stations.”
“But there’s more to it, isn’t there? The connection I felt to it when I put the three statues together in Japan suggests that the stone has some intimate link with life on earth, as if it’s somehow integral to its creation.”
No words were spoken by her audience, but Nina immediately sensed a change in attitude from the watching billionaires. Eyes fractionally narrowed, forehead furrows deepened almost imperceptibly. Caution, concern, even outright suspicion that she knew more than she was supposed to. “Don’t you think?” she added, trying to prompt a response.
“That’s our theory, yes,” Warden eventually said. “The basic building blocks of life were seeded by comets soon after the planet’s creation, but the sky stone brought something more … complex. We don’t know where it came from—Mars, maybe Venus before it overheated, some other planet that doesn’t even exist anymore. It doesn’t matter. What does is the end result. Through whatever chain of events, life began on earth after that meteorite fell, perhaps even jump-started by earth energy. It’s part of our world—and it’s part of us.”
“Mm-hmm.” Nina nodded. “But your interest in that side of things is purely scientific, right? Your primary goal is harnessing earth energy.”
“That’s right,” said one of the Bull brothers. “What else could it be?”
“Are you suggesting we’ve got another interest?” the other asked in an accusatory tone.
“Maybe you can tell me. You see, I had a private chat with
one of the Group’s members before coming here.” Her words immediately set the cat among the pigeons, paranoid glances shooting back and forth. She enjoyed their discomfort before clarifying, “A former member, I should say.”
“Glas,” Warden hissed.
“Yeah.”
“Where did you talk to him?” Brannigan demanded sharply.
“On his submarine.”
That produced mutterings around the circular table. Gorchakov banged a fist. “I knew it! It was the only way he could have disappeared completely. I told you to have the American navy find it!” he said to Warden.
The Group’s chairman held up his hands in an attempt to restore order. “The oceans are rather large, Anisim,” he said. “I couldn’t exactly ask President Cole to divert half his carrier groups on your hunch, could I?” As the consternation settled, he turned back to Nina. “So, you spoke to Glas. What did he tell you?”
“Well, once we got past the initial awkwardness about the whole him-trying-to-kill-me issue, he was very talkative. He told me why he’d been trying to kill me.”
“So that you couldn’t help us,” said Warden. “I told you, he was desperate to maintain the profits of his energy business.”
“That’s strange, because these two guys here”—she indicated Gorchakov and al-Faisal—“should be in the same boat, but they don’t seem at all worried. No, what Glas told me was that there’s more to your plan than just gaining a monopoly on earth energy. There’s something else you want a monopoly on, isn’t there?”
Warden’s expression was slowly turning cold. “And what would that be, Dr. Wilde?”
“Power. Over everybody. Forever. If you find the meteorite, you’ll have a genetic Rosetta stone that will let you create a virus to modify human DNA, to give you control over an obedient and pliant population. Am I getting warm?”
A lengthy silence. First to speak was al-Faisal. “Glas should have been eliminated the moment he opposed the plan,” he growled.
“I’ll take that as a big yes,” said Nina. “So, y’know, I really don’t think I want to be a part of this. I have an old-fashioned notion that people have the right to decide how they’re going to live their own lives—and by people I mean everybody, not some self-appointed elite. Crazy, I know.”
The masks of civility were rapidly falling away from the others at the table. “You’ll do what you’re damn well told,” snarled William Bull.
“You think ‘the people’ have ever controlled their own lives?” his brother went on. “That’s fairy-tale liberal claptrap! There have always been the rulers, and the ruled. That’s the way it is.”
“We just want to put an end to all the wasteful over-consumption and infighting,” added Brannigan.
“An end to conflict,” said Warden. “That wasn’t a lie. We will bring order and peace to the world. Finally.”
“Peace on your terms,” Nina sneered.
“Peace is peace.”
“Does that include resting in peace? How many people will be killed by your virus?”
“No more than three percent of the global populace, we estimate,” said Frederick Bull, as calmly as if discussing how many people owned a particular brand of phone. “But population control is part of our long-term plans anyway.”
She regarded him in disgust. “So the price of your peace is over two hundred million dead—and genetic slavery for everyone else? Wow, what a bargain.” She shoved back her chair and stood, picking up the case. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because you can’t achieve anything without my cooperation. And I’m sure as hell not going to give it.”
“Your cooperation,” said Warden coldly, “doesn’t have to be voluntary. If necessary, it will be forced.”
“You mean like this?” Nina reached into her jacket and whipped out a gun—Sophia’s Glock. She thrust it at Warden’s face, making him recoil in shock. Gasps of fright came from the others.
“Stikes didn’t search her?” said Meerkrieger in disbelief.
“I said you should have fired him,” Nina told Warden, who was shaking with fury. “Okay, I want you to tell your security goons to withdraw. I’m going to take the statues, and I’m going to take Larry Chase, and we’re going to leave—”
A slow hand clap echoed through the room. Nina spun to see Stikes standing nonchalantly at one of the side doors, giving her mocking applause. She snapped the gun around at the former soldier. “Oh, put it down, Dr. Wilde,” he said, raising his open hands to show they were empty. “We both know you’re not going to shoot an unarmed man.”
“I’m willing to bet you’re not unarmed,” Nina said coldly, the Glock not wavering.
“Actually, I am. But he’s not.” Stikes nodded toward another door across the room.
“Yeah, like I’m going to fall for that—”
“Nina!” The voice was English, shocked—and frightened despite an attempt at bravado.
Larry Chase.
She had no choice but to look. Larry was shoved into the room by a large man holding his collar with one hand—and pressing a gun into his back with the other. “Larry! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but—what the hell’s going on?” He stared at the people around the table in confusion. “That’s Caspar Van der Zee! What is this?”
“It’s a meeting of the secret rulers of the world,” said Stikes, with a tinge of derision. “Now, Dr. Wilde, put down the gun. I know we can’t shoot you, but”—his lips curled sadistically—“I will have Daddy Chase over there shot, in such a way that it takes him several excruciating hours to die. You’ve got ten seconds.”
“If you shoot him, I’ll kill you!” Nina warned.
“You wouldn’t have come here at all if you were willing to let him die. Three, two—”
With an anguished look at her father-in-law, she tossed the gun onto the table. “Good,” said Stikes, smirking. “Now sit back down. I think it’s time we all finally saw what happens when you put the statues together, don’t you?”
Nina reluctantly returned to her seat as Larry was pushed to the table. She was filled with concern—for both of them—but another thought dominated her mind.
Where is Eddie?
TWENTY-NINE
Her husband was well aware that he was behind schedule. The plan had been for Nina to draw out the meeting with the Group for as long as possible, but they both knew that sooner or later she would have to admit she had no intention of leading them to the meteorite. At that point, things would turn nasty, and he would need to be there to help her.
However, the approach had taken longer than expected, the need for stealth while dealing with the remaining guards outside the building delaying the team. Now, though, they were finally at the hotel itself.
There was a door to Eddie’s right, but his focus was on another entrance to the left, nearer the downhill slope. Steam swirled from extractor vents above a stairwell descending into the ground, which had several large wheeled bins lined up near its top. Access to the kitchens. Even though the only guests at the hotel were the Group and their employees, the establishment was still fully staffed, ready to provide the VIPs with anything they requested. Since Eddie was determined to avoid innocent casualties, the hotel workers needed to be removed from danger.
He signaled for Glas’s men to follow as he went to the stairwell, checking nearby windows for signs of activity. All were empty. He paused by the first bin, making sure that no one was having a crafty smoke at the foot of the steps.
Nobody there. The way in was clear.
The others arrived behind him. “Okay,” said Eddie, “remember there are civvies here. Round ’em up, then find a storeroom or something and lock ’em in until we’re done. Everyone ready?” Nods of confirmation. “Right, here we go.”
He led the way down the stairwell. The door at the bottom was ajar, wisps of steaming air rising from the gap. He opened it wider. A white-tiled room came into view, twenty or so aproned staff busy preparing the resplendent evening meal for their billio
naire guests.
Eddie quietly entered, gun at the ready. At first none of the kitchen staff noticed the intruders, being too involved with their work—then a woman chopping vegetables looked around at the cold draft. Her irritation instantly turned to fright.
“If I can have your attention, please!” said Eddie loudly to forestall her scream as the other camouflageclad men rushed in behind him. “Dinner’s canceled. Nobody’ll be hurt if you do what we say, so stop what you’re doing and keep quiet.” A flash of movement—a waiter lunging for a telephone mounted on the wall. “Oi!” Eddie shouted as he fired, the silenced shot shattering the phone just before the waiter reached it. “That means you, Manuel!” The large man froze.
Eddie quickly surveyed his surroundings. Through the circular windows in a set of swing doors he could see a lift and stairs leading upward, presumably to the dining area, as well as a dumbwaiter near the exit, but of more immediate interest was a single door, at the kitchen’s rear, to a storage area full of catering-sized bags of dry goods. “Okay, everyone in there. Move!”
Glas’s men spread out to corral the staff into the storeroom, quickly searching them to confiscate phones. Eddie examined the makeshift cell’s door; it didn’t appear to be lockable. “Someone’ll have to keep an eye on them.”
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Amsel. Eddie nodded, and the German took up a position to watch both the storeroom and the main entrance. The waiter who had tried to reach the phone glowered at him through the door’s little window.
Eddie hurried for the exit, the remaining men following. He hoped the delays hadn’t made the situation worse for Nina.
Gorchakov picked up Nina’s gun. He turned it over in his hands, then glared at Stikes. “Why did you not search her?” he demanded.
The Englishman was unconcerned by the anger directed at him from around the table. “To give her a false sense of security. I knew that if she thought she had an ace up her sleeve, she’d reveal her true intentions sooner rather than later. Don’t forget, I’ve dealt with her before. I know what kind of person she is—and she’s not the type to start blasting away at unarmed civilians. She leaves the shooting to her husband.”
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