by Gregg Loomis
Even so, he had seen no small children on his previous trip here. The open double seats of the lifts, the drop below . . . He doubted he would put Manfred on one and he knew Gurt would never allow it.
A polite cough at his elbow made him turn. He was now first in line. He paid for a non-ski ticket and stood aside, watching the old man and the child.
The kid was so bundled up that determining its sex was impossible, knit cap pulled down and collar of the jacket buttoned across the lower part of the face. Its hand in the old man's, the two walked to the end of the ticket line. Lang found something to do, pretending to search for skis among a rack of them beside the booth.
If only he could get a look at the child's face.
The old man carefully steered the kid around objects and other passengers for the lift, a rock outcrop. It was as if he were directing a somnambulist sleepwalking an obstacle course. The child's eyes were open, fixed straight ahead as though unaware of its surroundings.
Could the tyke be blind? No, it was something else. As if it were under some sort of spell. Then it hit, an idea exploding inside Lang's head like a skyrocket.
A spell. Like hypnotism!
Of course! Wynn-Three's supposed past life had surfaced under hypnotism. If there were such a thing as reincarnation, his previous life held the key to treasure hidden more than sixty years ago. That would be the reason for the kidnapping: to bring forth this former death camp prisoner and let him, in the form of a hypnotized Wynn-Three, lead the way.
If the child was Wynn-Three.
Falling in behind the man and child, Lang took the next chair behind them on the lift.
The lift from the parking lot ended at the town, halfway between the bottom of the mountain and the highest ski trail just under the top of the mountain. To reach the higher level with its impressive view and longer runs, passengers had to switch to the lift at the town. It was there that Friedrich Gratz and Otto Dortmann were still on the bench, surveying those both exiting the first lift and boarding the second.
"There!" Otto was pointing excitedly. "Just getting on the lift, a man and a small child!"
Gratz looked around nervously, "Shh! We do not need to alert the whole town!"
Otto started to stand. "They have to get off or change lifts right here. We can take the boy as soon as . . ."
Gratz put a restraining hand on his comrade's arm. "First, we have to be sure that is, in fact, the doctor and the little boy. Second, the child is no good to us without the doctor."
Otto was looking at Gratz. "But, what . . . ?"
"If they get off here in the town, we follow them. If they change lifts as they will most likely do if that is the child, we get on the lift, too, see where they go. The Herr Doktor may well lead us to what we are looking for."
Goggles concealing the upper part of their faces and collars of jackets turned up, the two took the second chair behind the man and child as soon as the pair changed lifts to continue to the higher ski run. Between them was a man seated by himself.
Wordless, Otto and Gratz watched the ski slope pass beneath them. There were at least two points where the cable was less than three meters from the ground, certainly close enough to hear the hiss of skis on snow as skiers sped past below.
At the end of the lift, both men stood, stepping forward to let the chair make a U-turn and begin its descent back down the mountain.
Not wanting a chance misstep and fall to bring the child out of hypnosis, Heim grunted as he lifted the little boy into his arms and carried him toward the platform, where a forest of skis were planted in the snow as their owners enjoyed socializing over hot beverages and lunch.
With a hasty look over his shoulder, Heim set the child down and led him into the enclosed part of the establishment, a high A-frame. Inside, the crowd and its attendant noise thinned out as the old man passed the buffet line. Small hands clasping in his own, he took a narrow hallway to the back of the building where the restrooms were. Next to them he found stairs leading down. At the bottom, he found himself outside underneath the platform and with a clear view of the mountain's summit perhaps three hundred meters away.
Kneeling so his face was next to the child's, he asked, "Solomon Mustawitz, can you hear me?"
The child, staring straight ahead, nodded slowly. "Yesss."
Heim turned the child's shoulders toward the peak and pointed. "Can you see?"
"Yesss."
"Can you see where the mine is, the place all the crates were taken?"
The child was silent for so long Heim feared that he had not heard. He was about to ask the question again when the little boy held up a hand, two fingers extended in the "V" sign. "Under the 'V.'"
Heim studied the barren top of the mountain for a full minute before asking, "What 'V'?"
"The tree."
Heim swallowed his frustration. "There are no trees."
Wynn-Three nodded again, this time slowly. "Under the tree," he said.
Heim took his time, thinking. Then, "There were trees there when the crates were taken down into the mineshaft?"
"Under the 'V.' Under the tree."
"Can you show me where the tree was?"
"At the end of the railroad, where the cogs ended."
At last Heim felt he was getting somewhere. Cog railways had been common where mine shafts were in steep places. "There was a cog railway just outside the mine?"
A nod.
Heim inhaled deeply, the cold air searing his lungs. A cog railway, a tree that made a "V." This resort was, what, only a few years old? The tree's stump could well be out there under the snow along with the rails and mechanism for the railway.
He used his most gentle bedside manner. "Solomon, do you think you can locate where the tree was?"
Again, a nod.
Heim gave the little boy's shoulder a firm push toward the summit. "Lead me there."
Careful to keep the A-frame and its deck between him and the skiers on the lift, Heim followed as the small boy edged his way through knee-deep snow.
Lang Reilly had followed the old man and child inside the building. When they had headed for the toilets, he had ordered a mulled wine and sat at a vacant table. He had learned from Manfred how often small boys needed to use the restroom. The sunny weather had drawn most of the establishment's patrons outside to sit at tables on the deck despite the cold. Other than those serving themselves at the buffet, he had the place almost to himself. When several minutes passed without their return, he got up and went to the men's room himself.
He was surprised to find it empty.
Back in the hallway, he spied the steps. Descending cautiously lest he be seen, he reached the bottom. He was greeted by two sets of tracks in the snow, one adult's, the other a small child's. Stepping behind one of the deck's support posts for cover, he visually followed the trail. At the end, he saw the man and child as they trekked toward the summit.
He could think of only one reason they would have crossed the clearly marked boundaries of the ski area to slog through loose snow: the small figure was Wynn-Three and the man with him was using the child to locate something.
Agency training from years ago halted the urge to dash after them. He had been taught to think through a situation before making decisions, a practice that had saved his life more than once. The man could well be armed. Despite the Browning in the small of his back, Lang wanted no gunfire. Not only would the sound likely summon the police, Wynn-Three could easily take a stray bullet. Besides, whether or not the man's search was successful, he would have to return this way. The other side of the mountain was a sheer drop.
There was also the option of calling the local police, a potentially embarrassing situation if the pair he saw were not whom he thought. Then there was the question of how fast the authorities could act. He was unwilling to risk harm to the little boy if he could not convince the cops of the urgency of moving swiftly.
He chose his first option: to wait and see what happened.
&nb
sp; Then the oddly matched pair disappeared.
It was only after several anxious seconds Lang zeroed in on a pile of boulders that screened all but the very top of the peak from view. The snow covering them blended perfectly with the snow behind so that the slope looked uninterrupted to the casual observer. Those rocks could hide his approach until he was nearly at the top.
Should he take advantage of the unanticipated cover or remain?
Far below Lang, Gratz was returning with a single Styrofoam cup of steaming mulled wine.
He offered it to Otto. "Three euros a cup! Leave half of it for me."
Otto ignored the sweet aroma and the chance to warm himself as he gestured excitedly with the binoculars. "What took you so long? The old man and child boarded the lift minutes ago!"
Three euros forgotten, Gratz snatched the glasses from Otto, putting them to his own eyes and training them on the lift as it wound up the slope. "Where?"
"They have already gone into the building up there just now."
"Are you sure they are who we are looking for?"
Otto nodded his head. "I could not see the face of either but they had no skis, and who would bring a child so small up there?"
Gratz tossed the cup into a trash barrel, heading for the lift. "Let's go!"
CHAPTER 82
Near the Summit
Oberkoenigsburg
HALF DRAGGING, HALF PUSHING AN EXHAUSTED Wynn-Three, Heim stopped to catch his breath in the thin Alpine air as well as to let the child rest a moment. Looking around to make certain he had not been seen by the ski patrol in a prohibited area, he noted that the ridge that formed the top of the peak was perhaps less than fifty meters away but almost vertical. Heim thought the heart pounding in his chest from the unaccustomed exercise skipped a beat. If the mine's entrance had been there, it would be inaccessible to anyone without mountain-climbing gear. Or a cog railway.
Wait. The sheer sides of the ridge were too steep to allow snow to accumulate. He was looking at bare rock. The scar of any previous excavation would be clearly visible. What he could not see was any sign of a railroad or tree stump. Surrounding him and the boy was only layers of snow piled and roughed by the mountain wind.
He scooped the child into his arms. "Where is it? Where is the entrance?"
"Vee," Wynn-Three said, pointing uphill.
There was no "V," only hummocks of wind-driven snow, some higher than Heim's head.
"Where?"
Heim was trying to sound gentle, not let his growing frustration flavor his voice with anger that might startle the child into consciousness.
"Vee," Wynn-Three insisted, arm still extended.
With the sigh of a man undertaking a potentially pointless task, Heim followed the direction indicated. He had taken only a few steps before he tripped and went down face first, his fall cushioned by the snow. His first reaction was to check the boy.
Instead of the blank countenance of a hypnotized subject, the child's face was wrinkled in fear and shock. Tears were coursing down cheeks made red by the cold.
"I want my mommy!"
Wynn-Three had woken up.
"I'm taking you to her now," was the first thing Heim could think of. He instinctively spoke in English.
"Where?" Wynn-Three demanded. "I don't see her!"
"Just on the other side of this hill," Heim comforted as he struggled to his feet.
The boy said something Heim did not understand but it didn't matter. The snow Heim had displaced as he stood had revealed what he had stumbled over:
The stump of an old tree.
A double-trunk tree, one that, at its height, would have formed a "V."
Heim frantically used his feet to scrape away snow where the wind had already made it thin.
"I want my mommy," Wynn-Three sobbed.
Heim stopped what he was doing to try to soothe the child before he became hysterical and difficult to control. "She should be here any minute. Wouldn't she be surprised if you have built her big snowman?"
The little boy swallowed a couple of sobs and seemed to be considering the possibility.
Then, with a child's literal thought, "You said you were taking me to her."
Heim put his arm around him, squeezing gently. "Either way, you see her in few minutes. Hurry, I'll get the snow, you build."
The child appeared to be at least temporarily satisfied, scooping up the snow as Heim moved it around. In less than a minute, Heim's boot touched something that was not mountain rock, something linear. He bent over, using his hands to uncover a single rusted iron rail. Using his feet again, he followed the rail a few meters until it ended at the base of what he had assumed was another windbuilt mound of snow, this one blown against a steep incline.
Using his hands, he scraped away the snow to discover rocks blocking what had been a manmade hole in the sheer rock. Ignoring the tearing of the flesh of his fingers, he slid a hand between two stones and pulled. They would not budge.
"When is Mommy coming?" Wynn-Three whined again.
Heim pulled his right hand from its task and groped for the Luger. He no longer had need for the boy but then realized that the Luger would be too loud, too much chance of someone hearing the shot and coming to investigate. He had another idea.
He squatted. "Come here and I'll whisper something in your ear."
"No, you'll stand slowly and turn to face me."
The voice came from behind him.
Doing as commanded, he saw Otto and Gratz, the latter with a gun in his hand. The line of snow-covered boulders just down slope had hidden their approach.
"Danke, Herr Doktor!" Gratz was smiling though there was no warmth in it. "Thanks for finding the mine for us. We'll take over from here."
Heim thought quickly. "I thought the three of us would distract the child, so I brought him here myself after the old woman found him in the snow. I always intended to . . ."
"Bad man!" Wynn-Three screamed, recognizing Gratz. "He's a bad man!"
Gratz nodded, not taking his eyes off Heim, and Otto snatched up a kicking, struggling, crying Wynn-Three. "I'm sure you had honorable intentions, Herr Doktor, so honorable, I'm going to let you have the honor of removing those stones. But first . . ."
Another nod to Otto who, one arm holding Wynn-Three, used the other to pat Heim down. He stepped back, the Luger in his hand.
"And if your intentions were so honorable toward us, why did you need that antique?" he mocked.
A glance from the doctor to Wynn-Three answered that question.
Gratz tisked-tisked. "Shoot a child? But then, I suppose shooting a child in your earlier days would have been an act of mercy. Now, see what you can do about moving some of those rocks."
Heim held up both hands, one bleeding from the abrasions it had received. "I have already tried. They are too heavy."
Gratz nodded to Otto. "See if you can help the old man."
Holding the collar of Wynn-Three's jacket with one hand and the pistol with the other, Gratz watched the two men struggle for a few minutes.
He was looking down the slope, aware it was only a matter of time before someone, most likely the ski patrol, saw them from an angle not obstructed by the boulders. Then he heard a triumphant grunt.
"It moved!" Otto said excitedly.
Sure enough, Gratz could see one of the rough stones at chest level move slightly in response to the tugging of Otto and Heim. He was trying to decide whether to risk putting the gun away and helping when there was a grinding sound, and a rock the size of a soccer ball tumbled from somewhere above the men's heads, then another.
"Look out!"
The warning died in Gratz's throat as a top section of stones collapsed. Heim moved with a quickness surprising for his age. Otto was not so fortunate. With a sickening thump, one struck his head, knocking him flat in the snow, which was rapidly turning crimson from the gash in the man's forehead.
"Bad man dead," Wynn-Three announced with unmistakable satisfaction.
With an eye on the gun in Gratz's hand, Heim knelt beside Otto, feeling for a pulse.
He looked up, shaking his head. "He is badly hurt. He will not survive without immediate medical attention."
"Your concern is deeply touching but we do not have the time." Gratz gestured with the gun. Heim noted it was a Mauser, the same vintage as his own Luger. "Drag him over to those stones and help me stuff him inside before someone sees us."
The cascade of rock had left a hole at the top of the pile of stone that just might have been large enough for a man's body. To get Otto through, Gratz needed both hands. He could not hold either Wynn-Three or the Mauser.
Jamming his weapon into the top of his pants, he turned to the child. "You stay right here, understand?"
"My mommy is coming," Wynn-Three said defiantly. "And you'll be sorry."
The two men strained lifting the limp body and finally succeeded in pushing it through the opening.
By the time Gratz had turned back around, Wynn-Three was a good twenty yards away and running as fast as his short legs would carry him through the loose snow. Gratz drew the pistol from his waistband.
"Do not be stupid," Heim cautioned, pushing the weapon aside. "A shot on this side of the mountain will echo all the way into the town. You might as well call the police yourself."
"But the child will talk . . ."
It took Heim about three minutes to catch up to Wynn-Three. "Not if we keep him with us until it is more . . . convenient to dispose of him."
"'We?'"
Heim had the little boy and was dragging him back uphill. "We. You have two choices: you can shoot me here and now and bring every policeman and ski patrol within ten kilometers, or we can enter the mine together."
Gratz nodded, not happy, but unable to think of a better plan. He took Wynn-Three from the doctor. "Very well. I will give you a boost up to the hole and see if you can wiggle inside. Then I will hand the boy through before I come."
