The Secret Crown (2010)

by Chris Kuzneski

  45

  The lower Eckbauerbahn station was a short walk from the Olympic Ski Stadium where Adolf Hitler opened the 1936 Winter Olympics, the first winter games in history to light the symbolic Olympic flame. Built to hold over 10,000 spectators, the stadium had plenty of parking. On most days, the spaces were filled with family cars and tour buses, not helicopters, so it was easy for Jones to spot the chopper on the far side of the car park as his gondola pulled into the station.

  Huber greeted him on the concrete platform. He was trailed by a group of Japanese tourists, who were half the size of the Austrian bodybuilders from the upper station but more than eager to help. Jones grinned at the irony of the situation. Decades earlier, Conrad Ulster, an Austrian philanthropist, had teamed up with a Japanese industrialist to smuggle a van Gogh painting into Germany during World War Two. Now the two countries were teaming up again to smuggle it out, right past a sports stadium built by the Nazis. For Jones, the only thing that would make this better was if a couple of tanks rumbled by.

  ‘What’s the status on transportation?’ Jones asked.

  Huber answered. ‘The ski stadium has a giant plod that’s never used in the summer time. It’s like those ice machines for hockey rinks.’

  ‘You mean a Zamboni?’

  ‘If you say so. I don’t speak Italian.’

  ‘Actually, it’s American. It’s named after the guy who invented it.’

  Huber shrugged. ‘Anyhow, the cableway operator said the stadium has something for the ski jump that’s parked in their maintenance garage. He called over there, and they’re pulling it round for us. It should be here any minute.’

  ‘Is it big enough for Kaiser and the cargo?’

  ‘According to him, yes. But I haven’t seen it yet.’

  Jones glanced into the corner of the station. Kaiser was lying on a wooden bench, still being watched over by the French surgeon. ‘How’s your boss?’

  ‘Doc says he’ll be fine. He keeps waking up, but he’s loopy as all hell. Probably has a concussion or something.’

  ‘And the crates made it down okay?’

  Huber nodded. ‘They didn’t complain at all.’

  Jones smiled. ‘It sounds like everything is running smoothly. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to run across the car park and talk to your pilot. Right now we’re missing a chopper.’

  ‘No problem, sir. Things are under control.’

  Krause pulled into the car park and circled it twice, looking for security guards and potential witnesses. According to the digital clock on his car radio, he had completed the trip from Griesen to the ski stadium in a little less than thirty minutes. Not as fast as he had promised Krueger, but not too shabby considering the unexpected traffic on the Bundesstrasse 23.

  Thankfully, the helicopter was right where it was supposed to be. Parked on the far side, it sat in the middle of several empty spaces. The pilot, a middle-aged German with a military haircut and dark aviator sunglasses, stood beside the chopper like the cocky owner of a new Corvette. Every once in a while, he took a cloth out of his back pocket and removed a speck of dirt, whether real or imagined, from the side of his shiny toy. Whether the pilot was killing time or trying to impress tourists, his actions reminded Krause of his stint in the German Army. While Krueger and Krause were busting their humps over treacherous terrain, the pretty flyboys used to swoop into town and dazzle all the frauleins in the local beer halls. No matter what he did or said, he simply couldn’t compete with their tales of aerial assault.

  To this day, he still harboured a grudge.

  Earlier, when Krause had agreed to Krueger’s terms on the phone, he wasn’t sure how he was going to prevent the helicopter from taking off, but one look at that Tom Cruise, Top Gun-wannabe motherfucker sealed the deal. Instead of damaging the chopper, he would damage the pilot, making sure that asshole never flew again.

  Smiling to himself, Krause unlocked the stainless-steel case on his passenger seat. Inside was a Beretta 92FS, three magazine clips and a custom-fitted sound suppressor. All five items were packed in soft-cell polyethylene, cut specifically to the dimensions of his gear. With a practised hand, Krause pulled out the handgun, attached the silencer - just like he used to do before bank jobs and home invasions - and inserted a clip.

  If all went well, Krause would be back in his car in less than five minutes. After that, he would go home and get drunk in celebration - his debt to Krueger finally paid.

  While jogging to the chopper, Jones saw Krause get out of his car but thought nothing of it. No visible weapons. No fidgety behaviour. No hats or masks to conceal his identity. The guy looked normal, like hundreds of other people in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, so Jones ignored him and focused his attention on the pilot. The two of them had spoken briefly on the radio, right after Jones had replaced Collins in the bird’s nest above the bunker.

  Jones said, ‘We’ll be coming out shortly. Are you ready to go?’

  The pilot nodded. ‘Just say the word, and I’ll start her up.’

  ‘Wait until you see us coming. The less attention we draw, the better.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Where’s the other chopper?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I flew up Mount Schachen like you told me to, and I spoke to the other pilot. What’s his name - Bobby, Billy … ?’

  ‘Baptiste,’ Jones said.

  ‘That’s the guy! Anyway, he said he couldn’t leave until he got permission from Ulster, and he was somewhere inside the house. Everyone’s got a boss, you know?’

  ‘And?’

  The pilot leaned against the chopper. ‘Then he hustled off to get permission. That’s the last time I saw the guy. I wasn’t about to wait for his ass. My boss was down here.’

  Jones quickly did some maths in his head. If Payne and Richter, who were big physical specimens, survived the gorge, there was no way everyone could fit in the helicopter. On a short journey, the chopper could seat five. But on a trip across the Alps? Four would be pushing it, considering the size of the men. Right now there were six potential passengers (Payne, Jones, Kaiser, Huber, Richter and the pilot), and that didn’t include the crates or the weapons.

  ‘We’re screwed without the other chopper. No way we can make it out together.’ Jones explained the numbers, and the pilot agreed with his assessment. ‘As soon as Kaiser comes out, we’ll load him and the cargo and get you out of here. Where are you headed?’

  ‘To one of his warehouses in Austria. We can arrange medical from there.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll stick around for the two in the gorge. If Baptiste shows up, we’ll take the chopper out. If he doesn’t, we’ll improvise.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Jones was about to explain when a glint of movement caught his eye. Glancing at the cockpit window, he spotted a man’s reflection; someone was approaching him from behind. Jones turned at the same moment that Krause pulled out his gun. It had been tucked in the interior pocket of his windbreaker, which had prevented the pilot from seeing it until it was too late.

  While Krause raised his Beretta and pulled the trigger, Jones dropped to his knee and fired a single shot from his Sig Sauer. The two bullets, fired at roughly the same time, passed each other in flight. Krause’s shot hit the pilot in the centre of his neck. It tore through his windpipe and spinal cord before it imbedded itself in the side of the chopper. The pilot dropped instantly, skidding down the chopper door, leaving a trail of blood. Krause hit the ground a spilt-second later with a bullet hole through the bridge of his nose.

  Although both shots were highly effective, there was a major difference between the two weapons that had fired them. Krause’s gun had a silencer that muffled the sound of his blast, whereas Jones’s gun did not. The unmistakable sound of gun fire rippled across the parking lot and was heard by dozens of tourists. A moment earlier, they had been walking to the ski stadium. Now they were running for cover.

  Huber heard the shot from his position outside t
he cableway. He had just loaded Kaiser into the back of a snowcat, a fully-tracked vehicle that was designed to groom ski trails and haul out injured skiers. It didn’t move very fast, but it could climb a mountain of ice. Another two minutes and the cargo would have been loaded next to him, and he could have been on his way. Unfortunately, the gun blast on the other side of the parking lot had spooked his work force before they could finish the job. The French surgeon ran first, which was understandable since the ambush at the intersection was still fresh in his mind, and was soon followed by the Japanese, who actually took a moment to bow in apology before they sprinted into the station.

  Once they were gone, Huber was on the sidewalk alone

  Just him and the four crates.

  46

  In close combat, elite soldiers are taught to check on the enemy before tending to their own. The rationale is simple: threats need to be eliminated as soon as possible to prevent further casualties. With that in mind, Jones kicked the weapon out of Krause’s hand and checked his pulse before he rushed back to the pilot’s side. As he had suspected, both men were dead.

  Jones cursed loudly, upset that he hadn’t detected a problem sooner. Then again, there was only so much he could do against a faceless opponent with unknown motives. Spotting soldiers with rifles was one thing, but men with silencers was quite another. Suddenly the game had changed. From this point forward, everyone would be treated as a threat.

  ‘What happened?’ Huber asked over the radio.

  Jones spotted Huber near the cableway station, then replied, ‘Some bastard in a windbreaker just killed your pilot.’

  ‘The pilot’s dead? What do we do now?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I can fly this thing. But we need to leave asap.’ Jones scanned the area for police. Because of his gunshot, the clock was ticking. ‘What’s your status?’

  ‘Our patient’s loaded, but the cargo isn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You scared away my volunteers.’

  Jones pointed to the enclosed cabin of the snowcat. He could see someone cowering in the front seat. ‘Not everyone. What about your driver?’

  ‘What driver?’ The answer came to him a moment later. Jones was talking about the guy who had retrieved the snowcat from the ski stadium. ‘Oh shit! I forgot about him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help - especially if I ask nicely.’

  ‘Nicely, meanly, whatever it takes. You’ve got two minutes to load that thing.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Huber said.

  ‘In the meantime, I’ll clean this mess and start the bird. Call me if there’s trouble.’

  Even though space was limited, Jones picked up the dead pilot and dumped him inside the chopper. As it was, two of Kaiser’s men (Schneider and Collins) had been left on the mountain because there hadn’t been time to deal with their bodies. They were two major leads for the police to follow. There was no way he was going to leave a third.

  Next he searched the pockets of the gunman but found nothing of value. After grabbing the Beretta, Jones dashed to where the guy had parked and snapped a photo of his license plate. If he’d had more time, he would have searched the car for the gunman’s wallet or registration, but he knew a picture on his camera phone would have to suffice.

  While heading back to the chopper, Jones heard a garbled transmission on his radio. He answered it immediately, expecting an issue at the cableway. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Leav … will … ortly.’

  He turned towards the station and saw Huber loading a crate into the back of the snowcat. Obviously, it wasn’t coming from him. ‘Please repeat.’

  ‘… the gorge … shortly.’

  Jones smiled when he heard the word gorge. It was a message from Payne. ‘You’re breaking up. Please repeat. Over.’

  Thirty seconds passed before Payne tried again. This time his transmission was much clearer. ‘We’re leaving … gorge now. We’ll be there shortly.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. How big is the guest list?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Stay alert. A civilian just tried to take us out.’

  ‘Civilians in play. Check.’

  ‘See ya soon. Over and out.’

  Jones opened the door to the cockpit and was about to climb inside when he heard a loud rumble behind him. He turned and spotted the source of the sound. The snowcat with its tank-like tracks was pulling away from the station. Huber was standing in the back with his G36, surveying the car park like a gunner on an armoured fighting vehicle.

  Suddenly Bavaria resembled Baghdad. Minus the sand and those pesky terrorists.

  Jones added to the tumult by starting the helicopter. The whooshing of the blades and the roar of the turbines fuelled the adrenaline that surged through his body. A few years had passed since he had flown a chopper overseas, and that had been in Italy while trying to evade the Milanese police during his first archaeological mission. Less than twenty-four hours later, he and Payne toured the Ulster Archives for the very first time. Since then, Jones had logged hundreds of hours of flight time at military bases across the US as part of an agreement he had reached with the Pentagon. He used their equipment, and they used him as a consultant.

  With the helicopter ready to go, Jones hopped out of the cockpit and greeted Huber at the side door. The driver of the snowcat, a young man in his early twenties, parked the vehicle thirty feet away since he wasn’t sure if it would fit under the chopper blades. Then he climbed out of the cabin and walked to the back without having to be asked or threatened. Either the kid had a huge set of marbles, or he had been scared into submission at the cableway.

  Huber leaned close and shouted into Jones’s ear. ‘I heard your transmission. When our friends arrive, we’re gonna be too heavy.’

  Jones shouted back. ‘That’s not your problem. Load the chopper.’

  Huber nodded and hustled to get Kaiser.

  Jones could see Payne and Richter in the distance. They were hoofing it across a small courtyard that led to the Olympic ski stadium. By Jones’s calculations, their journey had covered approximately two miles over harsh terrain. After all that running, they deserved a lounge chair and a bottle of water, not a dose of bad news. Unfortunately, that’s what Jones would greet them with. Because of weight restrictions, there wasn’t room for them on the chopper. Even if they dumped the pilot, one of them would be left behind. Originally, Jones had planned to stick around with Payne, but that was no longer possible because of the pilot’s death.

  Payne and Richter were out of breath when they reached the chopper. While gasping for air, Payne pointed to Krause, who was crumpled in a puddle of blood. ‘What happened?’

  Jones answered. ‘He killed the pilot, so I took him out.’

  ‘Fair enough. Where’s Petr?’

  ‘Don’t know. He never came back from Schachen.’

  ‘Did you try his radio?’

  ‘He doesn’t have one.’

  Payne shook his head. ‘I meant chopper to chopper.’

  ‘Didn’t want to risk it. Too many ears.’

  ‘What’s our status?’

  ‘Bird’s ready to fly, but we’re too heavy.’

  ‘By how much?’

  ‘Two men.’

  He took it in stride. ‘You flying?’

  Jones shrugged. ‘I’m the only one who can.’

  Payne nodded and pointed at Huber, who was loading the last crate into the chopper. ‘How’s your guard? Is he any good?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘If you’re making me walk, we need to trade. I get Huber, you get Richter.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Long story. I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Hold up! Is there something I should know?’

  Payne nodded. ‘Keep Richter away from witnesses.’

  Jones waved Huber over to explain the situation. Suddenly the downdraught around them increased, as did the roar of the turbines. Worried that something was wrong, Jones turned towards the cockpit and spotted the culpr
it fifty feet away. The extra wind and noise were coming from Ulster’s helicopter, which was hovering nearby and preparing to land. The sound of its approach had been masked completely until it was almost on top of them.

  Payne smiled when he saw the chopper. His escape just got a whole lot easier. ‘Where are we headed?’

  Jones answered. ‘Some warehouse in Austria. Huber knows where.’

  ‘Then try to keep up.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  Payne patted Huber on his shoulder. ‘You’re with me. Richter stays with Kaiser.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Is everything loaded?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then follow me.’

  Payne led the way to the other chopper where they were met by Ulster. As bubbly as ever, he greeted each of them with a hearty handshake.

  ‘What took you so long?’ Payne asked.

  Ulster apologized. ‘Sorry about the delay. We ran into a small problem.’

  Payne slammed the hatch shut, then collapsed into one of the leather seats where he planned on snoozing until they got to Austria. Compared to the belly of Kaiser’s chopper, they would be flying in style. ‘A problem? What kind of problem?’

  Before he could answer, Heidi waved at Payne from the front seat. ‘Hey, Jon.’

  Ulster smiled sheepishly. ‘A female problem.’

  47

  Even though Payne had enjoyed chatting with Heidi at the King’s House on Schachen, he was noticeably upset by her presence in the chopper.

  He growled at Ulster. ‘What in the hell is she doing here?’

  Ulster lowered his eyes in shame. ‘I’m sorry, Jonathon. I had no choice.’

  ‘Of course you had a choice! You could have left her on the mountain.’

  Heidi spoke up. ‘Actually, no he couldn’t.’

  Payne glared at her. ‘Am I talking to you?’

  Heidi glared back. ‘Well, you are now, which is how it should have been all along. If you’re mad at me, yell at me. Don’t take it out on Petr.’