Stormbound

by A P Bateman

  feel and walking down the corridors was akin to a scene from The Shining. Rashid felt more

  comfortable with the rifle and knew that the team of mercenaries would not be far away. They were likely out there, watching the hotel and making plans of their own.

  The hotel sat, in turreted and glass magnificence, resplendent in its modernity, yet harking to the past. As an architectural exercise, it worked, but possibly because there had been no neighbours to rebuke the bold plans. It was seated proudly atop the man-made mountain on a flat piece of ground fringed with pines and firs on the South and West sides. To the North was plain and dropped to the steepest edge. This was predominantly ski slope all the way to the bottom where it levelled out and then dropped further down a natural valley. Two runs of chair lifts serviced the slope with a short traverse mid-slope between lifts. To the east and running all the way through South and West the access road meandered up the mountain in a series of S-bends. Rashid had travelled in and out on the snowmobile and the route had been well maintained and kept clear of snow by maintenance, who used a Caterpillar truck that ran on tracks. This was the vehicle that towed in supplies, most likely in the early hours while the guests were asleep. And that left West. Under the pines and firs, a funicular travelled underground to the carpark below. A safe and weather-friendly method of

  transportation that a added a little more theatre to the guest’s experience. The track terminated fifty-metres short of the hotel and offered another act of theatre – an ice tunnel to the bottom of the hotel’s steps. Lit with coloured lights, gentle background music of Scandinavian folk tunes, and ice carvings like that denoting each room in the now ruined ice hotel, it made arrival to The Eagle’s Nest Hotel an event.

  Rashid made his way down the steps to the funicular. A pair of steel gates were opened and pinned back against the concreted walls. He saw that the train must have been at the bottom of the tunnel, as all he could see was a pair of tracks at a forty-five-degree angle disappearing into the darkness. He turned to the control panel and studied the switches. An electrical cut-out button, on and off switch and a dial for what he gathered would be speed control. The other two buttons denoted up and down. He looked above him and saw the monitor on the wall, the train was parked at the bottom and nobody was on the screen. He switched the on button upwards, pressed the up button, then gently turned the dial. The train moved steadily out of the frame and he could see that the waiting area was empty. He listened for the approaching train, heard nothing and twisted the dial further around.

  It all happened at once.

  The beams from the headlights hit him, blinded him and the train appeared. He was aware of a great wind rushing over him, forced up through the tunnel – an icy draft. He turned the switch back, but it was too late. The train crashed into the barrier and the noise was like canon-fire. Rashid was bowled over as the shock travelled through the barrier and into the control booth. He got up, looked a little sheepishly at the train and then at the monitor. He switched the down button on, eased on the dial and the train moved steadily away. He changed the direction and brought it back, parking it considerably more gently than before. Satisfied he hadn’t broken a million-pound’s worth of funicular, he switched the panel off. The wind ahead of the train had shown how tightly the train fit in the tunnel, and with the train at the top of the tunnel, he hit the master switch and hoped he had sealed off another weak point.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  “All of the guests have gone.”

  “Not all.”

  “But they have, I saw them to the coach personally,” Huss persisted. “Only your party, my manager and four members of staff remain.”

  “There is a tall, thin man with Slavic features,” Ramsay said. “A hooked nose, to be precise. He was limping this morning, came back covered in snow and ice. We bumped into him on our floor.”

  “And you suspect this man to have stolen your laptop?”

  “Yes.”

  Huss shrugged. “The coach will have reached Kittila by now, I do not see what else I can do…”

  “He won’t have left. He is still here, I’m positive of that.”

  “But I can assure you, all of the guests have departed. I insisted they all leave. We could no longer guarantee their safety. Not with the bomb and all.”

  “I thought you were insisting it was a lightning strike?” Caroline interjected. “That was what you were insisting last night.”

  “Perhaps I was wrong…”

  “But you remember this man?” she ventured.

  “No.”

  “Strange,” she paused, feigning confusion and bemusement. “You were talking to him at the reception desk.”

  Huss shrugged. “I talk to a lot of people,” he said. “That is all part of owning a hotel. Now, I think I have answered enough of your questions. You have insisted that you can investigate this matter, what do you propose to do?”

  “Very little, now that most of the potential suspects have boarded a coach out of here,” Ramsay replied.

  “Then, why are you still here?”

  Ramsay looked at his eyes. He was trained to spot liars, their tells. Everybody had one. “There are men coming,” he said. “They have hostile intentions.”

  “Towards my hotel?”

  “Towards somebody staying here.”

  “But I told you; apart from your party, there are only a few staff. Enough to keep it running, but in truth, they are live-in workers with nowhere else to go,” he paused. “So, if these hostile forces are after you or your group, and putting my hotel at risk, then I am going to have to insist you leave.”

  “Good luck with that,” Caroline said, taking the Makarov pistol out of her pocket and holding it down by her side. Huss stared at the weapon incredulously. “Let me know how it works out for you,” she added.

  “What are you doing?” Huss asked. Ramsay looked at her, as if reiterating the owner’s feelings. “This is my hotel!”

  “I think we’ve gone way past diplomacy,” she said. “Mister Huss, for the next twenty-four hours, possibly more, this building has been requisitioned by us, for our needs and protection. You can cooperate with us, or you can see out the storm locked up for your own protection.” She looked at Ramsay, who was still not quite on board with her decision. She turned back to Huss. “Actually, you know what, lets make that the case.” She turned back to Ramsay. “We don’t know who to trust here and that’s putting the team at risk.” She looked at Huss, raised the pistol. “Gather all your staff together now.”

  “But…”

  She cocked the Makarov’s hammer. The weapon would fire on the double action with the hammer down anyway, but it was always good for effect.

  “Okay!” he protested. He picked up the phone in front of him, pressed a button and after a few seconds spoke quickly and tersely into the receiver.

  “And you still maintain that the man with the hooked nose boarded that coach?” she asked.

  Huss hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, I think so…”

  “You think so?” Ramsay shook his head. “Now, Mister Huss, I’ll ask again. And if I think you are lying, I’ll ask my colleague here to shoot you in the kneecap.”

  Caroline walked around the desk and aimed the pistol, her elbow rested on the desk to keep her aim steady.

  “I…”

  “Quiet, Mister Huss,” Ramsay said quietly. “Now, the tall, thin man with the hooked nose; did he get on the coach?”

  “I… I can’t be certain,” he said hesitantly, his eyes on the pistol. “No!” he added. “No, he didn’t…”

  “He didn’t?” Ramsay nodded. “In that case, where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Huss was perspiring now, a pallor to his face, despite the temperature of the reception and lobby.

  The manager appeared with the waitress and a man wearing chef whites. He surveyed the scene and the three of them looked at each other in concern. He said something in Finnish to Huss, then looked at Ramsay.
“Nikolai and Mikael have gone,” he said. “They are agency staff and I have no contact details for either of them.”

  “Convenient,” Caroline said tersely.

  “What do you mean?” asked the manager.

  “I suspected they were Russian,” she said. She tucked the pistol back into her pocket and pointed at the waitress. “She said as much, too.”

  The waitress shrugged. “I thought they were, but they both claimed to be Norwegian.”

  The chef nodded. “They were Russian,” he said. “But they are good men.” He looked with uncertainty between his manager and the owner, the waitress too, like he was about to betray a confidence. “They are both AWOL from the Russian military. They were left demoralised and ashamed after a tour in Syria. Mikael was a helicopter pilot, Nikolai was the weapons operator. The gunner…” He shook his head, as if trying to imagine what horrors and injustices both men had seen. “They simply ran away. If they are caught or return to Russia, then…” He left the sentence unfinished, but everybody seemed to understand the ramifications of their actions.

  “And you don’t know where these men are?” Ramsay asked, somewhat incredulously.

  “No,” the manager replied.

  “Please, tell us what is happening,” the waitress pleaded. “Why do you have a gun, and why all the questions?”

  Ramsay glanced at Caroline, then conceded. He looked at the group and said, “We are trying to protect a Russian defector. They are at risk, and so is anybody standing in her pursuers’ way. The storm and circumstance has conspired events and The Eagle’s Nest Hotel

  has become the place where these events will conclude,” he paused and looked at Huss. “You lied about the man we seek. I believe the tall man with the hooked nose and Slavic or Russian accent is a crucial part of this. He was posing as a guest. You were disingenuous when questioned.” He looked at Caroline. “Put Mister Huss under arrest, please.”

  “Wait!” Huss exclaimed. “I own this place!”

  Caroline aimed the pistol at him. “What about the others?” she asked without taking her eyes off the owner, or her peripheral vision from the other three.

  “I don’t wish to take such measures,” Ramsay said. He looked at the manager. “I would greatly appreciate your knowledge regarding the establishment. Your staff can cater for my team, informally of course. If trouble comes, then perhaps we can adhere to a plan of action. A place they can go to and take refuge while matters conclude?”

  The manager nodded. “The wine cellar is secure and even houses a generator. The temperature is habitable, as wine keeps best at fifteen degrees Celsius. A thermostat sees to that. We could take food and drink, blankets and toiletries down there. There is running water for the beer cellar equipment.”

  “Sounds ideal,” Ramsay agreed.

  “But…” Huss protested.

  Caroline cut him off. “Be quiet.” She waved the pistol, saw the fear in the man’s eyes.

  “Caroline, take Mister Huss to his quarters and see that he is locked securely inside.” Ramsay looked at the chef and said, “Be a good fellow and make some sandwiches for my team,” he paused, caught the waitress’s eye. “Some coffee as well. We’ll take it in the conservatory. Then take some time to yourself.”

  Huss looked as if he were about to explode, his colour several shades brighter than normal. Caroline could see his fists clenched. She noted he was close to losing his temper, made a point of standing several paces behind him as he led the way to his quarters.

  Ramsay watched them go, then said to the manager, “Do you have any weapons on the premises? For bears or wolves?”

  The man shook his head. “Wolves are shy creatures and you never really see them. As for bears, well guests would consider themselves lucky to see one.”

  “Aren’t they dangerous?”

  “Yes, but they don’t come around the hotel. In the forest, it’s a different matter entirely. We have cans of bear spray, though. And air-horns, to scare them away. We also have bangers. You hang a string of them on a tree, light the bottom of the fuse and a loud banger explodes every ten minutes. They are good to use if bears are persistent, but they never have been, so…”

  “So, nothing to kill them with?”

  The manager smiled. “This isn’t America. We don’t encourage killing animals out here. There are hunters, of course. The Sami mainly. But our hotel is all about the beauty of Lapland, we do not cater for hunters. Only fishermen and nature lovers in the summer months, snow-sports enthusiasts and Northern Light watchers in the winter.”

  Ramsay nodded. “What’s bear spray?” he asked.

  “Like pepper spray, but stronger.”

  “Show me,” he said. “Show me everything you have.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  “I’ve called you in here to get a situation report and throw about any ideas before…” Ramsay paused, his tone ominous. “Well, before the storm hits, or we are hit by hostile forces.”

  The plate of sandwiches had been devoured, the coffee too. King sipped from a glass of water with lime. He’d given up getting tea anywhere else but the rooms. Generic ‘English breakfast tea’ bags and miniature cartons of UHT milk. He was developing a taste for it now.

  Rashid said, “The ice hotel is the weak link. It’s not secure, easy to gain access to and only boarded up from the main hotel with planks of wood and plastic sheeting.”

  King put down his glass and walked over to the window. It provided a panoramic view of the grounds along the whole front entrance of the hotel. “Then we can boobytrap it,” he said over his shoulder. He turned and pointed to the crates of bear spray and bangers. “Rashid, there’s enough there for a man of your expertise to get a couple of nasty IEDs put together. Bleach, sugar and baking soda in the kitchen. There’s petrol in the storage sheds as well. Nails, nuts and bolts, too,” he paused and smiled. “Just don’t go setting your hair on fire…”

  “Might not be the worst thing,” Marnie smiled.

  Rashid sneered at them both, then said, “I’ve brought the funicular up to the top, as well. A handy method of escape, and the seal is tight enough to keep intruders from using it to get close to us.”

  “Good thinking,” said Ramsay. “Glad to see you used your head.”

  “Did that even work?” Rashid asked, bemused.

  “It was a good effort,” said Caroline. “For Neil, at least.”

  Rashid shook his head. “Seriously though, I only have five rounds for the rifle, but I can see three sides of the grounds from upstairs. Not simultaneously, but perhaps the staff could act as spotters?”

  “There’s the trust issue,” said King. He turned his attention back to the view. He held the AK-74 loosely in his left hand, the three spare magazines were tucked into the pockets of his cargo trousers.

  “I can’t watch all the sides anyway, so there’s nothing to lose.”

  King shrugged. “Okay, but Huss stays where he is.”

  “Agreed,” Ramsay added.

  “Entrances?” Caroline asked.

  “Five,” King answered. He perched on the window ledge and said, “The front entrance, the ice hotel tunnel, a rear entrance to a courtyard from the kitchen, and from a service

  area to the same courtyard, and a side exit to the West.”

  “More than we can cover. Practically, at least,” Caroline mused. “I think IEDs on the rear exits, as well as the ice hotel. That will leave the two main exits. And IEDs going off will act as a warning to us as well.”

  Rashid smiled. He’d had history with Caroline during an assault, back when he had been in deep cover with an ISIS terrorist cell. Caught up in the fluidity of the attack, he had managed to do enough to maintain his cover, but had taken the opportunity to run, aiding an injured terrorist to avoid suspicion from the rest of the cell. He had been the only member of the cell uninjured. Caroline had put up quite a fight.

  “Weapons-wise,” Ramsay paused. “Caroline and King have Makarovs and twenty-four rounds a p
iece?”

  “Correct,” said King.

  “Rashid has five rounds for the hunting rifle, and there’s the Walther with just one bullet.” He looked at the box containing the bear spray. He reached inside and took out two, gave one to Marnie and held onto one for himself. “I’ll take that Walther,” he said. “One bullet is better than none.”

  “Should have bagsied,” Rashid chided.

  King took out the Makarov and walked over to Ramsay. “Take this, Neil. I’ll hang on to

  my Walther. I’ve got the Kalashnikov, and you’ll do better with eight rounds and couple of spare mags.”

  “Thanks,” Ramsay said. He hadn’t done any formal training with weapons, but he figured he had the gist of it. He turned it over in his hand.

  “It’s made ready,” King said. “Point this end at whoever you want to kill and pull the trigger. Don’t try aiming, just point and shoot. Press here to eject the magazine, insert the magazine with the lead pointing forwards, slam it home and pull the slide to chamber a round,” he smiled. “And now you’re all up to speed.”

  Ramsay handled it as if it would burn him, kept his finger off the trigger and the muzzle pointed to the floor. “Thanks, Alex.”

  King turned back to the windows. “This meeting is over,” he said over his shoulder. He turned and looked at them as he pointed towards the horizon. “I’ve seen the sky look something like that before. The storm is on the way. Only those clouds look darker and angrier

  than it did before.” He looked at them earnestly. “There’s a truck outside. I’ll find the keys and get it parked against that side entrance. It may be enough to make them consider it a non-starter. Rashid get some IEDs in that ice hotel. Make one for each rear exit, too. After that, get some elevation and take the watch on the front and both sides. Be sure before you shoot anybody. We don’t want to plug some unfortunate person taking shelter from the storm. Neil, use the waitress and the chef as watchers. Tell them to alert Rashid if they spot somebody. Caroline, check our asset is okay, then get her locked up and secured.”