The Lions Of Lucerne

74

Scot chose to drive around Lucerne rather than through it to get to Mount Pilatus. By now, all of the city’s policemen would be carrying descriptions of him and Claudia, courtesy of the shopkeepers on the Kapellbrücke. The way they were going took more time, but it gave Claudia a chance to get some sleep. She had finally nodded off a while ago, and Scot had no desire to wake her. He needed her to be as fresh as possible for what lay ahead.

It was pitch black outside. Headlights blurred from one set into the next, indistinguishable as they zoomed past in the opposite direction. The VW’s dash lights glowed an eerie green. Scot was tempted to turn on the radio, but decided against it. The heater was turned up high, and he glanced over at Claudia, who was wrapped in the same wool blanket he had been in only this afternoon. It was fu

“Hey there,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Pissed off.”

Scot laughed. “That’s good. Now I know I don’t have to worry about you.”

“How did you know I was in trouble at my apartment?”

“I made my call and used the fax at Fabia’s, then waited around for you for about an hour. When you didn’t show, I started to get a bad feeling.”

“That man. He wasn’t one of Miner’s men.”

“No?”

“No, he was an American.”

Scot had guessed as much when he’d retrieved the shattered Motorola radio from the man’s pocket.

“You should have told him where I was,” he said.

“What, and let him kill you? Besides, he was going to kill me anyway. That I’m sure of. Why would I want to make things any easier on him?”

“You’re right. Here,” said Scot, pulling the Toblerone chocolate from his pocket, “one of Fabia’s staff gave this to me. I thought you might like it.”

“Thanks,” she said as she unwrapped the chocolate and began to eat.

A light snow had started falling outside, and Scot turned on the windshield wipers.

“This ought to make things fun,” he said.

“If it keeps up, it will give us added cover. Don’t complain,” replied Claudia, who finished the chocolate and leaned over into the backseat.

“What are you doing?” asked Scot.

“Taking inventory and deciding how we’ll pack the gear so the weight is evenly distributed.”

“Don’t you want to do that when we get there?”

“I’m just getting organized. I don’t want us to be out in the open any longer than we have to.”

75

Forty minutes later, Harvath began seeing signs for Alpnachstad. Claudia showed him where to pull off. The snow was falling harder now, and she made Scot drive through the village twice before she found the road they were looking for. It led back toward the lake and the cogwheel railway station. Fifty meters before the entrance to the station, the road branched off into a clearing beyond a large grove of pine trees. Claudia instructed him to park all the way at the end of the clearing, as far away from the road as possible.

“The cogwheel station is normally jammed with tour buses and they use this lot for the overflow. The hikers use it because it provides better access to the trailhead,” she said.

Scot just nodded. His mind was on what lay ahead of them at the seven-thousand-foot summit of Mount Pilatus.

Claudia raised the VW’s hatchback and worked with extraordinary speed. Items were packed in the order they would most likely be used. The later it would be used, the farther down in the pack it was stowed. Claudia had already loaded the three magazines of her SIG-Sauer before Scot had maneuvered into his snowsuit. He had given Claudia his sizes, and she had done a good job of finding something that fit him. The snowsuit was warm and, judging from the fabric, relatively waterproof. It was made by a commercial ski manufacturer, and he didn’t much care for the brightly colored stripes around the wrists and pockets, but overall it was predominantly white, and that was the most important thing.

As if reading his mind Claudia said, “Catch,” and threw him a large roll of white tape. “I’m sure you know the proper way to wrap the weapons as well?”

Winter camouflage wasn’t something Scot Harvath, formerly of SEAL Team Two, needed help with.

They had agreed he, as the more skilled marksman, would carry the two-shot, silenced Makarov along with his Beretta. When they were close enough to their objective, he would remove and assemble the assault rifle from his pack. Claudia carried thirty-six rounds of ammunition in the clips of her SIG-Sauer, plus one in the chamber. Her role was strictly support, and Scot would be the point man. If things went well, Claudia would never even have to fire a shot, but they knew things seldom went exactly as pla

Scot pulled on the climbing boots Claudia had purchased for him during one of her errands. They were snug, but hopefully wouldn’t be the cause of any blisters. Claudia had purchased the Swiss equivalent of moleskin and would have it ready at the first sign their boots were causing either of them any discomfort. They had a long trek in front of them, and they could not afford to compromise their feet in any way.

The weapons and gear packed up, they put on their headsets and tried the link between their commercial walkie-talkies. A-Okay. Claudia gave the thumbs-up, and they zipped up their suits. Normally, now would be the time to tape over the zippers, but with such a strenuous climb in front of them, they would need to vent their body heat often. Once they reached the top, they would finish taping up. They slipped on their white gloves, white balaclavas, goggles, and looking like a pair of phantoms, headed off into the woods toward the trailhead.

Two hours into the climb, Scot and Claudia stopped to take a rest. They each ate a PowerBar and polished off a liter of water between them. Scot applied moleskin to the inside of his right foot, which had been rubbed slightly raw by the new climbing boots. He leaned back on his elbows and breathed the cold air deep into his lungs. The snow had picked up in the last half hour. Judging by the altimeter on Claudia’s sport watch, they were making good time. Scot was carefully searching for any early warning devices Miner might have planted along the trail to alert him of an assault, but so far he hadn’t seen anything. He also frequently withdrew the assault rifle’s nightscope from his backpack to scan the terrain above them. He never felt compelled to look behind.

After their break, the pair got back on the trail and continued their hike toward the summit. The winds were fierce and bit at any exposed pieces of flesh. The snow blew from almost every direction, cutting visibility and forcing Scot and Claudia to move more slowly, choosing their steps with more care. One wrong move and they could tumble down the mountain. Scot took a length of rope from his pack and tied it between the two of them, so neither lost the other.

They stopped to rest two more times, finishing off their water and two more PowerBars. Because of the frigid conditions, they were happier when walking, their bodies burning more calories for warmth. Despite the high-quality suits, gloves, and boots, the cold found its way in everywhere, and each of them was feeling numb. Not a good situation, considering they hadn’t even faced the hardest part of the ascent yet.

Half an hour after their last rest stop, Claudia gave a tug on the rope and Scot stopped. When he turned to face her, she was pointing up. He removed the nightscope and peered through the green light to see what she was pointing at.