Read Online 02 Avalanche Pass by John Flanagan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: Mystery
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unnecessarily, and Markus flinched again. His stomach roiled and he thought he was going to be violently sick. With an effort, he controlled himself. Kormann was speaking again.
“Now, Jenny, the signal please.”
Again, she tried to look to Markus. As before, Kormann’s powerful grip wouldn’t let her.
“Please,” she said. “Please take that thing away from him.”
Kormann looked at Pallisani and nodded. Markus took a deep breath of relief as he felt the gun removed from his forehead. Then Pallisani swung the pistol in a short, chopping arc, hitting him just above the left eyebrow. Markus staggered, feeling a sudden rush of hot blood down his face, blinding him momentarily as it ran into his eye. He caught the edge of the desk with his hand and saved himself from falling. Jenny watched, horrified, as he tried to stem the flow of blood.
Pallisani now swung the gun backhanded and caught the manager high on the right cheekbone. More blood. Jenny whimpered as Markus staggered again. The brutality of the pistol-whipping was so casual, so cold-blooded. It almost seemed to be without malice, which made it all the more horrifying.
“Please!” she begged. “Don’t hit him again! It’s two short and one long.”
Markus, dazed by the two sudden blows to the head, made no effort to stop her.
Kormann nodded, satisfied. “Two short and one long what?” he asked. The girl continued to talk, her words tumbling over one another again.
“Two short and one long ring on the fire alarm bells.” She gestured uncertainly to a large red button on the wall behind the desk. “We ring it from there. Then we repeat it again after fifteen seconds so everyone will know it’s not a drill or a false alarm.”
“And where’s the assembly point?” Kormann asked.
Now that Jenny had begun to speak, the words seemed almostanxious to spill out of her. “The lobby, in front of the reception desk.”
“Okay. Now, Ben, how are you feeling there?” Before Markus could answer, Kormann continued. “Roughly how many staff have you got on site at the moment?”
Markus’ shoulders sagged. There seemed no point in holding out the information.
“Sixty-odd,” he muttered.
Kormann’s eyebrows rose. “That’s all?” he asked.
“That’s all,” Markus replied, adding, “The others will come in tomorrow from Salt Lake City, before the new guests arrive.”
Kormann smiled, without humor. “Not tomorrow, they won’t,” he said. Then he continued, in a brisker tone. “Okay, Ben, let’s ring those bells. Then clean yourself up a little and we’ll go out to greet the folks.”
EIGHT
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
O n the fifth floor, Maria Velasquez groaned softly as she leaned over the bath in room 546, spraying a generous mist of bathroom cleanser onto the far side. Her back ached and she hated bending and leaning to do this job. She began wiping the enamel with a square of toweling in quick, painful strokes.
In the corridor outside, the fire alarm bells shrilled suddenly. She stopped, feeling a momentary lurch in her heart. Two short, one long. The staff alarm. If it were a test, there would be one long peal of the bells in fifteen seconds. She waited, then heard the alert repeated. This was for real, she thought. She wondered what the danger might be. Her heart began to race as she thought of the possibility of the mountain coming down. That was the thing the old hands always talked about, remembering the time when the hotel had been buried up to the fifth floor. Heart pounding, she gathered her cleaning equipment into a basket and headed for the stairs.
G eorge Kirby was opening a gallon can of tomatoes in the kitchen below the hotel’s Mexican theme restaurant.
“Try not to spill them this time,” the sous chef said with withering scorn. George, facing away from the sarcastic son of a bitch, mouthed a silent obscenity. The sous chef loved to throw his weight around on a Saturday evening. It was the one night of
“Now, Jenny, the signal please.”
Again, she tried to look to Markus. As before, Kormann’s powerful grip wouldn’t let her.
“Please,” she said. “Please take that thing away from him.”
Kormann looked at Pallisani and nodded. Markus took a deep breath of relief as he felt the gun removed from his forehead. Then Pallisani swung the pistol in a short, chopping arc, hitting him just above the left eyebrow. Markus staggered, feeling a sudden rush of hot blood down his face, blinding him momentarily as it ran into his eye. He caught the edge of the desk with his hand and saved himself from falling. Jenny watched, horrified, as he tried to stem the flow of blood.
Pallisani now swung the gun backhanded and caught the manager high on the right cheekbone. More blood. Jenny whimpered as Markus staggered again. The brutality of the pistol-whipping was so casual, so cold-blooded. It almost seemed to be without malice, which made it all the more horrifying.
“Please!” she begged. “Don’t hit him again! It’s two short and one long.”
Markus, dazed by the two sudden blows to the head, made no effort to stop her.
Kormann nodded, satisfied. “Two short and one long what?” he asked. The girl continued to talk, her words tumbling over one another again.
“Two short and one long ring on the fire alarm bells.” She gestured uncertainly to a large red button on the wall behind the desk. “We ring it from there. Then we repeat it again after fifteen seconds so everyone will know it’s not a drill or a false alarm.”
“And where’s the assembly point?” Kormann asked.
Now that Jenny had begun to speak, the words seemed almostanxious to spill out of her. “The lobby, in front of the reception desk.”
“Okay. Now, Ben, how are you feeling there?” Before Markus could answer, Kormann continued. “Roughly how many staff have you got on site at the moment?”
Markus’ shoulders sagged. There seemed no point in holding out the information.
“Sixty-odd,” he muttered.
Kormann’s eyebrows rose. “That’s all?” he asked.
“That’s all,” Markus replied, adding, “The others will come in tomorrow from Salt Lake City, before the new guests arrive.”
Kormann smiled, without humor. “Not tomorrow, they won’t,” he said. Then he continued, in a brisker tone. “Okay, Ben, let’s ring those bells. Then clean yourself up a little and we’ll go out to greet the folks.”
EIGHT
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
O n the fifth floor, Maria Velasquez groaned softly as she leaned over the bath in room 546, spraying a generous mist of bathroom cleanser onto the far side. Her back ached and she hated bending and leaning to do this job. She began wiping the enamel with a square of toweling in quick, painful strokes.
In the corridor outside, the fire alarm bells shrilled suddenly. She stopped, feeling a momentary lurch in her heart. Two short, one long. The staff alarm. If it were a test, there would be one long peal of the bells in fifteen seconds. She waited, then heard the alert repeated. This was for real, she thought. She wondered what the danger might be. Her heart began to race as she thought of the possibility of the mountain coming down. That was the thing the old hands always talked about, remembering the time when the hotel had been buried up to the fifth floor. Heart pounding, she gathered her cleaning equipment into a basket and headed for the stairs.
G eorge Kirby was opening a gallon can of tomatoes in the kitchen below the hotel’s Mexican theme restaurant.
“Try not to spill them this time,” the sous chef said with withering scorn. George, facing away from the sarcastic son of a bitch, mouthed a silent obscenity. The sous chef loved to throw his weight around on a Saturday evening. It was the one night of
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