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Authors: Nick Carter
Tags: det_espionage
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responsibility."
"He is on vacation?" I asked.
"A big meeting is to be held in Paris in a week. For now, Herr Hauptli
is
relaxing, enjoying the sunlight, and the snow and the…"
A pause.
The Germans both laughed and the not-entirely-melancholy Dane slapped the table with his open palm.
"The girls!"
Much laughter.
It reminded me of one of those old comic operas I used to see on the late late show — old nineteen thirties' movies. Something struck me as not just quite right about it. But I couldn't put my finger on it.
* * *
The restaurant was set up like a typical ski resort refectory, with one long table all the way down the middle of the room, trestle-fashion, and smaller tables along the walls of the room.
Our party — Juana and I had joined Herr Hauptli and his friends — was right in the center of the entire gathering. Herr Hauptli kept up a running line of Teutonic chatter that was ear-shattering and mind-blowing all at the same time. Even those who could not understand German or English seemed totally hypnotized by his charisma.
I took my time during the long meal and scrutinized the rest of the patrons of the hotel.
I was looking for Roman Nose, trying to spot the real Rico Corelli in the sea of faces about me. There seemed to be no possibilities.
It was eleven-thirty before I was even aware of the time. The brandy came and I sat sipping it. When Herr Hauptli paused for breath I turned to Juana and said: "I'm going out for a breath of fresh air before bed. Are you coming, dear?"
She smiled at me calmly. "No, darling. Sorry. It's much too cold. Don't be late."
I smiled and finished my brandy.
"Herr Hauptli, it's been a real pleasure. See you tomorrow, or whenever — right?"
"Ya,"
said Herr Hauptli, his face red with the wine and brandy and the stimulation of eating.
"Auf weidersehen."
I pushed back my chair, bowed to the two Germans and the Dane and made my way through the crowded restaurant.
It was extremely cold outside. The air was nippy. I poked my head out, and then went back upstairs to our suite and got myself some ear muffs and a stocking cap. I also put on my windbreaker after checking the loads in my shoulder holster and making sure the knife was strapped to my ankle.
I made it to the top of the winding trail without incident Away from the protection of the buildings I felt colder than I had felt since I had come to the Sierra Nevadas. The wind cut through my clothes until I felt half naked.
There were no lights on in the engine house. Nor was there a sound on the mountainside. I looked back over my shoulder. The yellow beams of light from the hotel rooms and from the windows overlooking the Prado made golden patterns in the white snow.
The building where the chair lift machinery was sited was surrounded by banks of snow. I could see the main entrance facing out into the valley. The door to the engine room was closed, but it was unlocked. I turned the knob and pushed it open. Inside the building it was very dark, although the reflection of the stars on the snow brought in some light. It was surprising how bright the sky was even in the dead of night.
I could see past the wheel to the turnaround where the cable cars swung around in a semi-circle, reversing direction. A cable car stood in the middle of the semi-circle, holding there until the machinery started up in the morning.
I was just about to go forward when I saw someone moving past the cable car. Whoever it was had either been inside the building when I entered, or had come in from some other entrance. I thought he must have been there waiting for me. Then he, of course, would be my contact man.
Arturo.
I gripped my piece, drew it out, and tensed to move forward, opening my mouth to whisper "Arturo."
I never got the word out.
Someone else
did
!
"Arturo!"
The sound seemed to come from behind the cable car. I lifted the piece and aimed it at the silhouette there. If he was calling for Arturo, he was
not
Arturo. And since I
"He is on vacation?" I asked.
"A big meeting is to be held in Paris in a week. For now, Herr Hauptli
is
relaxing, enjoying the sunlight, and the snow and the…"
A pause.
The Germans both laughed and the not-entirely-melancholy Dane slapped the table with his open palm.
"The girls!"
Much laughter.
It reminded me of one of those old comic operas I used to see on the late late show — old nineteen thirties' movies. Something struck me as not just quite right about it. But I couldn't put my finger on it.
* * *
The restaurant was set up like a typical ski resort refectory, with one long table all the way down the middle of the room, trestle-fashion, and smaller tables along the walls of the room.
Our party — Juana and I had joined Herr Hauptli and his friends — was right in the center of the entire gathering. Herr Hauptli kept up a running line of Teutonic chatter that was ear-shattering and mind-blowing all at the same time. Even those who could not understand German or English seemed totally hypnotized by his charisma.
I took my time during the long meal and scrutinized the rest of the patrons of the hotel.
I was looking for Roman Nose, trying to spot the real Rico Corelli in the sea of faces about me. There seemed to be no possibilities.
It was eleven-thirty before I was even aware of the time. The brandy came and I sat sipping it. When Herr Hauptli paused for breath I turned to Juana and said: "I'm going out for a breath of fresh air before bed. Are you coming, dear?"
She smiled at me calmly. "No, darling. Sorry. It's much too cold. Don't be late."
I smiled and finished my brandy.
"Herr Hauptli, it's been a real pleasure. See you tomorrow, or whenever — right?"
"Ya,"
said Herr Hauptli, his face red with the wine and brandy and the stimulation of eating.
"Auf weidersehen."
I pushed back my chair, bowed to the two Germans and the Dane and made my way through the crowded restaurant.
It was extremely cold outside. The air was nippy. I poked my head out, and then went back upstairs to our suite and got myself some ear muffs and a stocking cap. I also put on my windbreaker after checking the loads in my shoulder holster and making sure the knife was strapped to my ankle.
I made it to the top of the winding trail without incident Away from the protection of the buildings I felt colder than I had felt since I had come to the Sierra Nevadas. The wind cut through my clothes until I felt half naked.
There were no lights on in the engine house. Nor was there a sound on the mountainside. I looked back over my shoulder. The yellow beams of light from the hotel rooms and from the windows overlooking the Prado made golden patterns in the white snow.
The building where the chair lift machinery was sited was surrounded by banks of snow. I could see the main entrance facing out into the valley. The door to the engine room was closed, but it was unlocked. I turned the knob and pushed it open. Inside the building it was very dark, although the reflection of the stars on the snow brought in some light. It was surprising how bright the sky was even in the dead of night.
I could see past the wheel to the turnaround where the cable cars swung around in a semi-circle, reversing direction. A cable car stood in the middle of the semi-circle, holding there until the machinery started up in the morning.
I was just about to go forward when I saw someone moving past the cable car. Whoever it was had either been inside the building when I entered, or had come in from some other entrance. I thought he must have been there waiting for me. Then he, of course, would be my contact man.
Arturo.
I gripped my piece, drew it out, and tensed to move forward, opening my mouth to whisper "Arturo."
I never got the word out.
Someone else
did
!
"Arturo!"
The sound seemed to come from behind the cable car. I lifted the piece and aimed it at the silhouette there. If he was calling for Arturo, he was
not
Arturo. And since I
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