Ghosts of the Past (36 page)

They both looked at each other and smiled, then silently took a long last look at the face of the cliff and the surrounding lake. Without saying a word, they climbed into the idling vehicle and drove away.

From their perch over a half kilometer away, one of the two local police officers who had been ferried in by helicopter, lowered his binoculars and spoke to the other officer holding the portable radio.

“Tell Daniel they’re on the move. Let them know, they appear to be finished here, but we’ll stay in place as long as they need us to. I’ve mapped the coordinates of the suspect site.”

He raised his binoculars again, as the radio crackled with static. He chuckled to himself, realizing that he had personally climbed ‘The Wall’ on many occasions, and never fathomed the existence of a cave.

Chapter
20
 

May
25,
2001.
Wildhaus,
Switzerland.

The garage to the hotel was quiet and occupied by only a handful of cars. The last one to enter was a large, black Mercedes driven by Horst Marshall, and it was parked five spaces away from an inside entrance into the
Hotel
Hirschen
.

Ten minutes earlier, Alden, Knabel and Marshall had easily found the hotel on a cursory drive through the middle of downtown Wildhaus. Having returned to the garage, Knabel had gone inside and met with the desk clerk, explaining that his sister and boyfriend were staying at the hotel and he would be very appreciative if he could find out which room they were in.

Since the inquiring gentleman knew them by name, and he had shown his appreciation with fifty Swiss francs, the clerk was remarkably helpful. He went so far as to tell Knabel that in addition to the
Churfirsten
Suite
, they had also rented the
Wildhussersaal
Nord
banquet room, located around the west corner of the lobby at the far end of the hall.

After thanking the clerk, Knabel headed toward the garage, which was in the same direction as the aforementioned banquet room. The clerk’s final effort in offering the extraordinary service the hotel was noted for, told Knabel that his sister and Mr. Ferguson had been gone for most of the day, but he expected they would be back for dinner, since his sister had requested some suggestions on the finest restaurants in town. Knabel waved and disappeared around the corner.

He climbed back into the rear seat of the Mercedes. “Good news. They are here all right. The stupid fag at the front desk was most helpful. They have been out since this morning. They have a suite that they’re staying in, and they’ve rented a banquet room just inside that door.” Knabel pointed at the same door he had entered and returned from.

“That’s where they’re stashing the artwork,” said Marshall.

“That would be my guess,” replied Knabel.

“Any word on when they’re due back?” Alden asked.

“No, but the clerk thought they would be home at least by dinner, because the girl was asking about restaurants… the finest one’s in town.

“Good. Is there enough privacy to get into either room without being seen?”

“I didn’t go upstairs to the suite, but the banquet room is in a secluded hall, and I think we can probably get in there if someone keeps an eye on that door and the lobby entrance.” Knabel again pointed to the garage door entrance to the hotel.

“Alright. We’re going to go into the banquet room first. Paul, you watch the lobby, I’ll watch this door, and Horst will pick his way in. Once he’s in, we’ll join him. Keep the lights off and keep your voices to a whisper. Once in, we’ll have a look around. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will be there, but if not we’ll send Horst upstairs to check the suite and we’ll wait here for the two lovebirds to return. Any questions?”

Knabel and Marshall shook their heads no. Alden lifted a briefcase from the floorboard, opened it, and proceeded to dole out a Beretta compact, AWC silencer and three spare clips to everyone in the car. Marshall patted over the breast pocket of his coat to confirm that his lock pick set was where it was supposed to be.

“Let’s go.”

The lunch had been very good, but the
Appenzeller
bier
on tap had been outstanding. Bolivar had paid the check and they were still relaxing in the open-air sunshine, sipping on their third round, when his cell phone rang.

He answered immediately, and was quiet and listening intently for the next few minutes. He acknowledged the receipt of information, assured Guillermo Rocca they were acting on it immediately, and thanked him profusely as he flipped the phone closed.

Bolivar took a large gulp from the pilsner glass and smiled. “We got ’em.”

Before either Keitel or Sullivan could inquire, Bolivar explained further. “That was Mr. Rocca. It seems our little miss know-it-all and her boyfriend made a mistake. I spoke to Mr. Rocca last night after I had my conversation with Miss Lewis. It was a long shot, but after she mentioned Unterwasser and Walenstadt, we agreed to apply some resources to checking hotel registrations in those two towns, bordering towns, and everything in between. Less than an hour ago, they discovered a registration for Ferguson, in Wildhaus, at a
Hotel
Hirschen
. Upon further investigation, they found that an American couple is sharing a room under that name. Finish your beers gentlemen… quickly. We are headed back to Wildhaus.”

Without another word being said, they all three downed their beers, walked quickly to Keitel’s BMW, and departed.

Daniel, Shutt and Pernod hurriedly crossed the street to the front door of Weber’s office, unlocked the door and entered. They had been thoroughly surprised at the speed in which Ferguson and Lewis had extracted the artwork and were headed back down the mountain, and were now having to speed up their plans. On the way up the narrow office stairs, Daniel was on the radio immediately asking for undercover surveillance to be initiated on the hotel, and all uniformed officers to assemble across the street in the
Hotel
Bellvue
as back up.

Four plain-clothes canton officers, in two unmarked Audi sedans, had been biding their time in the parking lot of the
Hotel
Sonne
for the better part of seven hours, waiting for the order to go. One officer from each vehicle exited the passenger side and walked to their prearranged locations inside the hotel, in the lobby and the
Dorfstube
restaurant. The two drivers drove their cars to designated spots inside the hotel garage and in an adjacent retail parking lot on the backside of the hotel.

A police car passed by on the street below and turned right into the
Bellvue
parking lot. That was followed by another 30 seconds later. They had both been parked nearby the
Hirschen
since early that morning to keep visual contact on the hotel. All four officers waited in their cars, out of site.

The shades were drawn and the blinds cracked slightly in the second floor law office, and Daniel, Shutt and Pernod intermittently scanned the hotel with binoculars, while Daniel translated to Shutt in English everything that was transpiring or being said.

Daniel’s radio crackled with activity. “Ground from Air One Five, Ground from Air One Five, your suspects have turned west on to
Hauptstrasse
and are 500 meters from you.”

“I copy Air 1, thanks.”

“They’ll be here any second, Toby.”

The Jeep with trailer in tow slowed and pulled into the open-air parking lot on the west side of the hotel. Courtney directed him behind the hotel and up to a freshly painted garage door that led into the hotel’s enclosed parking garage. He backed the trailer up to the door, killed the engine, and removed the keys.

Courtney went into the garage through a pedestrian doorway, and the garage door began to rise slowly. Ferguson waited until the door reached just over his head and he stepped in and gestured to Courtney to stop. She pressed the red button on the electric panel and it stopped immediately.

Courtney opened a set of double doors just inside the garage and flipped a light switch that illuminated an overhead bare bulb. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you the room.” She inserted a key into another set of double doors and walked into a darkened banquet room. Light from a series of windows on one wall sneaked through the closed blinds, enough to allow Courtney to see a bank of switches on the wall just in front of her. She stepped forward, with Ferguson following behind her, and reached out to the wall plate.

The door behind them closed and a man’s voice froze both of them in their tracks. “Welcome you two.”

Gerhard Alden stepped forward from the opposite end of the room. “A little light Horst, if you would please.”

Marshall gradually opened two window blinds until there was enough light in the room to distinguish the surprised faces of Ferguson and Courtney, as they recognized the face of Mr. Jones. It didn’t take long for them to realize he had two other behemoths with him, all of them brandishing silenced pistols.

Alden walked over to Ferguson and closed his face to within six inches of Ferguson’s. “I’m still a little sore from the beating you administered.” He took the butt of his gun and rammed it into Ferguson’s abdomen, sending him to his knees. He followed that with a knee to the jaw that hurled him back against the wall.

“Leave him alone!” Courtney screamed, as she turned and leaned down to help him up.

“Leave him alone,” said Alden menacingly.

She slowly got to her feet and backed up into the corner of the room.

Alden looked at Ferguson who was coughing for breath and wiping the blood away from the split in his cheek, and then at Courtney, who for the first time realized her plan had just backfired and that they were in real jeopardy of losing their lives. “We want what you have found. We want it now!” Alden rubbed his chin with his left forefinger and thumb. “It’s not here.” He gestured around the room. “Where is it?”

Neither of them spoke.

“WHERE IS IT?” Alden screamed.

Marshall and Knabel both cringed at the volume of Alden’s voice, and stepped toward both doors as if to increase their vigil against visitors. Alden got the message.

“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Ferguson.

Alden stepped forward and cocked the hammer on the Beretta 9mm handgun and placed the barrel of the silencer on the middle of Ferguson’s forehead.

Courtney felt weak in the knees and thought she was going to pass out. “I’ll tell you. I know where it all is. I can lead you to it, but you’ll have to put the gun away first, or shoot both of us.” She was right on the edge of hopelessness, because if they knew the goods were right outside that door they were both surely dead. Her only hope was to make themselves visible, and hope that Shutt was outside somewhere watching the hotel.

“Is that so?” Alden pulled the gun away and lowered the hammer.

Ferguson breathed an internal sigh of relief, not sure what possessed him to say what he just said. He remained quiet and let Courtney go where she wanted to go.

“We just brought down a handful of crates from the crash site. We can take you to the location, and you can have everything. We just want get out alive,” continued Courtney.

Alden shook his head up and down, and looked around the room indiscriminately, as if mulling over the offer. Before he could answer, Marshall hushed them all with a forefinger to the lips as the sound of voices could be heard coming from the double doors leading from the garage. Alden waved his pistol at Ferguson and Courtney and replicated Marshall’s request for silence. He quietly walked over to the windows and closed the blinds again, thrusting the room into semi-darkness.

There was a very soft knock on the door, which went unanswered.

“They may have gone up to their room,” Bolivar suggested to Keitel in a whisper.

Keitel turned the doorknob, which still had the key in it. He pushed open the door very slowly. He led Bolivar into the room and waited for their eyes to adjust. Once again, Marshall slammed the door behind them at the same time Alden pulled open a shutter.

Keitel raised a Walther handgun and aimed it at Alden. He was too late. Two dull thuds migrated from the vicinity of Alden, and Keitel dropped like a rag doll. Marshall placed his gun to the backside of Bolivar’s head and asked him to drop his weapon. An identical Walther fell to the floor right in front of Ferguson. Alden reached down and picked it up, smiling at Ferguson and shaking his head back and forth. Unable to control her flimsy legs, Courtney slid down the wall on her back until she hit the floor.

“Who are you?” Alden asked Bolivar.

“Who are you?” Bolivar asked Alden.

Alden aimed the Beretta at the floor and popped off another round right through the top of Bolivar’s left foot, who fell to the floor grimacing in pain. “I’m asking the questions.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Julio Bolivar. I’m employed by someone who is interested in what these two people have discovered.” He looked up at Alden and waved his hand back and forth between Ferguson and Courtney.

“I see.” Alden had a look of curiosity. “We were following you for a while, how did you get to here?”

“We were in Stein, where you followed us and then took off. We knew you had been tailing us since Lucerne. Not long after you left us at Stein, we found out these two were staying here. We arrived about a half hour ago and were parked in the garage, when they showed up with a trailer of stuff they were going to unload. I assume you know what’s on that trailer?”

“Yeah, I know.” Alden scratched his forehead and then started to point his finger at Bolivar. “Wait a minute. The other Latino, the one at her apartment, the pizza delivery guy… you two peas are out of the same pod.”

Bolivar also put two and two together and realized that the man standing in front of him was Carlos’ killer.

“Where’s the other guy that was with you? The younger guy, there were three of you.”