The Dolomite Solution

Trevor Scott

SALVO PRESS
An Imprint of Start Publishing LLC
New York, New York

Fractured State (A Novella)

The Nature of Man

Discernment

Way of the Sword

Drifting Back

Fatal Network (Jake Adams #1)

Extreme Faction (Jake Adams #2)

The Dolomite Solution (Jake Adams #3)

Vital Force (Jake Adams #4)

Rise of the Order (Jake Adams #5)

The Cold Edge (Jake Adams #6)

Without Options (Jake Adams #7)

The Stone of Archimedes (Jake Adams #8)

Boom Town (Tony Caruso #1)

Burst of Sound (Tony Caruso #2)

Hypershot (Chad Hunter #1)

Global Shot (Chad Hunter #2)

Strong Conviction

The Dawn of Midnight

Duluthians: A Collection of Short Stories

The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods (A Young Adult Mystery)

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and not intended to represent real people or places.

THE DOLOMITE SOLUTION
© 2012 by Trevor Scott.
This edition of
THE DOLOMITE SOLUTION
© 2013 by Salvo Press.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Salvo Press, 609 Greenwich Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10014.

Published by Salvo Press,
an imprint of Start Publishing LLC
New York, New York

Please visit us on the web at
www.start-media.com

Cover iStock Photos by Karina Tischlinger and SCM Studios.

ISBN: 978-1-62793-442-8

Visit the author at:
www.trevorscott.com

Many thanks to the people of Innsbruck, Austria and the Dolomite region of Northern Italy. In Germany, thanks to Susie Rode-Halitaj for her hospitality and friendship. A special thanks to the thousands of scientists currently mapping the human body in the Human Genome Project. Their dedicated work will soon find cures for ailments that kill millions each year. As always, I salute my Air Force, Army, Navy and Marine Corps colleagues past and present—millions of dedicated men and women who have kept this nation free.

Heavy snow swept across Axamer Litzum's ski slopes, swirling in a furious squall. Moments later the mountain cleared like the tranquil March dusting it was supposed to be, exposing the rocky peaks to the south.

Allen Murdock leaned his lanky frame over his ski poles on the top of the main run, gazing anxiously at the chair lift as it dropped off the occasional skier. With the howling wind and biting snow, not many were braving the elements. Most had escaped to the lodge below for the warmth of the fireplace or drinks. Murdock, wearing a full orange ski suit with black slashes across the arms and legs, wouldn't have been on the mountain either if it had not been for his insistent partner. He had his goggles down, and just below his thin nose ice was forming on his skinny black moustache. He tried unsuccessfully to lick it away.

He thought back to when he had watched on T.V. the Austrian Franz Klammer win the 1976 Olympic downhill race on this very mountain. He couldn't imagine racing in these conditions. He was a decent skier, yet still felt somewhat intimidated by the sheer size of the Austrian Alps. He was also uncertain why his partner had wanted to meet him here when the resort was about to close.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. A lone skier slid from the chair lift and skated directly toward him, spraying snow up into his face.

Marcus Quinn lifted his goggles and shifted one side of his mouth up to form a knowing smirk, as if life were one big joke and he already knew the punch line. He was a wiry man in his mid thirties. A good six inches shorter than Murdock, his body seemed built more for the marathon than skiing. The skin on his face was taut across prominent chin and cheek bones, like his skeleton would pop through at any moment. Other than his black, waist-length ski jacket and knit watch cap, he wore khaki pants that would do nothing to keep out the wet and cold for long.

“I see you showed,” Quinn said, barely opening his mouth as he spoke.

“Why wouldn't I?”

They had been partners for less than a month in the most unconventional sense. Having worked together in Air Force intelligence in Germany years ago, Quinn had showed up at his place in Frankfurt following five years in prison. To say Quinn had changed would have been a grave understatement. Murdock had barely recognized Quinn's physical resemblance to the cutting image of the military officer he had been. Instead, Quinn's arms had crudely carved tattoos, and he had muscles where flaccidity had once threatened to take over. Even more startling had been his attitude of complete petulance. In a short while in Frankfurt, Quinn's acerbity had been placated only by his own wife's hospitality and their combined alliance.

Quinn gazed down the mountain. The snow had lightened some, but the wind was swirling it around like a twister. “I've got a proposition for you, Murdock. You beat me to the parking lot and you get to live.”

Murdock was shocked. “What do you mean? We're partners.”

“Bullshit,” Quinn yelled above the din of the wind. “We
were
partners. I worked my own deal with Tirol Genetics.” He seemed to look right through Murdock like he was a ghost. “You've become a real pain in the ass, Murdock.” He checked his watch. It was nearly four. “Go on,” he said, pointing a ski pole down the slope. “I'll give you a head start.”

Murdock considered his options, glancing first down the mountain and then at the man he thought he knew better than this. He had been skiing for a few hours waiting for this meeting, and his legs were already aching from the pounding they had taken, his cheeks stinging from the cutting snow.

Quinn unzipped his ski jacket and showed Murdock the butt of his gun. “Or I could just shoot you right now.” A smile came to his face as he envisioned the hollow point blasting a hole through his old friend's chest and blood flashing out onto the perfect snow behind him.

“But—”

Quinn reached for his gun. Murdock turned his skis downhill and skated off before going into the tuck of a downhill racer and disappearing into a blanket of white.

“Stupid fucker,” Quinn said to himself. He zipped his coat, adjusted his goggles over his eyes, and flew down the mountain after the man.

Murdock was skiing faster than he ever remembered going. Even with the goggles, his vision was drastically impaired. With every bump, he flew out of control. As he topped a bluff, his stomach seemingly exited through his throat. All the while, he wondered what had come over his partner. It didn't make sense unless he had found out about his other deals. He couldn't think of that now. He had to reach the parking lot first.

Quinn could have easily caught or passed Murdock. Instead he stayed far enough behind him to keep the pressure on, yet not make him lose control. He had a constant wicked smile across his face, catching snow in his open mouth like a dog with its head out a truck window.

Murdock was relieved when he saw the parking lot appear through the blustering snow. He started slowing down with wide, cutting turns, made a final veer in front of a snow bank, clicked off his skis, and flipped his goggles up.

Seconds later, Quinn came to a halt alongside Murdock, took off his skis and hoisted them over his head. He smiled and said, “Let's go, Allen. I'll buy you a beer.”

Murdock sighed with relief. He knew that when Quinn said he'd do something, he damn sure meant it. But he had also come to know his sick sense of humor.

“You can put your rentals in your car,” Quinn said. “Change into your shoes. And lose that damn neon ski suit.”

After Murdock was changed, Quinn motioned him to the car.

“Where we going?” Murdock asked. “We can get a beer at the lodge.”

“No. I thought we'd go down the mountain a ways. There's a great Gasthaus a few kilometers from here.” Quinn opened the doors electronically and got in.

Murdock hesitated, looking back at his car, and then reluctantly got in with Quinn.

Quinn didn't say a word. He simply drove off down the mountain along the winding road. Snow made it impossible to see the edge, which might have been a blessing considering the drop-off. He picked up speed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Murdock screamed. “You're fucking crazy.” He clutched the edge of the seat and the handle on the door.

“That's what I'd like to know from you.” Quinn glared at him longer than safety would dictate. Then he turned back and popped a heavy metal tape into the slot, cranking it to a deafening level. “I hope you like Ozzy,” he screamed above the music.

“You're gonna kill us,” Murdock yelled. He was clutching the handle tighter, wondering if he'd survive a jump at this speed.

“You got that half right,” Quinn muttered.

In a short while, they reached the valley and the road got better. Snow was still coming down in slanted sheets and then swirling around in mesmerizing snakes on the highway. They came to the autobahn and Quinn entered the ramp toward Innsbruck. He punched it and the car powered forward at an obscene rate. Quinn turned the music even louder.

“I thought we'd fuck over Richten like we planned,” Quinn screeched, watching Murdock through shifting eyes to his right.

Murdock wasn't sure what to say. He had been playing one against the other, collecting pay from anyone who would dish it up. “Considering your past,” Murdock yelled, “you can understand making the most of a situation.”

Quinn pondered that. His past was why he was here in the first place. If it hadn't been for one man, he would still be in the Air Force instead of an ex-con subjugated by greed and impulses even he didn't truly understand.

Minutes later they were at the western edge of Innsbruck. The Opel turned off the autobahn and wound around to Innrainstrasse along the Inn River. Quinn lowered the music to the speed of the car. It was starting to get dark, but even in daylight the snow would have made it impossible to see the river. When they reached the new university, Quinn found a parking spot and got out.

“Are you coming?” he asked Murdock, leaning back inside.

“Where we going? I thought we were going for a beer?”

“Just get out,” Quinn demanded.

With a moment's hesitation, Murdock did as he was told. Quinn locked the door with his electronic key and then started walking toward a row of buildings that skirted the edge of the river. The snow wasn't as thick as it had been in the mountains. The earlier stuff had fallen as rain in the city, and had only recently started freezing into flakes.

“If we're going to the scientist's place, he's not there,” Murdock said. “Remember? He isn't due back for a couple of days.”

Quinn kept trudging forward. “You're gonna love this, Allen.”

Murdock looked around for help, but he knew he was alone. He had come down from Germany just days before to work the deal with the president of Tirol Genetics. He considered his wife back in Frankfurt, wanting to come along to finish the deal as normal. Even though they had not been on the best of terms lately, she had begged to come along. And he would have allowed her if it had not been for Quinn's insistence that she remain at home.

On the other side of the road the river swished by in a constant melody. The two of them entered the front of the building and headed straight for the stairs. When they got to the third floor, Quinn grinned as he unlocked the scientist's apartment door and clicked on a light.

Inside, the room was ransacked. The place was rented by Tirol Genetics' top research scientist, but he was down in the Dolomites finishing his project.

“Did you have to do this?” Murdock asked, walking around picking up a few pieces of paper and setting them on a coffee table.

“I didn't find a thing,” Quinn admitted. “But I had a helluva time trying. Check this out.” He escorted Murdock back to the bedroom.

Quinn pushed him into the darkness and then turned on the light. Murdock jumped back a few feet when he saw the naked woman tied to the bed. Her mouth was wrapped with duct tape, and her dark hair stuck out in a mess from all angles. She looked more Slovenian or Turkish than Austrian.

“Who the hell is she,” Murdock demanded.

Quinn had taken a seat in a rocking chair, unzipped his coat, and had his gun out with the silenced barrel pointed directly at Murdock. “Take off your clothes,” Quinn said to him.

“You've got to be kidding. You know Ute would cut it off if she knew.”

“Do it.” Quinn's jaw tightened and he cocked the hammer on the 9mm automatic.