The Lucifer Sanction (17 page)

A middle-aged man dressed in a nondescript gray
suit flicked his eyes from one passenger to another. In his
hands was a sign with the words SoCal Exports.

Hunter retrieved both pieces of luggage and moved
toward a line of sign bearers. Sam raised a hand, called out,
“Here – SoCal!”

The man gazed beyond them. Hunter said to Sam,
“You think anyone else arriving is SoCal?” He tried for eye
contact, missed and chuckled, “That guy ain’t playin’ with
a full deck.”

Sam walked to within a few paces, placed his bag
by the man’s feet and turned to Hunter who’d stopped a
few paces short.

Gardner Hunter had caught the eye of a Lufthansa
stewardess and seized upon the opportunity to utilize
his only memorized German phrase. “Hallo, wo ist das
Mannbadezimmer?” He liked the way it rolled off his
tongue; made him feel well traveled, made him feel -
continental.

She blushed as she pointed off to her right. Duly
impressed that Hunter had gotten some type of message
through, Sam asked the sign bearer, “What’d he say?”

“He asked where he can locate the bathroom for
men.”
Sam chuckled. “That’s it?”
“Yes sir, that is quite close to what he said.”
When Hunter was through blushing, he turned to
Sam, his face showing embarrassment. “Something got
lost in the translation. I asked her...”
Sam waved him off as the girl gave an amused grin
and moved toward the interior of the terminal. She paused
at a blue door, turned, and slyly looked around knowing
full well Hunter was still watching. She tapped on the door
as a man exited the lavatory.
Hunter gave an appreciative smile, waved and
mumbled, “Fuckin’ Rosetta Stone.”
When the girl was out of view, he passed Sam a
self-deprecating glance, avoiding the sniggering sign bearer
who’d found it all highly amusing. Sam gave the man an
acknowledging smile and turned to Hunter. “You’ve been
hanging around Dal too long.”
The man in the gray suit squeezed an agonizing
amount of mileage from Hunter’s ‘German 101’ experience.
“Welcome gentlemen. Please come along. You’re
taking a flight to Andermatt. Oh - and there’s another
bathroom for men just ahead.” He gave a flippant smile to
Hunter as he tugged at the luggage cart. When he passed the
door he nodded. “Right here sir, behind this blue door.”
“Andermatt, how far is that?” Sam asked.
“It is two hundred miles. The facility is in the
mountain valley of Andermatt.”
“Who are we meetin’ there?” Hunter asked. Sam
gave him a not too subtle elbow jab.
The man gave a quizzical look as Hunter raised
his voice a notch. “What I mean to say is what’s your
employer’s name?”
The man smiled broadly. “All that I am at liberty to
say is that we are going to Andermatt. My involvement is
to collect and deliver guests. All of your questions will be
answered on arrival at the facility.”
*****

The Limousine reached a private hangar where an
MD520 NOTAR chopper stood by.
“This is our shopping cart. It flies to the city to collect
supplies. We held it back for your incognito arrival.”
Hunter walked around admiring the chopper; it was
unlike any he’d ever seen. The pilot appreciated his interest
and flicked a thumb at his pride and joy.
“Impressive, is she not?” the Swiss accented pilot
said. “She has the speed of a cheetah, the agility of a
hummingbird and the presence of an eagle. She’s an MD520
NOTAR - queen of the skies. Our guests are among the
very few people privileged to travel the Zurich skies in her,
she’s the Ferrari of helicopters.”
Within minutes they were gazing from its windows,
waving to their driver as the pilot made a whirring motion
with one hand. A shouting match between the pilot and
Hunter consumed the journey from Zurich to Andermatt
– taking turns shouting about snow, skiing, snowmobiles,
and resorts. Unable to bear it any longer, Sam broke his
silence by adding a shout of his own. “One more word
about fuckin’ skiing and I’ll...”

The pilot made a hand signal indicating Sam and
Hunter should remain well seated as the MD520 descended
near a fog-shrouded ski run.

There was no sign of a building, nothing visible
through the snow whipped up by the NOTAR’s rotor as it
slowed to a whop, whop, whop rhythm.

A lonely figure riding a red snow-cat emerged
from the fog, the 2005 Scot-Trac 3000R was a heavy-duty
workhorse with four lights glaring from above the cabin. It
came through the mist with a wiper blade flipping powder
either side of the large windshield, its turbo diesel making
a familiar clatter, clatter, clatter.

The powerful engine was coupled to fully hydrostatic
controls allowing the unit, fitted with steel tracks, to push
and pull large payloads, to make light work of the steepest
snow packed Andermatt terrain. It also had great carrying
capacity, accommodating three passengers in front and four
in the rear cabin.

The heavily built driver was as rugged as the
vehicle. He stepped from the cabin, placed a foot on the
tracks and reached a hand to Sam.

“Good day. Climb on board,” and the chopper pilot
passed the two pieces of luggage to the snow-cat driver.
Hunter did an instant analysis, assessing the
weathered, tanned man as a retired ski instructor, or perhaps
a personal trainer.
Aware of Hunter’s earlier romantic history with
Patrice Bellinger, Sam had a feeling of uncertainty, perhaps
a fear of danger. Throughout the flight he internally
questioned the ease in which Hunter had accepted the
assignment. He thought,
has to be Bell, if she wasn’t with
the guys, would Hunter have been so forthright in accepting
the assignment?
He considered asking, but each time he’d
muster the courage a warning light inside him flashed and
the subject was stymied.
An enormous white snow cloud swallowed the
NOPAR. Within moments there was no evidence of its
existence.
Sam crouched as he squinted into the settling mist
and said, “I don’t see a building.”
The snow cat driver made a nodding gestured and
pointed ahead. “We need to go beyond that slope.”
Eight minutes later and
beyond that slope
, Sam
stared into the deep white misted terrain, couldn’t see a
building, no discernible shape and no architectural profile
to indicate habitation, all he could see was a cave-like hole
in the side of a mountain. As the driver pulled the snow-cat
to within feet of a camouflaged entry, a man emerged to
greet them. He took the two bags from the cabin and placed
them in the entry.
“My friends, welcome to Andermatt. Please come
along, we have much to do and such little time in which
to accomplish it.” He waved a hand at the landscape. “We
have had much snow during the past week – far too much.”
He chuckled in a yodeling sound, and Hunter gave Sam
a sardonic smile. “With the heavy snowfall the facility is
more veiled than ever. Did you have a pleasant journey?”
He allowed no time for a reply. “You realize of course that
your visit here is not taking place.”
Hunter inhaled deeply and let out a slow sigh as
they were ushered inside the mountain. He leaned closer
to Sam. “Are we inside of a mountain or what? Look at
this place.” He could feel claustrophobia setting in. He
struggled a little trying to moderate his breathing.
The corners of the man’s mouth formed a smile.
“This was our original entry; it has been replaced by a
western entry.”
“Why’s this entrance no longer used?” Sam asked
with a curious expression.
The man appeared at the point of answering but
turned about and said, “Forward, gentlemen, come along
now, this way.”
Hunter and Sam exchanged brief glances as they
moved out of the entry area and followed the man along
a passageway. He raised a hand and turned an ear in the
direction of barking dogs. His mood changed as he nodded
his head to the left. “Quickly, this way.”
They moved through a nearby door and the man
placed a nervous finger across his lips.
Hunter felt his frustration rising and passed Sam a
‘what the fuck’ look - Sam bounced the look back at him,
a little confused at their guide’s reaction. Ascuffling sound
put Hunter at ease as a large German Shepherd romped by
in pursuit of a yapping Jack Russell.
Sam said, “We need to know what’s going on
here.”
“Test animals,” the man said apologetically but
lacking conviction.
“Those dogs,” Hunter said, “they’re for experimentation?”
The answer came with an obvious amount of
apprehension as the man stepped back into the passageway.
“I’m afraid so, better the dogs than transients.”
Hunter smiled but didn’t like it. His abrupt stop as
they moved into the darkened hallway caused Sam to step
on his heels. The look of fear that spread on the man’s face
came with startling abruptness. He pushed the two into a
recessed opening and quickly shut the steel door behind
them. A cacophony of noise erupted in the hallway, grew to
a crescendo, and after several long seconds moved on by.
Before the adrenalin reached his extremities,
Hunter asked, “What in the name of sweet Jesus was all
that about?”
Their escort didn’t answer. He cracked the door and
placed an ear to the opening, allowed a minute to pass and
cautiously moved along the hallway.
“Why the hide and seek stuff?” Sam asked. “What’s
going on here?”
“We must avoid making your presence known to
those in the main facility. We are going to the lower level.
No one has been there in a long while. It is where they have
been working with prototypes. I’ve not been there since .
. .” He paused, turned to Sam, and gestured for them to
follow.
Sam looked at Hunter and back to their guide. He
picked up his bag, gazed once more at Hunter and said,
“Must be that section they told us about - the prototypes.”
It was said it in a reassuring manner but the reassuring manner did little to remove the dubious expression
from Hunter’s face. Sam added, “Hope this gets a lot better
real soon.”
Hunter whispered, “You think?” and squirmed as
he tiptoed along on Sam’s heels.
The man raised a finger as they reached an elevator.
“This is how we traveled to the lower level last year.”
He heard approaching voices and stopped.
“What?” Hunter whispered.
Silence.
“What’s up?” Hunter reiterated.
“Quickly, we need to take the stairs. The elevator
no longer operates and no one has been to the lower level
in a long time.”
Hunter leaned into Sam and whispered, “Didn’t he
tell us that a few times already - what the fuck?”
The man was now sweating profusely as he led
them to a steep stairwell and down wet and treacherous
stone steps in near darkness. He took a flashlight from his
pocket and shined it down the stairwell. At the end of a
fifty foot descent he said, “I must announce your arrival.”
He looked to his left and half smiled at Hunter and Sam.
“Please, wait here.”
“Here?” Hunter frowned, beginning to sound a little
paranoid. “Where in the fuck is here?”
The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and peered
into the darkness. “This is where prototypes are installed.
Please wait, I will return shortly.”
“Dammit, Sam! I wasted the last year of my life in
fuckin’ therapy gettin’ over the last mission, after this one I
might end up as Doc Parson’s numero uno patiento.”
“We both might,” Sam added.
Hunter shrugged. “Tell me you won’t do it.”
Sam snorted, leaned against the wall and slid
down until he came to rest on his sagging luggage. Hunter
assumed the same position. The wait seemed an eternity.
Hunter heard movement. He tipped his head to one side.
“Ya hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Listen.”
“I don’t...”
“Sam!” Hunter’s voice elevated. “I tell you I hear
barkin’ again.”
“Barking? Calm down. The dogs are gone.”
“Why couldn’t it be snakes, Sam, or even fuckin’
spiders? Nah – had to be dogs.”
Sam cleared his throat. Hunter was beginning
to sound a little paranoid, leaving Sam wondering if his
recovery had been cut short.
Hunter: “None of this seems right. Sittin’ here in
darkness with German Shepherds runnin’ about wasn’t part
of my positive reinforcement; you know I’ve got a thing
about dogs.”
“Yeah okay, I hear it. It’s just a dog barking, don’t
worry about it.”
The door opened and the man gestured for them to
enter. Sam hit him with a questioning glare, the glare went
unnoticed.
“You must accompany me,” the man said. “This
way please.”
They tucked in behind him as Sam squinted into
the darkness, his head filled with a conglomeration of
thoughts. Hunter, nearly stepping on Sam’s heels, reached
a hand past him and tapped on the man’s shoulder.
“We were kind of hoping you’d uh, you know –
like, turn the lights on.” Sam inhaled in exasperation, held
the breath an unusual amount of time, exhaled and leaned
into the man. “I’m being far more patient than normal. This
whole scenario...”
Hunter cut in and finished the objection, “...is
fuckin’ obscene!”
Sam lowered his eyes and spoke to Hunter in a
muffled tone. “Sorry I dragged you into this, Gard.”
Hunter considered the apology and allowed a few
moments to slip by. “Forget it. Beats that loony bin you
shoved me into.”
The light improved and the idle chitchat stopped as
a bald man materialized before them.
“Forgive me if I startled you, gentlemen. Allow
me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Frober. I trust you
have acquainted yourself with the file for which you paid
so dearly. We appreciate your assistance with the dilemma
facing us; you will be more than handsomely compensated
for your trouble.”
Sam gave the man a look of disbelief. “Doctor
Frober, I’m not accustomed to acting as a middleman
for espionage. The Interpol Division is cooperating in an
ongoing effort to retrieve our people already involved in
this uh . . .” He paused, not knowing exactly how to describe
their involvement. “I manage to maintain my position on
the food chain quite adequately,” Sam said. “My intent is
to get our people home safely.”
Frober gave an apologetic bow of the head. “We
must do what we must do, Mr. Didkin.”
“That’s Ridkin, with an ‘R.’”
He made an apologetic nod. “Of course it is.”
Hunter: “So brief us, Doctor.”
“Please take a seat.” He pointed at two sofas. A
fresh pot of coffee sat on a tray. Coffee mugs, cream and
sugar sat neatly by the carafe.
“We are aware that our directors, those up top in
our main laboratory, are preparing to send uh, well he is
sometimes referred to as the Anti-Christ, they are about to
send him back to eliminate the rogue operative you have
been made aware of, the man known as Dominic Moreau.”
He nodded at the coffee with a question on his face. “Libra
cannot allow Moreau any possibility of returning with three
ampoules containing an experimental virus.”
As Frober spoke, he poured three mugs of coffee.
Sam added sugar and crème to his cup, took a slow sip,
rubbed his scruffy beard growth refraining from further
questioning. He glanced at Hunter who had his arms folded
in defensive body language, leaving his coffee untouched.
“Mr. Ridkin, I must admit I was surprised at how
easily your American Interpol Division accepted Danzig’s
sell. The few of us who operate as a vigilante fringe actually
considered interceding, but the speed at which you involved
your people was to say in the least, rather surprising.”
“So uh, my guys are being used? The whole story
about retrieving Moreau and Campion was...”
“Not really. Your people were definitely sent
to retrieve them. Beckman and his physicists up top
underestimated
Moreau.
Dominic
outsmarted
them.
His plan stumbled when Doctor Beckman intentionally
provided Campion and Dom with faulty conversion discs
preventing either man from returning to the coordinates
from which they had departed.”
Hunter: “You mean to say they ain’t comin’ home?”
“Correct. They cannot. They are limited to a
restricted radius. Disc malfunction is a problem
we
believed our physicists had solved. In early development
we had issues with misalignment of organs and arterial
bleeding. In an effort to create the worse possible scenario,
we transported test animals, rabbits, and mice. We fitted
them with faulty return discs. The result indicated that
movement within certain coordinates was acceptable.”
Sam asked, “And if you sent them to coordinates
outside of that?”
They stared at Frober who smiled and shook his
head. “We pushed the envelope, as you say. Reentry
utilizing a malfunctioning disc results in a most painful
death, far preferable to surviving with misaligned tissues
and mismatched organs. It is similar to a facsimile with
sentences scrambled about the page – it is a most horrible
thing to witness.”
“How sure are you the disc problem has been
resolved?” Sam asked, avoiding Hunter’s tight-lipped
stare.
“There are four Libra associates above us,” and
Frober pointed at the ceiling. “Three of them . . . Beckman,
Danzig and Bosch . . . made quite certain that once Campion
and Moreau served their purpose – the spreading of the
pandemic – neither man would return to speak of it. Their
discs are most certainly faulty.”
“What about our guys?” Hunter asked impatiently.
“Are their discs faulty?”
“I suspect they are restrictive,” Frober replied
avoiding eye contact.
“Restrictive? How far have the other two guys
traveled with their faulty discs?” Sam asked.
“We estimate
they have a few hundred miles
radius from Maupertuis. We picked up a brief two-minute
transmission from Venice, evidence of their limited
movement. The coordinates for Venice are forty-eight
degrees fifty-seven feet north. Moreau is a mouse in a
maze, he can move to the west coast of Portugal or south to
Algeria. Neither of which serve his purpose.”
“And you perceive his purpose as being what
exactly?” Sam asked.
“Our concern is Neuberg. Our former associates in
the main control room have lost touch with reality. They
are preparing Günter Neuberg to intercept Moreau and
Campion.”
“And bring all of the guys back, right?” Hunter
asked.
“Bring them back?” Frober pouted his lips and blew
out long and hard. “You must be jesting?”
“You mean jokin’ and no, I’m not fuckin’ jokin’.
Why’s this Neuberg character goin’ back if it isn’t to get
our guys out?”
“Günter Neuberg has a sole purpose, to terminate
Moreau and Campion.”
Hunter physically rallied himself and snapped out
an objecting hand. “And he’s gonna take out Blake and our
guys – take out Bellinger?”
“I am afraid I have some unfortunate news,” Frober
said looking befuddled. “It appears they too are in a most
unfavorable situation regarding their ability to return.”