"She's coming up now," said Sanguineus, gazing through his binoculars.
He was referring to the expert trail's ski lift on which Tertia was sitting with her skis off, a small thermos bottle in hand. The wind was stirring the fringe of her jacket's hood as she looked around at the pylons, at the far-spaced fir trees that marked the border of the trail, and, more intently, at the boarding platform above, crowded with skiers; the lodge beyond looking like a besieged Norwegian castle.
"You called her about coming up for brunch?" asked Rolgo, turning from the balcony railing and brushing his gloved hands on his parka to remove the crystalized snow. "I've a lot to explain before she gets here."
"She'll stop at her room first, to change. Let's go inside."
It was a small conference room on the first floor, a lonely distance down from the restaurant. There had been no vacancies. Fredrico Rolgo would be spending the night in Glen Wong's room, courtesy of the master key that Dolina provided.
He went straight to the refreshment cart for a hot fresh cup of coffee. "You?" he asked.
"Thanks, but no."
"How can you drink that mulled wine? It's like..." Rolgo walked across to the central table and sat in one of the swivel chairs, setting down his cup and patting the armrests.
"I had a late breakfast with Gina, the assistant to the Director's secretary," he said. "You know her?"
"Not well," Sanguineus said. He did not sit down, but stood holding his insulated cup and eyeing Rolgo with genial suspicion. "Something is not right about this job. Let's hear it."
Rolgo, smiling wryly, took a deep breath and began.
"Gina is undercover for the CIA. She reports directly to the section chief for central Europe. She confided in me when this assignment came in three weeks ago. I checked her out with 'Mr Garcia' on a secure land line. This morning she explained that her section boss is involved in a black op with the French secret service, specifically the department dealing with electronic warfare and internal communications security. It concerns Russian and Syrian contacts in the Napolitano syndicate. Gina knows just enough to recognize when any assignment of ours will have an effect on this black operation. The short and sweet of it is this: they don't want Drake LeCourt killed. He's a somewhat unwitting player in a banking scheme and it's important that he stay alive. He left Switzerland yesterday evening when he found out about Iceman putting on that beautiful rictus grin. He decided the risks weren't worth it. He's afraid of you."
"Hm," said Sanguineus. "Even with Ford Edmund, the mobster courier, to cover his back?"
"Edmund is here to see that Isabel plays her cards right with Tertia. A little reverse psychology in hopes that Tertia won't lose her nerve. Isabel replied to a text of mine an hour ago. Her reply to my question about her sales activity was 'Ask Gina.' It was a terribly unprofessional exchange between Gina and I, but there wasn't time to get clever with it."
"So then, Isabel has been contracted by Gina's section chief. Probably not for the first time."
"The first time was after she met Tertia at Sugarbush last year," said Rolgo, drumming the armrests. Then as immobile as a statue he said: "The third man with the single occupancy isn't Drake. He registered under that name, but his real identity is known by the field agent that the section chief put here last week. I haven't been able to determine who that might be. But I do know that the Drake impersonator is a French American from New Orleans, name of Anthony d'Arc, with a bloodline that ties him in with Vicente Napolitano."
Sanguineus set his cup down on the cart and stood beside a corner of the table nearest Rolgo. His slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. "And he's here to kill Tertia?" he inquired. "Or me? Or the both of us?" His voice matched the grimness of his eyes. "I'll be goddamn if I'll let that happen, whoever the target is."
"Remember George Armstrong Custer," said Rolgo, sipping his coffee, his gaze locked on the master assassin. "D'Arc is not the only gunman here. There are at least four day-visitors who came up here from Eisenstadt. They've been bunking in one of the guest cottages in Gipfelhaus. They discovered Iceman's body. They were not to get involved unless Iceman was compromised. So... I don't see how we can salvage this mess, Ricklen. If Custer had been given accurate information, he would have called off the expedition or sent for reinforcements. Here you're on your own. You against five gunmen out to kill Tertia Fontenay so as to protect their stooge, or fall guy, Drake LeCourt. Call it off, Ricklen. We can try to hustle Tertia out of here if you're so minded, but don't go up against Vicente Napolitano's gun thugs. It isn't worth it. That's my advice. I hope you take it."
A knock on the door.
Rolgo stood up, his vulturish face lined with anxiety.
Sanguineus staid him with a gesture. He went quickly to the hinge side of the door, his back to the wall, his suppressor-equipped Glock in hand, and nodded at Rolgo.
"Yes, come in," Rolgo said.
He strolled over to the double doors and pulled back the deadbolt. Then he stepped back and said again, "Come in."
The righthand door opened.
Rolgo immediately threw himself to his right. A phut! sound that was simultaneous with a sharp thock! in the far wall above the refreshment cart.
Sanguineus seized Tertia's gun-hand at the wrist, pulling her toward him and twisting her forearm as she stumbled past him, dropping the Walther and falling on her hands and knees.
The Glock coughed a white flame. The man who took the bullet grunted, staggered back, stepping on Rolgo's ankle, raising his Luger in a swift motion that became a wave goodbye as his face imploded.
Smoke whiffed away from the Glock. Sanguineus, kicking the Walther under the table, stepped over to the felled body of the man and aimed for the heart. It wasn't necessary. The face was pulp.
"Who in hell is this?" said Rolgo. He stood gingerly, favoring his bruised ankle and straightening his parka. "You erased his face, old boy. What, did you have a premonition?"
"Just being cautious."
Sanguineus yanked Tertia to her feet and pushed her into a swivel chair where the momentum swung her in a tight, rocking circle. When she came back around to face a scowling Sanguineus she was pale and red-eyed.
"Who was he?" he demanded.
"Drake, isn't it? You killed him!"
Sanguineus looked at Rolgo, who was going through the dead man's pockets after bolting the door shut.
"Here's a passport," Rolgo said excitedly. "And damn if it isn't Ford Edmund. Do you suppose Isabel--?"
Tertia caught her breath. She slowly swiveled around to face the balcony.
"If she was involved, it would just be her following orders," Sanguineus remarked, his brows knit. "But this Edmund bastard wouldn't be wise to her affiliations. What reason would Isabel have for exposing her cover? And why would the section chief want her to? What would be gained? Her body is all she needs to get what she wants from a man of Edmund's type."
Rolgo was preoccupied. He stood, took off his horn rim glasses, and scratched his nose. "Luckily I have this room reserved for the entire day. I asked not to be disturbed. We can leave the corpse here and have some hope of it not being tripped over before we're long gone."
"Gone?" said Tertia, standing and knudging the chair away from her. "You mean after I've killed Drake."
Sanguineus said to her: "Where were you accosted by this heap of shit, and what did he say about it?"
"Outside my room, as I was unlocking the door," she replied defensively. "It wasn't my idea to jump in here and start shooting!"
"That's the Walther I gave you, bitch."
"I had it in my jacket when I went skiing, just in case! Well, the fucker frisked me." She made a sour face, glancing at the two attentive men. "He found it and I think that's what gave him the idea about using me to shoot you." She jabbed her forefinger at Sanguineus. "He made me tell him where you were. He would've popped me if I hadn't told him. His gun was in my back when I opened the door here. Well goddamn it I'm no fucking Galahad!"
"Where's Isabel now, I wonder?" said Rolgo. He put the passport in a back pocket of his trousers. "Who else does she know here? Miss Fontenay, your friend Isabel wants you dead. So do some French Italian gangsters, the French securite, and the CIA. Your only hope is to fully cooperate with us. We can arrange to smuggle you out of Switzerland and give you a new identity."
A stunned Tertia stared at Sanguineus. She began trembling uncontrollably. "He's lying, isn't he?" she whispered hoarsely. "I might as well shoot myself. You can't save me from those people. The CIA after me, to kill me? There's no hope at all."
Sanguineus pulled her up to him, an arm around her waist. "LeCourt fled," he told her. "There's no reason for us to stick around. Rolgo," he said, smiling at a sudden thought. "The Swiss rescue service. They have helicopters. If you feel safe here, if the gunmen don't know who you are, give Tertia and I fifteen minutes to get down the slopes, then make an emergency call. A broken leg. The ski patrol will come for us, but they're volunteers, not medical specialists. I'll have them believing that Tertia broke some bones. The helicopter will take us to a hospital and we'll figure it out from there."
Rolgo considered. "I don't think I'm known by anyone here, except Isabel. But she doesn't know I've come up. She thinks I'm in Zurich." He ran a hand over his damp thinning hair. "Okay then. Fifteen minutes. You have your ski rentals handy?"
"In the locker room," Sanguineus said, and looking coldly into Tertia's bloodshot eyes, he added: "I have to trust you now, like it or not. You'll have the Walther. And you'll do exactly as I tell you, or I'll shoot you myself."
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