Andy Mcdermott - Temple of the Gods

He and the group of eight men with him, in white camouflage gear and balaclava masks, were at the top of a ridge about three-quarters of a mile from the Blauspeer hotel and several hundred feet higher. At this distance through the obscuring conditions, the building was barely more than a silhouette against the clouded valley, its shape defined more by its lights than by detailed features.

But Eddie could still see enough to tell that it was heavily guarded. Figures patrolled the grounds, making sure that the hotel’s reclusive VIP guests maintained their privacy.

They were about to be gatecrashed.

His companions were some of Glas’s loyal employees, a retinue of European security personnel urgently assembled on the billionaire’s orders while Eddie was on the flight to Switzerland. A helicopter had made a risky flight into the thickening clouds to drop them on the other side of the mountain, out of sight of the hotel, so they could traverse a pass and approach from a direction that would — in theory — be more lightly guarded. He didn’t know how good the men were, but had been assured that all were ex-military, willing and able to accomplish their mission.

That assurance was about to be tested. He tilted the binoculars down to the mountainside below. It was one of the hotel’s slopes — a black run, steep and potentially dangerous, even deadly, to anyone not an expert skier. The poles of a ski lift were visible off to one side, but it was not running. The only way down was to ski.

Eddie had done a considerable amount of that during his SAS training, but mostly cross-country rather than downhill, and it had been some years since he had been on a skiing holiday. Now that he thought about it, the last time had been during his marriage to Sophia, over seven years before. Christ, where had the time gone? He hoped he hadn’t become too rusty.

He would find out soon enough. The already grim sky was steadily darkening as evening drew in. They would have to move quickly — not least because Nina would be inside by now.

He continued his sweep of the slope. Before setting out, he had surveyed the area using online aerial photos; as expected, he spotted a small building at the bottom of the ski lift. It was the perfect place for a guard to find respite from the wind…

‘Thermal,’ he said. A man produced a device resembling a compact video camera and handed it to him. Eddie switched it on and peered through the eyepiece at the hut.

Someone was there, a humanoid shape in bright blues, yellows and reds standing out against the cold grey blankness of the snow. He panned the thermal imager across the vista below. More figures popped out from their surroundings, some standing watch in the shelter of buildings and trees, others trudging through the open along well-trodden patrol routes. ‘How many guards?’ asked one of the men.

‘I count, let’s see… four at the bottom of the slope, and another eight or nine nearer the hotel.’ Even through the thermal imager, it was impossible to miss that all the guards were armed with MP5 sub-machine guns. He gave the gadget back to its owner, who conducted his own scan while Eddie checked the sky. Conditions were steadily worsening, the wind-driven snow getting thicker as the landscape dropped deeper into shadow. ‘Okay, get ready.’

The team quickly began to don their skis as Eddie took back the thermal imager and checked the guards’ locations again. According to Glas, with whom he had spoken via Penrose before leaving New York, the Group maintained its own private security force; the men protecting the hotel were professional mercenaries. Even in law-abiding Switzerland, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill an intruder, relying on the power and influence of their employers to cover it up. Moreover, Stikes was now in charge of them, and Eddie knew first-hand just how merciless the former officer and his subordinates could be.

To reach the hotel, he knew that his team would have to be just as ruthless. If they were caught, they would be killed. Their only chance of success — the only way to rescue both Nina and his father, and put an end to the Group’s plans — was to take out the mercenaries first.

He checked his weapon: a white-painted Heckler & Koch MP7 Personal Defence Weapon — an extremely compact sub-machine gun — equipped with suppressor and red-dot sight. The other men were similarly equipped, with a single exception. One man also carried a skeletal Steyr SSG 08 sniper rifle, with a thermal scope and a hefty silencer.

‘How good are you with that?’ Eddie asked its owner, a German named Amsel.

‘I have the Schützenschnur in Gold,’ Amsel replied proudly.

‘Yeah, that’s pretty good.’ It was the German army’s marksmanship award; Glas seemed to have picked his men well. ‘Okay, you set up here, and I’ll spot.’

Amsel was comfortable enough in his skills to not even bother removing his skis as he lay at the crest of the ridge and prepared his rifle. Eddie scanned the slope with the thermal imager once more. The four men on the outer perimeter were still in position, all but one stationary in whatever shelter they could find. The fourth was traipsing across the base of the ski run, heading for the lift. The Englishman frowned. They only had one gun capable of hitting a target from this distance — if Amsel took out one guard and the other saw his comrade fall, he might raise the alarm before the German could take his second shot…

‘You’ve got to be fast,’ he said, watching intently as the glowing figure closed the gap to his companion. The two guards were only fifty metres apart, easily able to see each other even through the snow. ‘The guy walking across — get him first, then the one by the ski lift. Quick!’

Amsel nodded, adjusting his grip on the Steyr as he brought his eye to the scope and hunted for his first target. ‘Come on, come on…’ Eddie muttered. The guard was still closing on the man by the lift — who had turned to watch his approach, raising a hand in nonchalant greeting. Any closer, and it would be instantly obvious that the walker had been shot—

A deep, flat whoomph came from the Steyr’s suppressor as it muffled the sound of the shot, Amsel jerking backwards with the recoil. The sniper was using subsonic ammunition to minimise noise, but the bullet’s relatively low speed meant it would take over two seconds to reach its target. Eddie watched the shimmering shape in the thermal imager, hoping that Amsel was as good as he boasted…

The man suddenly staggered, what looked like a white halo flaring around his head — a spray of hot blood. Eddie immediately panned across to the ski lift. The man there was reacting with surprise, a puff of warm breath leaving his mouth as he called out to his companion. He had seen him fall, but through the blowing snow didn’t yet know why.

He would soon realise that this was more than a simple stumble, though. Eddie heard Amsel shift position as he found his next target, but kept his electronically enhanced gaze fixed on the ski lift. The man called out again, the glow of his breath brighter, more forceful.

The rifle thumped a second time. Eddie kept watching, tension rising. The guard fumbled for something on his chest.

A radio.

He raised it to his mouth—

Another halo. The guard slumped into the snow, a hot white pool slowly forming round his head.

‘Good shot,’ said Eddie. But he had no time to offer more than cursory praise, already moving his sight back across the slope to find the remaining sentries. ‘Next one’s by the little clump of trees off to the right, then the last one’s near that hut with the sign on top.’

Amsel confirmed that he had spotted them. Two more silenced shots, and the perimeter was clear. Eddie stood and put on his own skis. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s piste off.’