Andy McDermott - The Tomb Of Hercules

Chase grinned. “Skydiving, rock climbing… you’re turning into a right action girl.”

“All because of you, Eddie,” Mitzi told him, beaming.

Slightly embarrassed by her attention, Chase picked up another bundle which he unrolled and spread out on the ground. Then he took an aerosol can and shook it.

Mitzi wrinkled her nose as he knelt and started work. “I see that’s something else I won’t be able to get a refund for…”

A few minutes later, Mitzi pulled her Porsche Cayenne out of the scenic vantage point from where she and Chase had surveyed the valley onto a four-lane highway slicing through the mountains. At the height of the skiing season it would be packed with vacationers, but now, in the middle of the night, it was deserted.

Ahead, stretching across the valley in the direction of Bern, was a bridge, an elegant span with a single central support rising more than five hundred feet above the valley floor. Mitzi checked that the road was clear, then accelerated towards it. “Are you ready?” she shouted to Chase.

He wasn’t in the SUV with her-he was on top of it, crouched on the roof with one hand holding the roof rack. “Go for it!” he yelled, extending his other arm out behind him for balance. The one-piece garment he was wearing over his clothes rippled as the wind rapidly increased, the car passing forty, fifty miles per hour as it reached the bridge.

Mitzi gingerly drifted the Cayenne almost to the barriers at the center of the highway, still accelerating. Sixty, and they were coming up to the center of the bridge, its highest point-

“Now!” Chase bellowed.

Mitzi swerved the car hard across both lanes, seemingly on a suicidal course to plow straight through the concrete wall-then at the last possible moment swung back into line, the whole vehicle swaying-

Giving Chase an extra boost as he leaped from the roof into empty space.

He threw his arms and legs wide into a star shape, the triangles of fabric stretching between his wrists and waist snapping open like the wings of a bat. Another nylon wedge between his legs filled with air as he fell.

The wing suit couldn’t stop his descent-the amount of extra lift the material provided was far too small-but it could slow it.

And let him direct it.

Chase tilted his outstretched arms to bring himself into a turn. The lights of the microchip plant wheeled into view below.

Not as far below as they had been just seconds before. Although he was now gliding up the valley at an ever-increasing pace, his rate of vertical descent was practically pure free fall.

Icy wind slashed at his face. He had already dropped below 350 feet, three hundred-

He tore at the rip cord.

The parachute erupted from its pack like a slow-motion explosion, black as the night sky. Chase braced himself, swinging to an upright position as the straps yanked tight, and grabbed the control lines.

The barbed-wire top of the high perimeter fence swept past below. The black paint he had sprayed over the vivid yellow panels of the wing suit would reduce the chance of his being seen, but if some guard had heard the thump of the parachute opening and recognized its cause, he could still be spotted, highlighted by the glow of the moon…

He shot over the roof of a building. If he descended any farther he would come down in the middle of a brightly lit area-

Chase tugged the lines to collapse the chute, legs out ahead of him as he slammed onto the roof and rolled to absorb the impact. Pain bit at the stitches in his calf. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress it.

Even as he shrugged off the parachute he had already drawn the black Steyr GB pistol. He turned in a fast circle, hunting for exits from the roof.

The top of a ladder rose above one corner. He aimed the gun at it, listening for movement below. If he heard the clang of ascending feet, what he’d hoped would be a stealth mission would turn into a battle…

No clanging, no footsteps. The only noise was the faint rush of the wind and the whine of electrical equipment.

He relaxed, slightly, and unzipped the wing suit, stepping out of it to reveal nothing but black beneath; black jeans, black polo neck, his battered leather jacket. After bundling up the parachute, he trod quietly across to the ladder and looked down.

The building below contained offices, all but a few of the windows dark. Across the broad road was a large white two-story structure. Its windowless walls suggested industrial use, and from the large number of airconditioning units on the flat roof Chase guessed it was a chip fabrication facility. The most expensive microchips could be rendered utterly worthless by the tiniest speck of dust introduced during the manufacturing process, so the air had to be filtered to be as pure as possible.

He looked for signs of life. At the far end of the road to the right was a high chain-link fence, beyond it the river running from the dam. A white SUV drove past, then disappeared behind another building. A security patrol, checking the perimeter. Chase grinned. They obviously hadn’t expected anyone to drop in from above.

He turned and slid down the ladder, then brought up his gun again. Still no sign of anyone. He raced across the road to the corner of the industrial building and darted into a long alley.

Chase knew the factory’s general layout from a printout of an aerial photo Mitzi had taken from the Internet. He reached the end of the alley. There should be another, larger complex of buildings ahead…

He was right; there were more of the anonymous structures across another road. And something else-a black Mercedes S600 parked in front of one of the buildings, a bored-looking chauffeur at the wheel.

“Good to see you again, Dick,” Chase whispered. He looked back at the building. Unlike the one he was flanking, this had windows on its upper floor, only one of them illuminated. There was a set of large glass doors close to the Mercedes, but there was also a security guard visible in a reception area beyond and a video camera staring down at the doors. That entrance was not an option, then.

But there was a ladder running up the side of the building, away from any cameras…

He checked the road again, then sprinted across it to the ladder and rapidly ascended.

The roof was a metal forest of air-conditioning ducts and rumbling filtration units. There were no skylights or other possible access points that he could see, so instead he went to the front of the building and, lying flat, looked down over the edge. A darkened window was directly beneath him.

Chase inched forward until his waist was level with the edge of the building, then carefully leaned down and peered through the window. The glare from the streetlights was enough to let him see that it was an office, screen savers drifting on idle computers.

The nearest lit window was several rooms away. He hoped nobody would hear him…

He pressed one hand flat against the glass. Then with the other he sharply rapped the butt of his gun against the window to punch a jagged hole by the side of the frame. The glass beneath his palm shuddered and cracked, but he had absorbed most of the vibration, preventing the whole pane from shattering and dropping noisily to the ground.

He carefully reached through the hole and fumbled with the handle. The window swung open. Chase extracted his hand, then quickly lowered himself through the gap. Feet thumping onto the floor, he shut the window and drew his gun again.

The corridor outside was lit by cold compact-fluorescent lights.

He advanced quickly, gun in hand. At the end, a flight of stairs led downwards, and opposite it were doors to male and female lavatories.

He looked down the stairs. At the bottom, a corridor led away to one side, presumably to the lobby. There was another door directly opposite the foot of the stairs, but Chase instantly saw that it had an electronic lock. A card reader. If he wanted to get onto the factory floor, he would need somebody’s ID. “Bollocks,” he muttered.