Brad Thor - The Lions Of Lucerne

“Waiting for the Balmer’s van?”

“Yeah. Lucky it’s such a nice day and we can sit outside. Glad I brought my sunblock. It could be a blistering weekend if it stays this bright.”

“You never know in the Alps. Listen, I was wondering if you might be able to do me a favor.”

“That depends,” said the girl coyly.

“Yeah, right,” said Scot, smiling. “I’ve been split up from my friends, and I’m not sure if they are coming in on the next train or maybe got here earlier. The lady, Jackie, who runs the hostel, knows us from last year. Would you mind giving this note to one of the desk staff for her when you check in?” He handed her the sealed note.

“Sure. No problem. So you’re staying at Balmer’s too?”

“Yeah. We’re here doing a bit of boarding. Supposed to be some really nice fresh powder coming in.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Maybe. Thanks for delivering my note.”

“My pleasure.”

Scot walked back into the station and waited for the Balmer’s van to pick up the Americans before heading out to the main street known as the Höheweg, where he turned right and walked toward town.

Interlaken had always been one of Scot’s favorite places in Europe. The name Interlaken meant “between the lakes” and it was exactly that, nestled between sparkling Lake Thun and Lake Brienz. Water surrounded the town in the form of deep blue lakes, bubbling fountains, rushing rivers, thundering waterfalls, and crystal-clear streams. Harvath marveled all over again as he walked by the fin de siècle palaces that stood as a reminder of Interlaken’s role as a health spa mecca in the second half of the nineteenth century.

He passed the Hotel du Nord on his left and the Restaurant des Alpes just after, on his right. The next sight to greet him was the enormous expanse of park known as the Höhematte. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll be back here in the fall, sitting in the Höhematte, sipping Sekt and enjoying the jazz festival, Scot thought to himself.

At the far end of the park was the Jungfraustrasse and the Schuh Café. If Jackie was in and received his note, this was where she would meet him. The name of the café and its English equivalent were pronounced the same and meant the same thing, “shoe.” Knowing Jackie, she would be quick enough to make the connection between soul and sole. Full-double-full-full was a very difficult aerial ski jump and was Scot’s last winner before leaving the ski team. His old friend loved martinis, and since Scot had been the one to turn her on to them, he was pretty certain she’d be able to figure out who the note was from and what it meant.

Scot entered the tourist information office directly across the street and pretended to read brochures as he watched the front door of the café. Twenty minutes later, he saw a shock of bright red hair and a face full of freckles that could belong to only one person. Waiting first to make sure she wasn’t being followed, he then pocketed the brochure he was holding about Jungfrau region tours, left the information office, and crossed the busy street to the café.

Jackie Kreppler had her back to him as he entered. She was scanning the room, and he sneaked up behind her, covering her eyes with his hands.

“Quick. How do you get fifty freestylers into a shoe box?” said Harvath.

“Tell them it’s going to have a sponsor!” squealed Jackie, who spun right around to hug him. “What are you doing here? This is amazing!”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in.”

“Let me look at you,” she said, pushing him away from her, but holding on to his forearms. “Nice hairdo. So you’ve quit government work and have gone back to the ski team?”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m sure the president just loves this hairstyle. Very understated…very subtle. Is this some way of distracting attention away from him on assignments, because I’m sure it works. And are those brown contacts you’re wearing? Why would you want to go and hide those beautiful blue eyes?”

The initial happiness Scot felt at seeing her was quickly fading under the weight of the real reason he had come to Interlaken. “Can we get a table?”

“Sure,” responded Jackie, who said something to the maître d’ in Swiss German that Scot couldn’t understand. They were led to a small table against the far wall, away from the window. Jackie withdrew a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

“From elite, world-class athlete to smoker, who would have guessed?” said Scot.

“You try living in Europe for over ten years, married to a smoker, and not get hooked. I only have one once in a while and only when I drink. I know it’s no excuse, but hey. What do you want?” said Jackie as a waiter approached their table.

“Ein grosses Bier,” said Scot.

“Und einen Kir, bitte.”

The waiter nodded politely and left.

They made small talk about Interlaken and how the season was going; then Jackie took a drag on her cigarette and launched into a rapid-fire series of questions. “Okay, enough chitchat. I want to know everything that’s going on with you. What you’ve been doing. Who you’ve been dating. Why I haven’t heard from you in such a long time, and most of all, how you are able to get time off during one of the biggest crises to hit the United States.”

Scot saw the waiter coming back and decided to hold off on answering. The man set down their drinks along with a bowl full of heavily salted homemade potato chips and left again. Jackie dug right in.

“Where did you want me to start?” asked Scot.

“I don’t know,” said Jackie between bites. “Start wherever you want. What are you doing here? Vacation?”

“No, it’s not a vacation. I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“Trouble? What do you mean, ‘trouble’?”

Scot was quiet.

“Does this have something to do with the president’s kidnapping?”

His faced must have betrayed his reaction, as she said, “Don’t look so surprised. It’s big news everywhere.”

The fact that the kidnapping of the president was making headlines around the world was no surprise. What surprised him was Jackie’s ability to put it all together so fast. She had always been able to read him so well. Even though they had been only kids when they dated on the ski team, Scot had thought she might be the one for him. When his father died, though, his life had been turned upside down. By the time he had gotten his act together, Jackie was deeply involved with a Swiss skier whom she would eventually marry. All that remained for the two of them was to be good friends. Even though Scot had the best of intentions, he seemed to keep falling out of touch, not only with Jackie, but with a lot of people who mattered to him. He always blamed his work for keeping him too busy, but as he looked across the table at Jackie, he realized he had only himself to blame for dropping the ball. She was even more beautiful now than during their days on the ski team. She was quite a woman, cigarettes notwithstanding.

“How’s the hostel doing, Jackie? Every time I’m in a bookstore, I pick up guidebooks on Switzerland and there you are. The Kreppler family must have been real happy to gain such a shrewd manager cum daughter-in-law,” he said.

“Let’s not forget the lucky husband who got such a fabulous wife either.”

“We can’t forget the husband. How is old Rolf?”

“The same as ever,” Jackie answered, taking a sip of her Kir. “Now, quit dancing around the subject and tell me what you mean by being ‘in trouble.’ Were you there when the kidnapping happened?”

“This has got to stay between you and me.”

“Of course. Who do ya think you’re talking to? I’m the same old Jackie. We’ll make sure the tongue stays in the ol’ Schuh. My lips are sealed. Besides, you’re the one who came looking for me.”