Brad Thor - The Lions Of Lucerne

Claudia saw the need to draw the interrogation back into the realm of not only respectability but believability and took back control. “Herr Schepp, each of these men have mentioned you when questioned in South Africa. They work at a rather exclusive winery that, among other things, has been violating international customs regulations with their shipments. Is any of this sounding familiar?”

“Well, we do have several South African wines in our cellar, but we purchase those through a Swiss distributor.”

“No, these men specifically stated that the wine was delivered here to the hotel in the name of a certain individual.” Turning to Harvath, she said, “Mr. Boa, do you have the name on your notes there?”

“Yes, the name is Gerhard Miner. Ring any bells, Schepp?”

“Yes, I do know Herr Miner. He is a regular customer. We keep a case of dessert wine for him, Vin de Constance. Has the hotel done something wrong?”

“That depends,” said Claudia. “Why does the winery name you as their contact in Switzerland?”

“I would imagine because the wine was shipped here for Herr Miner, but to my attention. Had I known the transaction was illegal, I would have politely refused Herr Miner’s request.”

“Ignorance of the law, Mr. Schepp, is no excuse. This could reflect quite poorly on the hotel and your career,” said Harvath.

“Herr Schepp,” said Claudia, easing comfortably into the good cop role, “I think your participation in this affair can be minimized, if not forgotten, if you would be willing to offer us a few moments of cooperation.”

The man was definitely eager, and his head nodded up and down so quickly that Claudia was afraid it would snap right off his neck.

“Now, you state that you only received the wine. You didn’t order it?”

“Yes, that is correct. From what Herr Miner explained, a friend of his arranged it as a gift. It is extremely difficult to get. The estate only sells this wine in a limited quantity.”

“Herr Schepp, we would need something to corroborate your story. A receipt, a bill of lading. Do you have any paperwork that came with the wine?”

“I have a file for Herr Miner,” said Schepp as he moved from behind his desk to a row of file cabinets. “Sometimes the wineries will include special handling or storage directions with the shipments. I always keep all of this information together.”

Claudia looked over at Scot, who rolled his eyes.

It took Schepp no time at all to find what he was looking for. “Here it is. This is the shipping and order information that came with the delivery. I don’t know if this would be helpful for you, but some tasting notes and a small promotional piece about the wine was included as well.”

Schepp showed Claudia and Scot the paperwork.

“Herr Schepp,” said Claudia, “this may prove to be very helpful. We will need to take this with us, but you are free to make a copy of it if you like, to retain for your records.”

“That is very kind of you. I would hate for my records to be inaccurate. I don’t need the promotional piece, but the other things I should copy. The machine is at the front desk. Do you mind waiting a moment while I make the copies? I’ll do it very quickly.”

“Very well, Herr Schepp. We appreciate your cooperation.”

In a flash, the man was out the door, and Scot was half scanning, half reading the promotional piece out loud. “‘In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Vin de Constance was the most celebrated wine to come out of the southern hemisphere… Napoleon Bonaparte had thirty bottles a month shipped to the island of Elba to ease his confinement…’ It seems the king of Prussia used to knock back a few glasses every night after dinner, as did Louis XVI, Frederick the Great, Bismarck, and a busload of Russian czars.”

“Now I know why Miner’s lecture to me about the wine seemed so knowledgeable; he memorized the tasting notes,” said Claudia.

“Wait a second,” said Scot.

“What?” she asked, drawing closer to try and read over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“In Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austin apparently recommended Vin de Constance as a cure for a broken heart.”

“So?”

“Guess who else wrote about it? Charles Dickens in Edwin Drood.”

“Dear Aunt Jane; Yours, Edwin,” said Claudia. “The code between Miner and Senator Snyder.”

“Bingo!”

When Schepp reappeared, Claudia accepted the originals of the documents and told him that if he didn’t hear from either her or Herr Boa again, it would mean they had decided to let him off the hook. They thanked him and quickly left the hotel.

“When they come out, kill them both! And this time, no mistakes,” commanded Miner over the radio once he was in his car and had driven away from the hotel.

Klaus Dryer and Anton Schebel were both waiting outside the Hotel des Balances for Scot and Claudia to appear. Klaus carried a nine-millimeter Walther P4 pistol with a sound suppresser, and Schebel carried his favorite H amp;K MP5 SD1 submachine gun, which was also silenced. Both weapons were compact and easily hidden beneath a jacket. Schebel and Dryer made a decidedly deadly duo.

Miner had indicated to his men that the wait might be at least an hour, as he had purchased a last meal for the condemned couple. The shooters were taken by surprise when Claudia and Scot exited the hotel less than twenty minutes later. They turned right and walked along a narrow, relatively deserted passageway that hugged the hotel’s service entrance. Scot had thought it best to leave Claudia’s car in the parking lot by the Matthäuskirche and walk the five minutes to their rendezvous with Miner.

The passageway turned to the right, and as they began to follow it, a hail of sharp plaster rained down on top of them while a small utility window in the building in front of them shattered in an explosion of glass.

“Move!” yelled Scot, grabbing Claudia’s arm.

The shots came from behind, and instinctively, Scot steered them in the opposite direction. When he came to the Rathausquai, the pedestrianized area bordering the Reuss River, Harvath pulled up and looked around the corner before pulling Claudia out with him. They ran as far as the Hotel Schiff and then ducked into its old stone colonnade.

“Who’s after us?” Claudia demanded while she panted for air.

“I’ll give you two guesses. Either it’s the American hit team or Miner’s men. My money’s on Miner’s guys, but they’re both equally capable. I don’t want to wait to find out. Let’s keep moving, shall we?”

They walked quickly forward, and Scot glanced behind him to see if he could spot the shooter or shooters.

“Claudia, look behind us. See the two women with the baby carriages? To their left is a tall guy in a long, dark coat. That’s our man.”

Another quick tug on her arm and Claudia turned back around and moved faster. They were out of the colonnade and getting ready to cross the bridge when a series of spits came from uphill to their left. Scot whirled and pulled his Beretta. A man dressed in a blue ski parka was making his way toward them from the direction of the Kornmarkt. He melded into a group of people and prevented Scot from getting a clean shot.

“There’s a second one! Run!” he said to Claudia, and the two of them took off down the quay.

They ran past the Rathaus, the Zum Weissen Kreuz, the Pickwick, the Hotel des Alpes, and at St.-Peters-Kirche, steered a hard right and ran up the creaky stairs of the covered wooden bridge known as the Kapellbrücke. Scot looked over his right shoulder as they ran across the bridge and saw Blue Coat coming down the quay. The man in the long coat was nowhere to be seen, but Scot knew he couldn’t be too far behind.