Brad Thor - The Lions Of Lucerne

“He was involved with the construction of the military mountain fortresses.”

“Very good, Agent Harvath. Yes, he was one of the engineers on the primary design team. From what he told me, they were involved with constructing these incredible fortresses throughout Switzerland. Oftentimes they used the development of ski resorts or other tourist attractions as a cover for all of the military activity. If you were building some sort of resort or something to boost tourism, who would suspect the real reason for gondolas, cable cars, or-”

“Cogwheel railways!” Scot broke in.

“Yes, again,” replied Claudia. “How can someone so smart not have the good sense to stay out of the water until spring?”

“A good swim relaxes me and helps me to think. Much like a well-placed gun in the back. So Pilatus is one of these Swiss military fortresses?”

“No.”

Scot’s heart sank. The pieces had all seemed to finally be coming together.

Then Claudia spoke again. “It isn’t one now. It used to be, but my grandfather said it had been decommissioned.”

Scot’s hopes began to rise. “Decommissioned, meaning it was abandoned?”

“Sort of. It was sealed off and put on the inactive list.”

“But it wasn’t destroyed?”

“No, nothing like that. The Swiss are pragmatists. You never know when we might need something like that again. It was just sealed off and left alone.”

“So theoretically, if Miner knew about this place, which in his position with the military there is a good chance he did, all he would have to do is figure out a way to unseal it?”

“It might not even be that difficult. According to my grandfather, there were several ways to access these fortresses. They needed to circulate air, so there were ventilation shafts. There were also escape passages. Cargo bays for delivering materials and supplies…”

“I’m liking your grandfather more and more. Do you think there’s any chance he might be able to help us? A person with that much knowledge could be very useful.”

“I think my grandfather would have liked nothing better. But, he passed away two years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Scot, and he really was-sorry for Claudia, sorry for himself, and most of all, sorry for the president.

Claudia seemed not to hear him. “He told me that every structure you saw on Pilatus served a purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“For example, Pilatus already had the very large Hotel Pilatus Kulm, but they then built the little Hotel Bellevue.”

“What was the Bellevue’s purpose?” asked Scot.

“That he couldn’t share, even with me, but he said nothing happens by accident. Every structure serves a purpose. There’s the purpose the tourist appreciates and then the purpose the military appreciates. Those engineers were some of the greatest minds Switzerland has ever known.”

“Claudia, from what you’ve told me, it seems reasonable that Miner might be using this inactive fortress as his base. The question is, though, which way did he get in? You said there are many ways in, and all of the structures serve a purpose, right?”

“Right.”

“So there are the two hotels, and the cable car and cogwheel railway come and go from just beneath the Hotel Bellevue. Are there any other important structures on top of Mount Pilatus?”

“Let me think. The hotels, a small weather station, a radar station, and a…” Claudia’s voice trailed off.

“And a what, Claudia? What is it? What else is up there?”

“A church,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes.

Harvath repeated the words that Miner had said when they last saw him, which at that point seemed to make no sense at all, “Under God, all things are possible.”

Claudia pressed down hard on the accelerator, and the pair sped toward Bern.

Harvath saw pictures and symbols of bears everywhere as they entered Bern. Claudia explained that the bear was the emblem of the city and the canton. They passed signs and coats of arms with bears, bakeries with bear-shaped cookies, and even a bear pit with a couple of live frolicking bears.

Claudia was careful to make sure that they weren’t being followed. She crossed back and forth across the Aare River several times and chose small out-of-the-way streets where it would be obvious if someone was behind them. This was Scot’s first time in Bern, and he marveled at the ancient sandstone-and-mahogany buildings, the covered arcades of the Old Town, the brightly colored fountains, and the spire of the Münster church, which Claudia told him was the highest in Switzerland.

Far below the Münster, at the foot of an enormous retaining wall, was Claudia’s neighborhood. It was called the Matte. Once a workers and artisans’ quarter, it was now very popular with the young Bernese in the city’s various creative fields. While Claudia couldn’t exactly classify what she did for a living as creative, it did demand certain amounts of creativity from time to time, and besides, she really liked the area’s energy.

They agreed that since Scot needed to make a phone call and use a fax, she would drop him at her friend Fabia’s travel agency, which was only a couple of blocks from her flat. Claudia’s apartment was on the fifth floor of a typical European walk-up. As much as Scot protested to the contrary, he needed to rest and five flights of stairs would have been murder on him after everything he had been through today. The thing Scot didn’t like was that there was no doubt the American hit team had followed Claudia from Bern to the Jungfrau and they probably had her apartment under surveillance right now. She was convinced, though, that she could get in and out without being seen. After getting Scot set up in Fabia’s private office, Claudia told him she would be back as soon as she ran a couple of errands and got the rest of what they needed from her apartment.

One of Fabia’s staff was sent to a small restaurant on the corner to get Scot something to eat. She returned with typical Bernese favorites, fried veal and sauerkraut. To top it off, there was a little bar of Toblerone chocolate.

Scot thanked the woman. Once she had closed the door, he took a couple bites of his food and spread his paperwork in front of him. He picked up the phone and dialed a number by heart.

“Lawlor,” came the clear, curt voice over the line. The connection made it sound as if he were only across the street, rather than thousands of miles away.

“Gary, it’s Scot.”

“Harvath? Where the hell are you?”

“All in good time. What’s going on at your end? Any luck getting the president back?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“I guess that answers my other question. I’m still persona non grata, correct?”

“You are much worse than that, my friend.”

“Gary, I think I may be able to help you out, but you have to share with me what you have first.”

“Jesus, Harvath. I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“Because we’ve got a history together and you know I wasn’t involved with the president’s kidnapping and I had nothing to do with Natalie Sperando and her friend being murdered.”

“History or not, I’ll tell you what I know, but after that, you tell me where you are.”

“Deal.”

“We’re maxed out. The FBI, CIA, DOD…we’ve got every agent from every possible law enforcement agency working on this, and we still haven’t come up with anything. The kidnappers cut off the president’s finger and sent it to Vice President Marshfield with a ransom demand of fifty million dollars. We’re convinced they will kill the president if we don’t give in to their demands.”

“You’re sure the finger was his?”