Eden's Gate (22 page)
Authors: David Hagberg
Hughes arranged for Lane to pick up a Tradewinds luxury motor home in Helena complete with a dirt bike attached to the back. By the time he was checked out in the plush rig and had retrieved his bag from the airport, he didn't get out of town until late. It was around midnight when he reached an isolated spot to pull off outside Kalispell and get some sleep. Frannie drove up at 9:00 A.M. in a Nissan Pathfinder she'd picked up at the airport.
She came in and gave her husband a kiss. “How'd it go in Helena?”
“Special Agent Boulton is one troubled lady.”
“Just lately you seem to be attracting your share of them, darling,” she said. She took a look down the corridor to the palatial master bedroom. “How soon did Tommy say we had to return this?” she asked.
“Too soon,” Lane said. “Have you had your breakfast?”
“On the plane. Don't remind me. It was horrible.”
“You'd best start on the topographic maps, and I'll put on the tea.”
“Sounds good,” Frannie said. She went to the dining table where Lane had spread out the geodetic survey maps of Speyer's six-hundred-acre compound and the area around it. This operation had been laid on too fast for her to familiarize herself with the terrain. She got to it now in earnest. Her life depended on it.
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Speyer's compound lay in the valley defined by the Middle Fork and the South Fork of the Flathead River, between the towns of Columbia Falls and Hungry Horse. Dozens of mountain lakes fed the river from the north and east, just below the Continental Divide and Glacier
National Park. Forests to the west and north led up into the Whitefish range and Big Mountain Ski & Summer Resort. A month from now the first snows would begin at the higher elevations, but for now skiing was out and mountain gliding was in.
National Park. Forests to the west and north led up into the Whitefish range and Big Mountain Ski & Summer Resort. A month from now the first snows would begin at the higher elevations, but for now skiing was out and mountain gliding was in.
“He must have had visitors before,” Lane said.
“I would expect so, William,” Frannie agreed, studying the map. “It's a little too far for the hang-gliding set, but at just about the right distance for the rigid-wing planes.”
Lane pointed to the Big Mountain Resort. “Like the ones they rent up there. If you don't make the airport and the road looks dicey you'd naturally set down on Speyer's airstrip.”
“But it's marked private in big red letters on the chart. I'm sure they warn everyone to steer clear.”
“I'm sure that they do. A man is entitled to his privacy.”
“No telling how he might react if someone were to simply drop out of the sky unannounced. Especially now.”
Lane had thought about that serious problem, and he'd come up with the solution. “You'll radio a mayday, or better yet, a PAN, and tell the tower in Kalispell that you're running out of altitude, you've got a safe landing strip in sight and you're going down. It'll take them at least a half-hour to get someone from Big Mountain to come fetch you. In the meantime Speyer's people would have monitored your distress call.”
“Maybe I'll convince Mr. Sloan to invite me to dinner, maybe even stay for the night,” Frances teased. “I'd like to find out just how good a bridge player his wife is.”
Lane got even more serious. “Don't fool around, Frannie. Just get in, find out what kind of a mood they're in, and get out.”
“What about you?”
“I won't be very far away.”
She gave him a worried look. “That's what I'm afraid of.”
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Lane locked up the motor home and took the dirt bike cross country a couple of hours before dusk. The bike was new and the muffler was very good; even so, it was shocking how loud the engine sounded in the deep woods. He was still tender from his injuries, but he put the pain out of his mind. It was easy to do when he thought about Otto Schaub in Germany. Speyer had gunned the man down, probably to make it look like Schaub and the Russian had had a shoot-out.
He was dressed in Navy SEAL camos he'd picked up before he left Washington. If the need arose, he could go to ground and a hundred searchers could all but step on him without seeing him. The only thing that he could not get past were motion detectors or infrared sensors. But he doubted that Speyer had gone to that much trouble to protect his privacy. The deer and the bear roaming around out here would be setting off the alarms constantly, driving his troops batty.
He crossed a small creek, then spit dirt as he climbed the steep hill on the other side. He had to work his way around a series of fallen logs until he came to the crest of a second, smaller hill where he pulled up short.
Directly below him, about six or seven hundred yards away, was the end of the paved runway. The Gulfstream was parked in front of the hangar but there didn't seem to be any activity there or at the barracks beyond.
Lane shut off the bike, stashed it behind one of the logs, then, lying prone on the forest floor, studied the compound through binoculars. He spotted three men up by the house. One of them looked like Baumann. They seemed to be arguing about something, and when they broke off Baumann went inside and the other two headed down to the hangar.
He took out the handheld VHF and switched it to the Kalispell tower frequency, then settled down to wait.
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The old, but still sleek and graceful German-built Sportavia one-seat glider was a delight to handle and for the moment at least Frances was having the time of her life. She had learned to fly when she was stationed in Australia with the RAF, and built up several hundred hours in the Midlands when she came back to England. But she'd never done any serious mountain flying where updrafts of more than one thousand feet per minute were common along ridge lines, and where the scenery was nothing short of fantastic as it was here.
She banked to the east, away from the sun, a large boulder in the middle of the Flathead River stationary just off the tip of her low wing as she made a slow, graceful clearing turn. Off in the distance, perhaps seven or eight miles, was Speyer's compound. She could make out some of the buildings, the bizjet parked in front of the hangar, and the long concrete runway. But she was too far out to see any activity, nor of course could she spot William, though she knew that he was down there in the woods somewhere.
She was a little over five thousand feet above the published altitude of Speyer's runway. Continuing her turn, she pulled the spoiler handle back two notches which reduced the lift of the long wings, and the glider began to sink.
A line of hills ran north and south. She headed toward them so that if anyone on the ground was watching they would see her trying to find lift, but not doing a very good job of it.
The altimeter continued to unwind slowly as she flew back and forth along the ridge line. She had to pull out more spoiler to decrease the wings' lift even farther at one point when she did find an updraft.
As she wheeled and soared above the tree line she kept looking off her left shoulder at the setting sun beyond the runway, then back to the unwinding altimeter, judging the distance and her altitude against precisely how much lift and therefore glide ratio she could coax from the airplane. The flight master up at the resort had been skeptical when she'd shown up and asked to rent the Sportavia, especially so late in the afternoon. But after they talked for a few minutes and she'd shown him her Australian, British, and American flying licenses, plus her log book, he was more than happy to accommodate her. She was an expert pilot on paper and in fact. The first time that she'd taken William up in England, she'd tried to make him sick by doing loops and aileron rolls. But instead he demanded that she teach him how to fly, and their love affair had begun in earnest.
She grinned, thinking about it now, as she radioed Kalispell airport.
“Kalispell tower, this is Sportavia Nancy-seven-seven-niner, declaring an emergency. Copy?”
“Nancy-seven-seven-niner, this is Kalispell tower. What's your problem?”
“I'm out of altitude. I'm up by Crazy Horse just west of the Flathead. I have a paved runway in sight, I'm going to have to put her down.”
“Copy that. We'll inform Big Mountain Air Charters, and we'll try to contact the owner of the private strip. Give us a call when you're on the ground.”
“Will do,” Frances radioed. “Nancy-seven-seven-niner, out.”
Frances eased back on the spoilers as she made a gentle banking turn toward the distant runway. Almost immediately the glider felt lighter in her hands. She glanced at the ridgeline in her rearview
mirror. There was plenty of lift there; enough for her to make the Kalispell strip twice over. Her pride was a little wounded, and the resort's flight master would probably never trust a woman pilot again, but that was a small price to pay if she could get what she came for.
mirror. There was plenty of lift there; enough for her to make the Kalispell strip twice over. Her pride was a little wounded, and the resort's flight master would probably never trust a woman pilot again, but that was a small price to pay if she could get what she came for.
The sun was just dropping behind the mountains as she lined up with the end of the runway, and waggled her tail and wings to make sure that she was loose and that the aircraft's controls were in working order.
Two men in a jeep came down from the house and headed to the far end of the runway where the glider would end up. As she came over the threshold she glanced down at them. They were dressed in what looked like fatigues and carried a pair of rifles in a rack behind the seats.
She pulled the spoilers fully out as she came into the ground effect and the glider flared out and floated at a crabbed angle a few feet above the runway. Within five hundred feet the center wheel touched down and she began feathering the hand-brake, steering a straight line with the rudder pedals and keeping the wings level with the stick.
The two men got out of the jeep and came over as she slowed to a halt, but they didn't bring their rifles. It was something, she thought, as she popped the catch, opened the clear Lexan hatch, looked up and smiled.
“Sorry to drop in like this, gentlemen, but I really didn't have a choice.”
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Lane watched Frannie climb out of the glider, her white silk Versace jumpsuit practically fluorescing in the deepening dusk. He could not hear what the two goons were saying to her, nor did he recognize either of them, but it was clear by their body language that they were not happy with her presence. It was also clear that they weren't going to do her any physical harm. Anybody who monitored her emergency call knew where she was. Speyer and his people knew this.
He checked his position on his tiny GPS navigator and entered it as a waypoint so that he would have no trouble finding his way back to the bike in the dark. Next he telephoned Tommy back in Washington.
“She's in.”
“Has there been any trouble so far?”
“They're not happy, but she's okay for now.” Lane looked again through the binoculars. Frannie was climbing into the jeep with the two men. She said something to one of them and he shook his head. They started away from the runway up to the house. “It looks like they're taking her to see Speyer.”
“He's not going to be a happy camper. Especially if they were planning on making their move tonight.”
“That's nothing compared to how he's going to feel when I get done with him.”
“I looked into Konrad Aden's background,” Tommy said. “He's squeaky clean. Practically an all-American boy scout.”
“Yeah, the same as Thomas Mann. But they're both involved up to their eyeballs with Speyer, which means that their organization is tight. Could be the group that the Germans told us about. The Friends.”
“They've apparently learned a thing or two about security from their predecessors, the Odessa. Wouldn't it be grand to not only take Speyer down, but to get the entire organization?”
“The same thought occurred to me. I can provide the eyewitness link between Speyer and Mann, and if Mattoon is working for them, he might be able to provide us with the link to Aden.”
“I'll get on it,” Hughes said. “From where you are, can you see any signs that they're getting ready to bug out?”
“If they are, they're being quiet about it. Nothing much is moving down there.”
“Maybe they're staying after all.”
There was still some daylight left in the hills, but the valley was dark, and lights were coming on up at the house. They had thought about equipping Frannie with a wire so that they could monitor her situation. But they'd decided that it was too risky. If Speyer's people detected it she would be in immediate trouble.
“I'm going to take a closer look,” Lane said. “If Frannie does get into trouble, I want to be right there.”
“Don't take any unnecessary chances, William. You already have a measure of the man. You know what he's capable of, what he's already done. If it comes to a showdown, shoot first and we'll put the pieces together later.”
“Don't worry, Tommy, I won't be cutting him any slack real soon.”
Lane checked the load in his Beretta, screwed a silencer on the end of the barrel, and blackened his face with camo grease. He took
one last look at the way he had come in, memorizing the path, then turned and headed silently down into the valley.
one last look at the way he had come in, memorizing the path, then turned and headed silently down into the valley.
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