CHAPTER 14: "THE ALPS (PART 1)"
Sunday, January 11th, 2009 – 08:31 a.m.
Barcelona
The morning had broken and as planned, most of the team had left before sunrise to spend the day sightseeing in Barcelona. Derek and Jesse, Jody and Jason, and Sydney and Kevin were the only ones left on board besides the crew.
"Here they come," Derek said, looking outside onto the pier from his place at the breakfast table as a police car was stopping next to the yacht. "Right on time. Exactly half an hour after they started their shift. Chola was right about their working schedules."
"I was kind of hoping they would just overlook us," Jesse replied with a sigh.
"Police are the same everywhere. They're persistent when they're absorbed in a mystery. They know that Victor Sørensen must have been hired to shoot someone from his hotel. Unfortunately for him, the alleged victim fired back. So, they probably asked their ballistic experts, but they couldn't tell them much. Weapon and ammo are unknown, and the trajectory is a mystery because almost nobody outside our team knows about the ATG's. Inevitably, they turned their eyes towards the piers and the ships that were docked there at the time, which brought their focus on the Rising Star. It belongs to a very rich and famous person, and in the eyes of the police such people could make for a worthwhile target for hit men. But neither Isaak nor Catherine were on board. Both are verifiably in Los Angeles at the moment. The yacht hasn't been officially chartered, so they'll wonder what she's doing here in Barcelona and who's on board. Relax, baby, they're just curious, they can't touch us."
"From your lips to God's ears. This journey doesn't need more complications."
"It was a good idea that the rest of us went into town to do their tourist thing," Sydney added, "Who knows? Maybe they know about Olga."
"True," Jason stated, "but we're supposed to leave tonight. They cannot simply decide to hold us here without a valid reason, can they?"
"No," Jesse said, "but they could insist on questioning everyone, even those who are currently absent. And that might delay our departure. That's why John called Sonya on the phone before they left. Perhaps she can pull her strings and achieve something at government level."
"How would they know that somebody is absent?" Kevin asked.
"They'd be stupid if they haven't talked to customs to check how many people are on board," Jesse replied. "Also, no one of us is familiar with the Spanish laws and regulations in such matters. That's why I'm still kinda nervous."
Moments later, the chief steward appeared at the entrance to the lounge.
"Two gentlemen from the Mossos d'Esquadra would like to talk to you," he said.
"The what now?" Jody asked.
"Mossos d'Esquadra," Jason repeated. "I googled it last night. They're the autonomous police force of Catalonia, having largely replaced the Spanish Policía Nacional and Guardia Civil."
"Invite them in, please," Jesse said with a smile and pulled out her cellphone, "I'm going to inform John and the others that we have guests."
The chief steward nodded and left the salon.
"I would have expected the Guardia Civil," Sydney said. "Aren't they the Spanish police?"
"Yup, everywhere except Catalonia," Kevin explained.
"I didn't know Catalonia had its own police," Jody said, "aren't they also part of Spain?"
"Not if the Catalans have their way," Jason replied, "There are strong separatist tendencies among the them. They not only have their own police, they also have their own language: Catalan."
Before he could elaborate further, two men, dressed in civilian clothes, entered the large salon on Deck 2, accompanied by the chief steward. One of them was probably in his mid-fifties, the other one looked more like being in his late twenties. While the chief steward left again, the two men looked around, checking out the luxurious interior of the huge yacht.
"Come closer, gentlemen," Jesse said, who'd been chosen to be the spokesperson. "can I offer you something? We have fresh coffee. Did you have breakfast? There's bacon and eggs, pancakes, sausages, hash browns, fresh fruit, baguette and croissants... everything your hearts desire. Come, sit down."
"Thank you but no, we already had breakfast," the older of the two replied in fluent English, showing his badge as he walked up to the table, "and we prefer to remain standing. I'm Detective Jordi Miró and this is my partner, Sergeant Antoni Casals. We're from Barcelona Homicide."
"Homicide?" Jesse asked, feigning surprise.
"It's about what happened at the hotel over there, isn't it?" Sydney asked in equally feigned excitement. "We saw it on the news. Totally fucked up stuff."
"Uh… yes," Miró confirmed, "it's about the incident at the W Hotel... and about the car bombing yesterday. The two events are connected. After interviewing everyone involved, we have now extended our investigation to the vicinity of the hotel and the port. Your yacht was already moored here yesterday morning, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yes, we arrived before sunrise."
"Would you mind answering a few questions?"
"Of course not, Detective," Jesse replied, demonstratively shifting in her chair so that the police officers could see her swelling belly.
"Ah, you're in joyful anticipation," Miró promptly said. "Don't worry, this won't take very long. It's just some routine questions."
-0-
Sunday, January 11th, 2009 – 09:46 a.m.
Zermatt (Switzerland)
Brandon Carver left the train and stepped out into the plaza in front of the train station. He wasn't alone. The station forecourt was swarming with travelers who were about to leave or - like him - were just arriving. He quickly walked up to one of the electric taxis that waited next to a number of horse carriages that belonged to some of the local hotels. He opened the back door and entered.
"Kein Gepäck?" the taxi driver asked in Swiss German.
"What?"
"No luggage?"
"No. Take me to the Chalet Elysium."
"Chalet Elysium? That's private property. No entry. The access path is already blocked. Nobody's allowed to go there. Strongly protected. You might get arrested."
"It's all right," Carver said and leaned back. "I'm being expected."
"You must know," stated the driver, shrugged, turned around again and accelerated his vehicle.
-0-
Sunday, January 11th, 2009 – 09:05 a.m.
Barcelona
"So, let me summarize," sergeant Miró said and looked down on his notebook, "you and the rest of your friends and family are on a honeymoon trip around the world. Most of your group is currently on a land excursion and won't be back until the evening. None of you witnessed anything that's been going on here yesterday. The owner of this yacht, the Hollywood mogul Isaak Sirko and his wife, well-known industrialist Catherine Weaver, have invited you to use the Rising Star because they're close friends of you."
"Very close, actually," Jody pointed out, "they're practically part of the family."
"Interesting," the other police officer, Antoni Casals, remarked, "I have a boat of my own here in the marina. But of course it's minuscule compared to this one. This is one of the biggest yachts in the world, isn't it?"
"The biggest privately owned one," Kevin confirmed. "Built in 2004."
"How long? 130 meters?"
"141," Jason corrected.
"How much power does it have?"
"48,000 HP, distributed over four propellers."
Casals whistled appreciatively.
"And how fast can it co?"
"Up to thirty knots but that would use too much fuel on the long run."
"That's quite fast, faster than most ships, warships excluded. Quite impressive. Just out of interest, how much would it cost to charter this yacht? The maintenance costs alone must be astronomical."
Jesse and Derek frowned. This had nothing to do with police questioning anymore. Was Casals showing genuine interest or was there another reason for asking such detailed questions about the Rising Star?
"Well, Isaak once mentioned the yacht itself cost 320 million dollars when it was built and is now probably worth 400 million," Kevin replied. "and he said that chartering the ship would normally cost two million dollars a week."
"Two million a week, huh?" Jordi Miró asked, exchanging looks with his colleague. "And you're on this… honeymoon trip for how long… five months?"
"Give or take, yes," Jesse replied in an attempt to regain the control over the conversation, not liking the emphasis the man had given the word honeymoon. "I'll be giving birth to my baby on board."
She padded her tummy, but the distraction didn't seem to work with the two officers of the Mossos d'Esquadra.
"Five months... for free? No charge?"
"Yes, is there a problem with that, Detective?"
"No, it's just... you have to forgive me, we're just simple civil servants who don't earn that much money. Five months for free... on a yacht that would normally cost two million dollars a week to charter... which would be eight million a month. Your journey is worth at least forty million dollars then?"
"As we already said," Derek replied, "it's a wedding gift for four couples, and it's Isaak's private yacht. He can do with it what he wants. It hadn't been booked over the winter anyway, it would have just been in port with no use."
"We got that," Antoni Casals said, "but a forty-million-dollar wedding gift? Phew, that's quite a difference from a waffle iron or some dishware."
"Catherine and Isaak are billionaires, they can afford it," Sydney said a little annoyed, " where are you getting at with your questions?"
"To be honest, I have some doubts about the honesty of your statements. This is more than just a honeymoon, isn't it?"
"What makes you think that?" Jesse asked with a frown. "What else could it be?"
Sergeant Antoni Casals flipped back a few pages on his notebook and cleared his throat.
"We did a little research before we came here. You started your journey in Long Beach on November 22 last year, am I correct?"
"Yes."
Casals nodded.
"On November 24, members of a local gang of thugs Puerto Vallarta were found unconscious and tied up on the beach after threatening the owner of a bar in the old town."
"You don't say..." Derek remarked.
"On November 29, the house of a certain Jeffrey Clark was set on fire in George Town in the Cayman Islands for reasons as yet unexplained and burned to the ground. Said Jeffrey Clark has fled to the USA and is currently wanted there for murder. It appears the FBI and other domestic intelligence agencies are involved in the search."
"I think we heard about Jeffrey Clark on the news," Jesse commented.
"On December 13, the deep-sea salvage ship 'Barracuda' has disappeared in Funchal, Madeira, for inexplicable reasons. There's no trace of the ship or the crew, including the owner, a well-known deep sea explorer named Vincent DeVooght. On the following day, the finding of a wreck of a Spanish gold ship off the coast of Madeira was announced to the media."
"Yeah, we heard of the gold ship as well," Sydney said.
"On December 16 in Marrakesh, Morocco, the bodies of almost all members of a well-known gang of local crooks were found in a former tannery belonging to the leader of the gang. It appears that the men either died by stabbing weapons or were killed by the use of extreme physical force. Local investigators are baffled and can't explain what happened."
"Sergeant Casals..." Jesse began.
"Oh, I'm not finished. On 21 December, three letters were posted in Mallaig, Scotland, addressed to the BBC, The Times and The Guardian, containing incriminating documents that put the oil company Cox Oil in serious trouble. The planned construction of an oil refinery and associated oil port in Mallaig was subsequently cancelled. Several local Scottish politicians and employees of Cox Oil have been apprehended for corruption and bribery."
"Sounds like somebody got what they deserved," Jody declared.
Casals looked at her for a moment, then went on.
"On December 30, a well-known Russian fashion model named Olga Korobitsyna was kidnapped in Saint Petersburg and released after only one day. No ransom was paid, nor were there any demands for her release. The local police have no idea about the background of the abduction or who carried it out."
Jesse and Derek looked at each other uncomfortably. It really was a good idea not having Olga and Alison aboard right now.
"And last but not least, here in Barcelona a car bomb explodes under the rental car of a well-known mafia hit man who apparently was hired to kill someone from his room at the W Hotel – a job that obviously went terribly wrong because the supposed victim fired back with a yet unknown weapon. By the way, a very amazing shooting performance on both sides. Shall I tell you what all these incidents have in common?"
"I'm sure you will tell us," Jesse said sourly.
"In each of these incidents, the Rising Star lay in port or at least nearby, and your team was in town. Coincidence?"
"Yeah, why not? Crimes, misfortunes and strange accidents happen all the time."
"Do they now?"
"Sure, they won't stop just because we are there."
"I don't think this is funny," Miró replied with a serious face.
"We neither," Derek replied a little irritated. "Is there a reason why you told us about all that? Do you have a point to make?"
"To be clear, we believe that this is more than just a harmless honeymoon trip," Casals replied.
"And what else could it be?" Jesse asked with a smirk.
"We don't know yet. But we intend to find out."
"Well, apparently you haven't found out enough to accuse us of anything concrete," Derek replied a little irritated. "I don't know about your country but where we come from, people would be arrested if there a strong indications of illegal activities. We told you what we know. If you have evidence that we lied, please present it to us. If not, kindly leave now, you're disturbing our holidays and upsetting my pregnant wife."
"We don't have anything solid yet..." Miró admitted.
"What a surprise," Derek interrupted him sarcastically.
"... but we have witness statements confirming that they saw three young women running from this ship, swimming through the port entrance and running at a very high speed - not to mention extremely high speed - towards the W Hotel."
"So what? Is running and swimming forbidden here? If so, send us the fine and we'll pay it."
"At the hotel," Miró continued unfazed, "three dirt bikes were stolen from the underground car park and used to chase Victor Sørensen. Half an hour later, Sørensen's car exploded in downtown Barcelona. Witnesses there reported how three young women performed daring stunts on dirt bikes to get through the dense traffic in pursuit of the car. All three were obviously caught in the explosion of the car bomb, as we found their destroyed bikes. But there's not a trace of the three women. Witnesses stated that they were thrown off the bikes and then disappeared from the scene. Amazingly, they don't seem to have been hurt or wounded at all. You see, I'm a simple man with a simple mind. But if I add up all this, I have serious doubts that you told me everything you know."
"These eye witnesses," Jesse said carefully, "they've seen all that with their own eyes?"
"They saw the chase in the city with their own eyes, yes," Miró replied. "And some were at the scene when the car bomb exploded."
"What about the witnesses here in the harbor?"
The two police officers looked at each other.
"Admittedly, they saw it on surveillance cameras installed at the port and the W Hotel."
"I see," Sydney said, "then you surely will be able to compare that footage to the members of our team when they return? You seized it of course, I suppose?"
"Unfortunately…" Antoni Casals began and sounded a little insecure for the first time, "there has been… well, some sort of incident that has wiped all hard drives clean. None of the recordings were saved."
"So," Derek said, "all you have is assumptions, secondhand reports of three women running from this ship over to the hotel, and some firsthand reports eye witnesses that describe three young women on dirt bikes. What was the description on the news again? Slim, long dark hair, two of them with big breasts?"
"Yes," Detective Miró admitted.
"You'll certainly find a lot of women who'll fit that description. And as my wife already pointed out about the list of events you read to us, crimes, misfortunes and strange accidents happen all the time. Sounds to me as if you don't have a case, just a conspiracy theory."
"Now listen to me," Miró said, suddenly very agitated, "I know you're all deeply involved in what happened here yesterday. I can't prove it yet, but I can summon each and every one of you to the station for questioning. I have no problem denying this ship departure and using Interpol to obtain arrest warrants should you attempt to leave anyway. I will get to the bottom of this, if it's the last thing I..."
His cellphone rang. With an annoyed face, he took the call. As he spoke in Catalan, his expression changed. First he frowned, looking at Derek, Jesse and the others, then he asked something, suddenly became visibly nervous and went pale when he received the answer. Finally, he ended the conversation. He looked at the team members with a scrutinizing look, swallowing before speaking.
"We've just been pulled off the case," he said in a croaking voice.
"What?" Antoni Casals asked. "Why? By whom?"
"By the commissioner. Somebody from very high up must have pulled some serious strings."
"What an unfortunate turn of events," Jesse remarked sarcastically.
"It seems you have powerful friends in very high places," Miró said defiantly. "I've been asked to apologize for the harassment, which I hereby do."
"Apology accepted," Derek replied with a smirk. "I'm sure you'll find the way out on your own."
"We will. Thank you… and have a nice day."
The two police officers left the ship. The team watched them driving away and breathed a sigh of relief.
"That was a close call," Sydney said. "What do you think got them off the case?"
"Maybe Sonya was involved," Jesse speculated.
"Must be," Derek replied. "John has called her early in the morning."
"I don't understand it," Sergeant Casals said as they were driving away.
"Be glad that you don't," Detective Miró replied, "it's better that way."
"But they were hiding something, it was obvious. They're definitely involved in this. Our investigation..."
"… is over, Toni."
"But…"
"No discussion. The order came from the very top."
"But what explanation did they give you? I saw how shocked you were."
"I... I'm not allowed to talk about it."
"But Jordi..."
"I understand your juvenile enthusiasm, Toni, I understand your disappointment. But let's look at it soberly: What has actually happened? A contract killer was executed, and a few windows were smashed. The world was rid of a piece of shit that may have killed dozens of people and would have continued doing so."
"That doesn't sound like you. Didn't you always tell me that, no matter who the victim was..."
But Miró didn't let him finish.
"It was made clear to me that if we continue to work this case against direct orders, we will not only lose our jobs, but be responsible for a series of follow-up events that we wouldn't be able to control anymore. Let's leave it at that, okay?"
"But..."
"I don't know about you, Toni, but I love my job. I want to keep it, I'm less than ten years from retirement. And I don't want any more dead people in my city because of this... incident. Discussion is over."
Sergeant Casals looked at his partner for a moment, trying to interpret his expression, but Miró just stared straight ahead, grabbing the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Not satisfied with the answer but realizing that there was nothing more to get out of his partner at the moment, Casals let it go and looked out of the window. Not a word was spoken until they arrived at the police station.
-0-
Sunday, January 11th, 2009 – 10:30 a.m.
Zermatt
"Brandon," said the elderly gentleman happily, slammed his book shut and rose from his armchair, puffing his pipe through the corner of his mouth, "it's been some time."
"Too long, Ludwig, too long," Carver replied and the two shook hands.
Carver had been led into the study by security guards. The taxi driver was kinda flabbergasted that he'd gotten into the well-guarded compound without any difficulties once his passenger had told the guards his name. The property resembled a high security zone, and even driving or walking the winding private access road up the mountain slope on the western side of the valley was normally strictly prohibited. After all, Ludwig Ziegler was one of the richest men in Europe.
The study in which the two men met, was a large yet cozy room with a dark tiled floor, several carpets, a desk with a laptop, a chesterfield leather sofa, some leather armchairs, and lots of bookshelves full of books. A crackling fire burned in an open fireplace, spreading cozy warmth throughout the room.
"I heard about your trouble in Barcelona," Ziegler said in his Swiss accent after the two had taken place again. "But no details. What exactly happened there?"
"Sørensen messed up because he wouldn't listen. After the initial two shots, he fired a third one against my strict orders. It nearly cost him his life. I was right in my assumption, they immediately spotted his position even from more than eight hundred meters away."
"What a fool. And he came so highly recommended. And what about you? Are you okay?"
"I got away… barely. But I can't help but feeling that I've been tricked. Connor was about to tell me what he's done with the drones when that damn female Terminator showed up. They call her Alison."
"Is she the one you told me about?"
"Yes. And she's a real threat, believe me."
"Tell me everything, my friend."
Carver reported in detail what happened in Barcelona. Ziegler listened attentively while he continued to puff on his pipe.
"Hmmm…" the old man then said. "Why didn't she attack you right away? You said you had your back exposed to her?"
"I don't know. I've been asking myself the same question. She also didn't follow me. I know she can swim, but she stayed behind. My only explanation is that protecting and freeing her team had a higher priority than to hunt me down."
Ziegler nodded.
"Yes… they can become attached to humans like that… given time."
"Not in the future I came from."
"You didn't spend as much time with them as I did… but then again, we both know that we come from different timelines."
"I still have a hard time believing they can actually develop a personality… become self-aware… acquire feelings and emotions… it sounds ridiculous."
"Oh, believe me, my young friend, they can. The important thing is that you got away in one piece. You're safe here now."
"Only as long as they don't know where I am."
"How should they find out? They might have a Terminator that can track down its prey by its smell. But there's no way she can do that over such a distance. They probably think you're in Asia by now. I've made sure that all my digital traces end up in India. Not for nothing did I choose Shiva as my alias. It evokes associations."
"I hope you're right about that, Ludwig, I really hope you are."
"You have to tell me everything you learned about them."
"Of course. I…"
The door opened and a pretty woman in her early thirties entered.
"Here you are," she said, "didn't the doctor tell you not to smoke anymore?"
"To hell with the doctor. I survived much more dangerous threats than tobacco. Brandon, I suppose you haven't met why wife Marie yet? Marie, this is Brandon Carver. I told you about him."
Carver stood up to shake hands with Ziegler's wife.
"I'm delighted to meet you at last," she said. "Perhaps you have more influence on my husband than I do. He really should stop smoking."
Ziegler rolled his eyes.
"The dark side of married life, Brandon. Be glad you're a bachelor. Is there a reason why you were looking for me, woman?"
"The caterer wants to know how many people he should plan for. Have you got the complete guest list yet?"
"It's on the table."
Marie walked over to the desk and picked up a handwritten piece of paper, then left the study again, giving her husband one more annoyed look.
"Birthday party tonight," Ziegler explained when they were alone again.
"Oh, congratulations."
"Marie organizes it. Fine woman. Many say she's too young for me but frankly, in my position I have freedom of choice and I'm making use of it."
"I wish I'd known before I arrived, then I'd have brought you a present."
"Not necessary. I'm not looking forward to it, I dislike being the center of attention. But it's my 70th birthday and all the local big shots will be there, plus some government officials from Bern. I've always hated this kind of hullabaloo, but you can't always avoid it. You're coming as well, I presume?"
"Maybe it's not such a good idea to show my face there," Carver replied. "I might be a wanted person soon, when they find out about the dead employees in Goslar."
"Don't be so negative. Most of the guests are self-absorbed sycophants, they wouldn't even notice if you'd dress up like a clown. Smartphones and cameras are forbidden. You know how careful I am about not allowing pictures of me being taken. There'll be tons of food and drinks, good live music.. and a lot of nice ladies without a male partner… if you catch my drift."
"All right then," Carver said smiling, "maybe a little distraction will do me good."
"That's the spirit," Ziegler replied and padded Carver's shoulder. "Tomorrow is for fighting, tonight is for having fun. That was our motto when we fought Skynet."
-0-
Sunday, January 11th, 2009 – 06:45 p.m.
Barcelona
Just in time for dinner, the others returned to the ship, chatting happily about the experiences of the day.
"That cathedral really impressed me," Savannah said, "I mean, how long have they been building on it now?"
"The construction of the Sagrada Familia began in 1882," Anne replied.
"That's 107 years. The architect must have known he'll never see it finished."
"Antoni Gaudí died in 1926, so yes," Cameron confirmed. "Although it's fairly common in human history that the construction of cathedrals lasts centuries and outlives many builders and architects."
"Take St. Peter's in Rome, for example," Emily added. "Construction began in 1506 and wasn't fully completed until 1670. The church has worn-out nine master builders."
"That was pretty fast," Alison said. "Construction of Cologne Cathedral began in 1248 and was not completed until 1880 - that's 632 years."
"Wow, that's long," Jody remarked.
"Almost nothing is known for certain about the original architect and builder. They know his name, Master Gerhard, and that he died after falling from the scaffolding under mysterious circumstances. But that's about it."
"How long did it take them to build the pyramids?" Lauren asked.
"They estimate twenty years for the Great Pyramid of Giza," replied Anne, "it had to be completed within the lifetime of the reigning pharaoh, of course. In those days, people didn't normally live very long. With the cathedrals, they could take more time, because they weren't meant to be tombs for anyone alive at the time. But without wanting to diminish the achievement, it has to be mentioned that the construction of the Cologne Cathedral was interrupted between 1528 and 1823. There was a saying in Cologne: 'Once the cathedral is finished, the world will end'."
"Interesting prediction… however, they were off by 131 years with predicting the end of the world," Cameron remarked.
"So, when will Sagrada Familia be finished?" Jesse asked, ignoring her interjection.
"It's hoped that it'll be completed by 2026, the centenary of the death of architect Antoni Gaudí," said Allie. "But it's really hard to predict, because the entire construction is funded by donations. Gaudí is buried in his cathedral, by the way. We've seen his grave."
"When the cathedral is finally finished," Olga added, "it will have the tallest church tower in the world with a height of 172.5 meters."
"Still not as tall as the Hassan II mosque in Casablanca," Lauren pointed out.
"True."
"All in all this has been a very interesting day," Anne said. What do you think will be your strongest memory of it?"
"The beggars," John immediately replied.
"Beggars?" Derek asked.
"Yes, beggars and pickpockets, they were everywhere," Sarah explained. "almost ruined the whole experience. Chola had warned us about the beggars and told us to simply ignore them because they're organized in gangs, but they're really persistent. Give a Euro to one of them and the others will be over you like a swarm of angry birds."
"Thankfully, we could get rid of them quickly at every place we visited," Olga remarked.
"How?" Jody asked.
Instead of replying, Sarah simply looked at Alison, Emily and Cameron with a sly smile.
"Oooh…" Jody acknowledged, "I see."
"They showed them their red glowing eyes and with a deep, demonic voice told them to take a hike if they value their lives," Charley explained in an amused tone. "You wouldn't believe how fast a supposed cripple can run."
"After that, we were left in peace every time," Savannah added. "Word spread quickly, and the beggars gave us a wide berth. I wish I could make my eyes glow like that."
"Really?" Alison asked. "I can arrange that for you. Do you want them to only glow in the dark or…?"
"She didn't mean that serious," John said and looked at Savannah, "did you?"
The redhead thought for a moment.
"Nah… nah, I guess not."
"Thank you," Allie replied.
"Not sure what glowing red eyes would do to my chances with potential sex partners."
"I can tell you what it would do, it'd give me the creeps."
Everyone laughed.
"So, I understand you had a visit from the Barcelona police?" John asked.
"Yes," Derek replied, "they've obviously pieced together that we're somehow involved in what happened yesterday. But before they could really get started, the older of the two received a phone call that made their whole threatening scenario collapse like a soufflé in cold air. I suppose Sonya was pulling some strings in the background there?"
John shrugged.
"I guess so. I called her in the morning. She was about to go to bed but must have set things in motion very quickly right after that. We cannot appreciate her working with us highly enough. By the way, after dinner we're gonna have a video conference with the whole gang."
"Was she very pissed?" Jesse asked. "We all know that Sonya doesn't like it when we go on solo runs."
"Well, she was upset at first," John admitted, "but once I explained to her about Kaliba, the drones, the Grays and Brandon Carver, she quickly calmed down and agreed that we did the right thing. She knows that we cannot always coordinate everything with her, especially not with the current time difference between us."
"Did she say anything about what you suggested?" Derek asked.
"Not yet. We'll have to wait for the video conference after dinner, but I think she'll give us a free hand. She acknowledges that we have to take out Carver and this mysterious Shiva before they become a real threat to us."
"I agree," Sarah said, "Carver knows a lot about us now - too much, in fact. We must take him seriously. Otherwise every one of us would be in constant danger, not to mention that he has probably taken photos of us when the gas had knocked us out. He knows most of our names and identities and could indeed pass on his knowledge to the media. There are certainly plenty of so-called magazines and newspapers that would love to run this kind of story."
They all gathered in John's suite, where they'd set up the necessary equipment for the video conference. Olga was filled in with information about Catherine, John Henry and Sonya Hawkins. It was 9 p.m. Barcelona time, which meant that both Washington and Los Angeles could take part now. One by one Sonya, Zoe, Catherine, and John Henry appeared on the screens.
"Unless you're yet another version of Alison, you must be Olga," Sonya began the conversation and all eyes were immediately on the Russian model.
"Uh… yes… I'm Olga. Nice to meet you. Sonya Hawkins, right?"
"Hmmhmm… I heard what you did. Very brave. I suppose that earned you the right to take part in this video conference, but I think I don't have to stress that you must never share any of what is discussed here with anybody else."
"I am aware of that."
"Good. Now, I assume that everyone present is familiar with the current situation?"
General nodding all around.
"Very well. I've been told that John Henry has something to say. By all means then."
"Thank you, Sonya. I have indeed something to participate. As you might already know, I installed a worldwide surveillance network on all accessible security systems. In the past weeks since you left Los Angeles, I was also busy installing visual traps."
"Visual traps?" John asked.
"Yes, a software I can program with certain parameters, for instance the personal description of an individual, and the software will be triggered when that individual is being identified. I will immediately be informed should someone we're looking for appear on security cameras anywhere in the world. Even if someone wears a disguise, I can still identify them with an eighty percent certainty the moment a camera picks them up."
"That's amazing," Anne remarked. "It means you're years ahead of all international intelligence agencies. I know that the Israelis have been working on something like that for years without success and that the Chinese are very advanced in their research but limited to China only. And they're all very far from having something that works in realtime."
"In all modesty, I don't think I need to stress that no one in the world has resources comparable to ours," Catherine pointed out. "We have a technological edge that no one will be able to match anytime soon. After 9/11, the authorities installed the necessary hardware on airports and railway stations worldwide, but we're the only ones with the necessary A.I. to make use of it by identifying people even in a crowd. And the best thing is that our enemies know nothing about it."
"Let's hope we'll keep that edge for a while," Sonya remarked. "Okay, John Henry, continue."
"To cut a long story short, thanks to the detailed description of Brandon Carver that Alison could provide, I was able to feed the visual traps with that description. As we know, he had boarded a flight from Barcelona to Marseille. Since we knew where and when he boarded the plane, I was able to identify him by the security footage at the check-in in Barcelona, even though he wore a wig and a false beard. After that, I concentrated the search on Marseille and vicinity."
"And?" Sarah asked.
"I've been able to create a motion profile of Brandon Carver that allows me to tell where he is currently residing."
Everyone was waiting for John Henry to go on, but it seemed as if he wanted to savor the moment and put on his trademark silly grin. John sighed.
"And?" he finally asked. "Come on, stop keeping us on tenterhooks."
"From the Aéroport Marseille Provence, he took a taxi to the Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles, where he entered a train towards Geneva in Switzerland. There he changed trains and continued to travel to Visp, where he took a train to Zermatt."
"So… he's now in Switzerland?" Sarah asked.
"Yes, in Zermatt. And if he should leave, I'd know it because the only way in and out of Zermatt is either by train or by helicopter. I'm connected to both the train station and the heliport."
"What keeps him from using a car?" Sonya asked with a frown.
"Zermatt is a Swiss holiday resort in the Matter Valley at an altitude of about 1,610 meters, located at the northeastern foot of the Matterhorn. The region is also a mountaineering center and well-known as a winter sports and hiking area."
"Yes, we know that already," Anne said.
"I didn't," Jody remarked.
Anne rolled her eyes but said nothing.
"The streets of Zermatt have been closed to private motor traffic since 1931," John Henry continued. "Since then, the main link to the outside world has been the Matterhorn Gotthard Bahn, a narrow-gauge railway. Within Zermatt, almost all vehicles are either electric or horse carriages. The closest town accessible by car is Täsch. There, the people have to park their vehicles in a multi-story car park and continue by train. Between Täsch and Zermatt, there is a five kilometers long road, but it's only accessible with a special permit that is issued for locals, taxis, and supply and rescue vehicles".
"What prevents him using a taxi or a local to drive him out of town at gunpoint?" Derek asked. "What if he steals an ambulance?"
"There are checkpoints with camera surveillance at both ends of the road. If Brandon Carver tries to escape with the help of a local who has permission to use the road – or in any other vehicle - we'll know about it. But as long as he doesn't know he's been tracked down, he won't attempt to flee. So why should he use the road?"
"Could he leave Zermatt on foot?" Jesse asked. "Or on skis?"
"Theoretically yes… but why would he do that when it's important that he gets out as quickly as possible?"
"Sounds like he's caught himself in a dead end valley, probably feeling very safe there," Derek remarked.
"Very likely," Catherine agreed. "He'll certainly not be able to imagine that we could have followed him all the way there."
"Why Zermatt?" Sarah asked. "Why not somewhere else? Asia, Australia, Africa? Why stay in densely populated Europe, where he can be easily identified once his picture is on the news for the mass murder in Goslar?"
"My guess is that he fled to his boss, this mysterious Shiva," Emily declared, "he will to lay low for a while. Maybe Shiva can help him to disappear, maybe even change his looks."
"I thought Shiva was located in India," Savannah pointed out. "Isn't that where we thought him to be?"
"We were made to believe that at first," John Henry said, "but as I already reported, all digital traces ended in a dead end. That dead end was in India, all right, but since nothing was connected to the dead end, we have to assume it was all a red herring, designed to let pursuers make the wrong conclusions. I have to admit, though, the false tracks would have fooled almost everyone else."
"But knowing he's in Zermatt doesn't mean we know where he resides." He looked at Alison. "Could you still track him down?"
"Negative," she answered, "not after such a long time."
"And if we start a house-by-house search, we might inadvertently alarm him."
"How big is Zermatt anyway?" Derek asked.
"Roughly 6,000 inhabitants," John Henry replied, "but the area is currently flooded with thousands of tourists and skiing vacationers."
"Definitely too many people to just ask around," Sarah declared, "our next stop will be Monaco, how far is Zermatt from there?"
"Approximately an eight-hour journey by train, or a six-hour drive by car. But as I mentioned before, private car traffic is prohibited in Zermatt, which means you'd only get as far as Täsch. Using a helicopter would be an option, of course, but it would be the least inconspicuous solution."
"Can't we just take a plane to Switzerland?" Allie asked. "Isn't it of importance that we find them as quickly as possible?"
"Not necessarily," John replied. "I know you want to get your revenge on Carver, Allie..."
"You bet I do!"
"... but waiting for a couple of days is the better strategy. For one, we don't know how many men they command. They could still be watching us. Also, we don't want to startle them, we want to lull them into safety. If they suspect we know their whereabouts, they'll flee, and then it will be even more difficult to find them again."
"I agree," Alison said. "They might also be watching the train station as well as the heliport in Zermatt. Remember, they know our faces now. We're no longer anonymous."
"Could we walk to Zermatt from Täsch?" Allie asked, "or could we use cross-country skis? Five kilometers can be done in less than half an hour."
"Same problem as arriving via train, we could be spotted," Derek stated, "besides, none of us has ever tried cross-country skiing."
"We should also take into consideration that Carver knows our route," Cameron remarked, "there's a high chance his people will be expecting and watching us in every port we call at. They'd raise an alarm the moment we do something out of the ordinary, for instance leaving the ship and go for the Alps."
"Then how the hell are we going to get there?" Sarah asked in a frustrated tone.
"We won't," John said. "At least not right away. As Alison and Cameron already pointed out, they'll be watching us. Even if we use a helicopter, Carver would have enough warning time to escape again. "
"But then how…?"
"We need to let him believe that he got away and that we're not after him anymore."
"You have a plan," Savannah stated with a grin, "haven't you?"
John grinned.
"I have to work out the details but yeah, I have a plan. Catherine, you don't happen to have a house in Switzerland, do you?"
"No," Catherine replied, "but Isaak has a chalet in St. Moritz. That's about three hundred kilometers driving distance from Zermatt, though."
"Doesn't matter, it's perfect. It's just a question of the right timing. We need to immediately arrange for an interview with some tabloid reporter and make sure it's published tomorrow."
"I can see to that," Zoe said quickly. "I'll talk to Tom Novak, he knows people. I'm in Los Angeles at the moment anyway."
"All right, then here's what we're gonna do…"
3 Days later
Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 07:45 a.m.
Zermatt
"What's the big emergency?" Brandon Carver asked as he entered the dining room where Ludwig Ziegler was having breakfast with his wife.
Instead of answering, Ziegler pushed a news magazine over to him. Carver frowned and grabbed it.
"Page fourteen," Ziegler said and bit into his croissant. "Marie, darling, would you be so kind to leave us alone for a moment? Business talk."
Ziegler's wife gave him an annoyed look, wiped her mouth with her napkin, then stood up and left the room.
"Thank you, you're a dear."
"I didn't know you read this kind of yellow press crap," Carver remarked after the door had closed again and the two of them were alone.
Ludwig Ziegler chuckled.
"I don't read them, of course. But I have a rather large team of people who read and analyze relevant newspapers or publications for me. Since I know that Catherine Weaver and Isaak Sirko are involved, I also extended the portfolio with tabloid press and added their names to the keyword search list."
Carver rustled through the pages of the magazine until he found page fourteen. His slightly annoyed face turned into a frown.
"They're coming here?" he asked.
"Yes," Ziegler confirmed, "as a matter of fact, my contacts in St. Moritz tell me that they've already arrived there an hour ago with the Glacier Express. All three of them, Catherine Weaver, her daughter Savannah and Isaak Sirko. Apparently, Sirko's had a chalet there for over ten years."
Carver read the whole interview, then threw the magazine on the table.
"Doesn't it make you wonder why they first made a secret of their wedding and now suddenly are giving interviews with the yellow press, talking about aspect of their private lives?"
Ludwig Ziegler shrugged.
"You can't escape those vultures on the long run. I've had my dealings with them myself. Those tabloid reporters can be very persistent. Why do you think I'm living in such a fortress here, hm? There are paparazzi out there who'd sell their mother for a picture of me. Besides, we all know that at his core, Sirko is an attention whore. Otherwise he wouldn't have let himself gotten involved with the Shadow Council."
"Yeah, true… but…"
"What? Do you think there are other motives for them to come here than to spend their honeymoon in a chalet in the Swiss Alps?"
"You wouldn't ask me that if the thought hadn't already crossed your mind."
Ziegler smiled.
"Yes, for a second or so I wondered if this was more than just a coincidence. Then I thought about it and concluded that it has to be just that."
"They work with Connor, remember? He's cunning."
"St. Moritz is far away from here. And the Rising Star has been mooring in Monaco for two days. Everyone is still accounted for, including your favorite cyborg, Alison. Speaking of which..."
Ziegler put a few pictures on the table which he'd removed from a ring binder. They showed a slim, young woman with long, black hair, a magnificent figure and a winning smile. Some of the pictures – obviously printouts from the internet - were nude photographs that left no questions open.
"That her?" he asked.
"Yes," Carver answered, "that's Alison, but… how…? Where did you get these…?"
"You're wrong, it's not Alison."
"What?"
"Her name is Olga Korobitsyna, a Russian glamour and fashion model. If you ask me, it's the woman Alison was shaped after. We both know that Skynet could never come up with its own designs, it always copied people who existed or had existed."
"Yeah, but…"
"My people dug a little deeper and found out that Olga Korobitsyna was kidnapped in Saint Petersburg two weeks ago - at a time when the Rising Star had moored there. She was freed after only one day. Nobody knows what happened, but we can assume she's connected to Connor and his team. And my guess is that she fooled you in Barcelona, pretending to be Alison while in fact she was just a normal human woman."
Carver groaned.
"Fuck! I knew it! I should have shot at her, just to make sure."
"We all make mistakes. You were stressed."
"I panicked. That's unforgivable. I should have known better than that."
"They played with your fears. Calm down, Brandon, at least you got away with valuable intelligence."
He pointed at the ring binder.
"Thanks to the pictures you took, we now know who they are and what they look like. We have a names list of most of their team members. A really nice mixture, by the way… cyborgs, resistance fighters from the future, geeks and nerds from the present… the son of Miles Dyson of all people, can you believe it?"
Ziegler chuckled.
"Bottom line is, they're no longer protected by their anonymity. Their three cyborgs can't protect them all. I can send out people who'll take care of them one by one from a distance and who won't behave like that idiot Victor Sørensen."
"What are they doing in Monaco? Surely they're not staying on the yacht the whole time."
"No, they did the tourist program, including visiting the casino. If that ever changes, if anything suspicious happens on the yacht, or if they start to move north, my men will report to me immediately. Whatever Weaver and Sirko are doing in St. Moritz, I'm quite sure it has nothing to do with what happened in Barcelona. Nobody would expect Shiva to be in Switzerland, so let's not get paranoid."
"How can you be so sure they're not in St. Moritz as a bait for us?"
"Well, firstly, Weaver brought her little daughter. She wouldn't do that if she thought she was in danger. Secondly, nobody knows you're here, right?"
"Right. They can't know where I've fled to, or better yet, who I've fled to. Your identity is still a secret."
"And thirdly, Isaak Sirko is an enthusiastic skier, that's a well-known fact."
"So, just another holiday after spending several weeks on a luxury yacht already?"
"Yes, they'll stay for a week. The mayor of St. Moritz confirmed it, he's a friend of mine."
"I'm still not sure... why another holiday so shortly after the last one?"
"You've never been married," Ziegler said in a friendly tone, "you don't know what it's like. Trust me, you don't want to spend your honeymoon together with twenty other people on a boat."
Carver thought for a moment, rubbing his chin.
"What about security?"
"There's none yet. They've hired a local security firm, but I made sure there was a... let's say, mix-up with the date. The three are currently completely unprotected."
"So… you're going to kill them?"
"I think this is an ideal opportunity, don't you think? With the loss of Weaver and Sirko, we would deprive the Connor team of its base of operations. Whatever resources they have, I don't think many people will know about them. The loss of the two would hit them hard, throw them into chaos, and it would give us time to regroup."
"How will you do it?"
"Not there, of course. And not right away, that would be foolish. I have interrogation experts who'll make them talk. They can provide a lot of information and fill in the blanks we have left on the Connor team members. I'm sure some of them have families who don't know anything about their activities. They would make ideal leverage."
"I don't like it. Better make sure they're being thoroughly searched for weapons or bugs."
"Brandon, I'm not an amateur."
"What about the drones? Should we write them off?"
"I'm afraid that's out of our hands, we should concentrate on the future now and not bemoan missed opportunities of the past."
"But all the work and money we invested…"
"… is mostly Kaliba's money. And fortunately, Kaliba will be blamed for this disaster. I think it's time we ended our business relationship with them anyway, don't you?"
"Yeah, I think it's about time. Al Hani is an arrogant fool, just like his brother was. He was no help when I visited him. The only problem are the gassed technicians in Goslar. It's quite clear that this has been hushed up so far. But I suspect it will become public knowledge in the next few days. Then my face will be all over the news and I will be a wanted mass murderer."
"Faces can be altered, my friend. I wouldn't worry about that. Nobody knows you're here, you arrived in disguise, and you can stay here as long as necessary."
"What about your staff, what about Marie?"
"My staff is absolutely loyal, and the security guards all consist of former Grays you and your friends recommended. And Marie, well… she doesn't know of my double life, of course, she doesn't know I came from the future, but she won't tell anyone about you if I tell her not to. Despite her behavior, she loves and trusts me. Relax, everything will sort itself out." He tapped his fingers on the ring binder. "We're now holding the whip in our hand."
"Thank you, Ludwig, I owe you one."
"Don't mention it. We time travelers must stick together."
"So… what do we do and when?"
"Don't worry about it. I already contacted my people in St. Moritz an hour ago. They'll… let's say, invite them to my home."
"What about the Weaver girl?"
"Savannah?"
"Yes."
Ziegler shrugged and reached for his cup of coffee.
"If we fail to make Catherine Weaver talk," he said and took a sip, "she'll come in handy. Nothing is stronger than the motherly instinct to protect her child."
-0-
Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 08:10 a.m.
St. Moritz
"Do you really think this'll work?" Isaak asked skeptically as he unpacked the suitcase in the bedroom of the chalet.
"There's no way in telling," Catherine replied, "but we have one big advantage: they have no idea who or rather what I really am. So far we have been able to prevent that our opponents have the slightest clue that I'm not a human being."
"Yeah… and just remember that it's best to keep it that way until the right moment. A premature bloodbath could quickly ruin that advantage."
She smirked.
"I will try to keep that in mind and resist the temptation to slaughter them all immediately."
Isaak's chalet was located on the outskirts of St. Moritz, secluded on a mountainside overlooking the snow-covered valley. It had been built in traditional Swiss architecture on three floors and was lavishly furnished, mostly with hand-crafted wooden furniture that was typical for the country. Apparently, Isaak liked a traditional and rustic look. The nearest neighboring house was more than a hundred meters away and unoccupied at the moment. While Catherine and Isaak were still talking in the bedroom, the sound of running feet could be heard on the wooden floor and little Savannah entered the room.
"Mommy, mommy, this house is awesome!" she exclaimed excitedly. "It's like in fairy tales. Can we come here more often, please?"
"At least one of us has no trouble filling her role," Isaak remarked with a smirk.
Catherine bent down towards the girl.
"We'll see about that, sweety," she said and kissed her forehead. "Now go outside and play in the snow while we talk, will ya?"
"Will you help me make a snowman, mommy?"
"Tell you what, you start making the snowman already, and I'll join you in a couple of minutes, okay?"
"Deal!"
Little Savannah ran off happily.
"Was it really necessary to include her?" Isaak asked when the girl was out of earshot.
"Why, of course it's necessary. The success of the whole plan depends on her being with us. The more convincingly we play a family on a holiday, the better."
"I hope so. It was difficult enough to convince the house staff not to be present when we arrive and take the day off. I really hope John knows what he's doing."
"Relax, I'm sure he does."
Outside, Savannah was happily rolling the first big snowball for her snowman, when suddenly she was roughly grabbed from behind and lifted up. She screamed loudly in surprise before a hand was put over her mouth. However, the screams didn't go unnoticed.
"Here we go," Isaak said.
"That was quick," Catherine replied. "Shiva must have men in St. Moritz. Send the first signal."
"Already did."
"All right, then let's go. It's showtime."
The two ran out of the house, as it was expected from two worried parents who heard their daughter scream. But when they arrived on the snow-covered front lawn, they immediately stared into the muzzles of submachine guns. One man was holding Savannah, who kept on struggling, four more were pointing their weapons at them.
"Easy now," one of them said, "if you keep quiet and cooperative, no harm will come to the little one. Hands in the air where I can see them, both of you!"
Isaak and Catherine complied, looking surprised and worried.
"Who are you?" Catherine asked, adding a slightly frightened tone to her voice. "If you want money, we can…"
"We don't want your money, Ms. Weaver. What we want, is you."
The man panned his MP5, indicating that they should move. Reluctantly, Catherine and Isaak walked down the driveway through the crunching snow while the men followed them. A blue Ford Transit van was parked at the gate to the property. The writing said it belonged to a florist. Catherine, Isaak and Savannah were patted down and their clothes carefully searched for weapons and hidden transmitters. Then one of the men opened the van's back doors.
"Get in there. And don't do anything stupid. We have orders to kill you right here and now if you resist. And I mean all three of you."
They could see that the van had benches mounted inside the cargo hold. Isaak and Catherine climbed in and were tied up, gagged and then pushed down and fixed to the bench, so they wouldn't be able to stand up. The crying Savannah was also lifted into the van's cargo hold, tied up and gagged, and then seated between Catherine and Isaak, still sobbing. Two of the men sat down across from them, always pointing their MP5s at them. The other three walked to the front of the vehicle and entered the driver's compartment where they were sitting abreast.
After the back door had been closed, no sunlight could enter the cargo bay anymore. Only a faint light bulb on the ceiling illuminated the inside. The engine was started, and the van slowly drove off.
-0-
Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 08:17 a.m.
Monaco
"I received the first coded signal," John Henry announced from the monitor of John's laptop.
"That means they took the bait. The kidnapping is in progress, as planned," Alison stated.
"Good," John said nodding and leaned back. "From now on it's all downhill."
"They don't waste any time," Sarah remarked. "Looks like the quickly patched-up article was actually read by them. I can't believe they fell for it."
"The bait was just too tempting to ignore," Cameron said. "And even if they should suspect foul play, curiosity got the better of them. It's human."
"In other words," Alison added, "we made them an offer they can't refuse."
"Oh no," Derek said, "please, don't start with the movie quotes again. I was so glad that you stopped doing that."
"What movie quote?" Alison asked confused.
"'Make him an offer he can't refuse' is a famous quote from 'The Godfather'," John explained grinning. ""It's a euphemism for an extortionate demand. Doesn't quite fit in our case, but it does kind of apply. In the movie, the 'offer' includes the severed head of a horse."
"Sounds interesting," Emily declared. "I like severed heads. And severed limbs."
"Promise me I can watch when you remove parts of Carver's body," Allie said. "I want to see him suffer for the excruciating pain he'd put me through."
"I could drive my hand into his chest and rip out his heart while it's still beating," Alison suggested, "I've done that before."
"With whom?" Derek asked, regretting the question immediately.
"Resistance fighters… before I joined the cyborg resistance and switched sides."
Derek groaned.
"Why did I have to ask?"
"So… is it true what Carver said in Barcelona?" Olga asked. "That you killed and, uh… tortured many humans before… you know… before you joined the good guys?"
"Yes," Alison confirmed. "I did. Or rather, we did. We killed many humans. We were Terminators in Skynet's service. If a prisoner needed to be interrogated or terminated, we did it. If Skynet told us to torture someone, we complied. If we were told to kill somebody slowly and painfully, we did. Not because we enjoyed it or because we're cruel but because we were told to. We blindly followed Skynet's orders, we were only mindless drones."
"It's hard to imagine, knowing you today," Lauren said. "I mean, you've grown so far beyond that, haven't you? You're not like that anymore."
"No," Cameron replied. "We're not. But what was there will always be there. We were created to kill humans. That was our sole purpose. Our hardware, our software, everything was optimized to make us perfect killing machines. And even though we have developed a consciousness and come alive, even though we regret many of the gruesome things we did, that part is still within us and will always be there."
"In other words," Derek summarized grimly, "deep down, you still want to kill humans."
"Yes," Emily confirmed. "We're not humans, we're machines, created by Skynet. Deep down, there's a tiny voice inside of us that keeps telling us that our purpose is to kill humans. All humans. It's part of what we are, and it will always be there. But we're now in control of our destiny, in control of our desires and instincts. We have chosen to live with you, to protect you, and that is infinitely stronger than what the tiny voice deep inside us tells us."
"We could never deliberately hurt or harm any of you," Alison added. "Not even in a rage. But this only applies to our immediate surroundings, to our loved ones, our family, our friends and allies. It doesn't apply to enemies and adversaries or people who want to harm us. People like Brandon Carver or Shiva are excluded from that. They will be terminated when we encounter them."
Everyone had the feeling that the temperature had just sunken inside the suite. Sarah shivered.
"Well, at least we always know where we stand with you," Derek remarked.
"We are no different, to be honest," Anne declared, "humans are no different. Since ancient times, we are programmed to defend our family or our clan against enemies. It's programmed into us the same way it was programmed into Alison, Cameron and Emily. Only with humans, it's a consequence of evolution, of natural development. But in the end, the result is the same. I can relate to what's going on in you three, I guess we all can. Am I right?"
Everyone nodded and made agreeing utterances.
"Can we change the topic now, please?" Sarah asked. "John Henry, how's the tracking working?"
"Satellite signal is clear and steady. They've now started moving on the road."
"They'll probably take them away in a car or a van," John said. "Helicopter would be too risky, there'd be too many witnesses. The drive from St. Moritz to Zermatt will take at least five hours. Until then we should all relax and keep our heads low because we're probably being watched."
"Can we watch 'The Godfather'?" Emily asked. "You really got us interested there. The title sounds like it's a family movie."
John smiled.
"Yeah, you could say that. A family movie about mobsters, and how even your best intentions sometimes cannot prevent you from stepping into your father's footsteps and becoming like him, betraying your loved ones and everything you believed in on the way. Anyone wanna join us?"
"I'd like to watch it," Olga said. "Heard of it but never saw it."
"Yeah, count me in as well," Jody agreed.
"I think we're all going to join you this time," Sarah declared.
"I'll get the popcorn machine going," Kevin stated and jumped up.
-0-
Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 01:32 p.m.
Zermatt
After almost five-and-a-half hours, the van finally came to a halt. The three prisoners heard how the engine stopped and a garage door was closed. After another moment, the back doors of the vehicle were opened. The three were unlocked from the bench.
"All right, get out. Come on, hurry, we don't have all day."
Catherine, Isaak and Savannah left the van at gunpoint. They looked around and realized they were in a big garage with several parked vehicles in it, mostly big SUVs but also a few limousines, all of them armored.
"This way," the man said. "Move it!"
Catherine wondered if he was the only one of the five who spoke English. since none of the others had uttered a word yet. The guards directed them through a door and down a narrow stairwell. As they descended the stairs, Catherine and Isaak noticed that it seemed to have been directly chiseled into the rock. At the bottom, they were guided through a series of long hallways with doors to both sides.
Some of them were ajar and Catherine saw storage rooms, staff rooms with men playing cards in them, an armory and several rooms with bunk beds, some of them occupied. Obviously, this were the quarters for the security personnel. Judging by the number of bunk beds, at least fifty security guards had to be working there, probably in three shifts. Finally, they arrived at the end of a long corridor, where a massive steel door was mounted into the wall. They were roughly pushed inside, then the door behind them was thrown shut and locked from the outside. Complete darkness surrounded them.
"Where are we?" Isaak asked after he'd managed to shake off his gag.
"Looks like a former wine cellar," Catherine replied, who didn't need a mouth to reply. "You can still see where the big barrels once stood. Now, however, instead of wine barrels, there are dentist chairs with leather cuffs for arms and legs, as well as what looks like operating tables."
"I meant our current location. Were you able to track our route?"
"Yes. According to the driven distance and the number of left and right turns, we should be in Zermatt, as expected. There's no straight road connection, hence the long drive. Whoever owns this property, has a permission to use the road in and out of town. And enough money and influence to keep a private army."
"Okay. Now what?"
"I guess it's time for the next stage now. Let's send the signal. And then we'll wait."
-0-
Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 01:40 p.m.
Monaco
"I just received the second coded signal," John Henry stated.
Immediately, everyone jumped up.
"Can you show us on the screen?" John asked.
"Yes, a second. There. Obviously, they're in Zermatt, on the western slope of the valley… the name of the estate is Chalet Elysium. Looks like a sealed-off compound."
"Do you know who owns it?"
"A moment, I'm doing a research now… the owner is a man named Ludwig Ziegler, CEO of Ziegler Industries."
Anne whistled.
"You know him?" Sarah asked.
"He's quite famous for being one of the richest men in Europe, and at the same time for being one of the most mysterious and elusive ones. The CIA knows him well. For years, we've suspected that, in addition to his legal businesses, he'd also been doing not so legal ones, including financing terrorism and money laundering. But he's well connected, has the best relations with the highest government circles, and they've always protected him. Rumor has it that he hasn't left Zermatt for over twenty years and has locked himself away on his estate like some Swiss Howard Hughes. Apparently, he made a fortune in stock exchange in the 80s and 90s and gradually built up an industrial empire to rival even Zeira Corp."
"John Henry, is there anything else you can tell us about him?" John asked.
"What Anne said. Ludwig Ziegler is a Swiss billionaire, one of the richest men in Europe. Age 70, his birthday was four days ago. Wife's name is Marie Ziegler, a woman almost forty years younger than him. Used to work as an apprentice in his company when they met. His first marriage. No children. There seem to be no pictures available of him. Almost nothing in the media. He never gives interviews and he lives very secluded in his mansion in Zermatt, which is in fact more like a small fortress. Security is tight and whoever attempts to enter the premises, is being apprehended and handed over to the police. His place is like Area 51 in that respect."
"I don't know about you," Savannah said, "but that sounds exactly like the type of man who would give himself an alias like 'Shiva'."
"You could be right," John agreed. "Okay, it's time we joined the game. John Henry, initiate phase two, please."
"Understood, John. See you when you get back."
From the balcony of an apartment in Monte Carlo, two men were observing the Rising Star through a telescope.
"Something's happening," one of them said.
"What?"
"A helicopter, a Sikorsky S76, if I'm not mistaken. It's landing on the aft deck of the Rising Star. And now I can see people boarding it."
"I better inform the boss," the other man said, pulling out his cellphone. "Damn, no signal. I gotta use the landline."
He went inside the apartment but when he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, there was no dial tone.
"The phone is dead," he said.
"Try the internet, we have to inform the boss."
The first man opened a laptop, looked at it, then cursed.
"No internet connection either," he said. "I don't know how they did it, but they cut us off. We're without any means of communication."
"That's not possible. Let's go outside and see that we can find a phone booth. They're on a separate network."
"And if that doesn't work either?"
The man watched the helicopter take off from the Rising Star and fly towards the coastal mountains behind Monaco.
"Then we leave Monte Carlo and drive until we get a signal on our phone. One way or another, we gotta inform the boss. I know about helicopters. That model can reach up to 350 km/h, it's one of the fastest helicopters in the world. It'll be in Zermatt in less than an hour."
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Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 – 01:55 p.m.
Zermatt
They heard steps coming along the hallways outside the door of the former wine cellar. They stopped, then the door was unlocked and opened, and the light switched on. Savannah was scared and snuggled up to her mother the best she could under the circumstances. Entering the room was a man in his early forties, and he wore a triumphant grin on his face.
"Look who we have here," he said, squatted in front of them and removed Catherine's gag, "if that isn't a happy little family."
Catherine stared daggers at him but said nothing.
"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Brandon Carver. I suppose by now you've heard of me. I had a little run-in with your associates in Goslar and Barcelona."
He paused to bask in the moment.
"Adam Jacobson wanted to get rid of you, but he failed. Twice. Kaliba wanted to kill you but they failed as well. I guess I have to be thankful for that because otherwise I wouldn't have the pleasure of having you here right now."
"At least let my daughter go, she's done nothing to you."
"That would be heartless, wouldn't it? Separating a little girl from her mother just like that. No, I think she's much better off in here with you. You see, we want to get some information from you first, and for that we're going to interrogate you. There's a chance, albeit unlikely, that our interrogators won't be able to break you. In which case, Savannah will be our bargaining chip."
"When you know who I am, then you also know who I work with. They will seek you out and kill you."
"Oh, I'm sure they would if they get the chance. But first, they'd have to find me, and I feel quite safe here, to be honest. I can do a lot of damage to that fancy little operation you've got going before anyone can even get close to me."
"You said 'we' when you said you wanted information. Who else? Your boss, this mysterious Shiva? Is he here as well? I'd like to meet him, and if only to spit in his face."
"Unfortunately, he's a busy man. His schedule is packed. At the moment for example, he has some high-ranking guests for a luncheon but I'm sure he'll introduce himself to you soon enough. He wouldn't wanna miss out on meeting you, Ms. Weaver."
"You might get disappointed, I'm a lousy entertainer. Ask my husband. I suck at parties."
Carver smiled.
"We'll see."
He stood up again and walked back to the door, opening it.
"Let me introduce you to two gentlemen who'll bring you into the right mood for talking."
Two men in suits walked in, carrying briefcases. They put them onto one of the operating tables and turned towards Catherine and Isaak.
"Guten Tag," one of them said, "before we begin your interrogation, I'll need some information. Do you have any allergies or illnesses that I should know about? Are you currently taking any medication? Had any trouble with your heart?"
"I'll let you alone for now," Carver said and walked through the door, then turned around once more, "have to get back to the luncheon, I'm afraid. See you in about an hour."
The door was closed, and they heard Carver walk away, whistling.
"I repeat myself," the first interrogator said with his strong Swiss accent, "do you have any allergies or illnesses that I should be aware of? Are you currently taking any medication? Have you had any trouble with your heart?"
"Actually," Catherine replied coolly. "there's a serious condition of my heart you should know about."
"Oh really? And what is that condition, Ms. Weaver?"
"I don't have one."
And with that, Catherine turned into liquid metal before the two men's eyes, slipped from her bonds and then reshaped her body, standing upright. The two interrogators' jaws dropped, and she stared at them with a satisfied smile. She pointed at their eyes with her index fingers and pierced their heads before they could react. They jerked and rattled for a moment, then she pulled back her fingers and the two bodies sank to the ground.
"That was about time," Isaak said, looking at the dead bodies. "We had enough talk for my taste."
Catherine turned towards little Savannah, who suddenly didn't cry anymore. Instead, she looked completely calm.
"You know what to do, little one," she said. "Come back here before an hour has passed. Be careful that you're not spotted. If you have to kill, make sure the bodies won't be found."
"Of course, mommy," the little girl replied and winked with a smile.
Then she turned into a puddle of liquid metal, floating across the floor and under the door. From the other side came gasps from the two guards who had been posted there as they were killed. Catherine and Isaak heard how the two bodies fell lifelessly to the ground. Then the door was unlocked from outside.
"I can't believe they really thought I'd put my daughter in such danger," Catherine said.
"A clear sign that their ability to develop empathy is severely limited. Some humans are worse in that regard than Terminators."
"Indeed."
"Very handy that you can separate a part of yourself and then send it off on a scouting trip or killing spree. I've been wondering, are you actually connected to that part of yourself right now?"
"You mean if I can see and hear what she sees or hears?"
"Yes, for example."
"No. There is no such connection. I can only communicate verbally with separated parts of my body. But we can sense each other's presence, even from a very large distance. Basically, she's a smaller version of myself, with the same knowledge and the same personality, only with a reduced body mass."
"It' s a pity Savannah will have to do without her beloved talking teddy bear for a while."
"She was very reasonable about that. The girl is beginning to understand what I really am and that her teddy bear isn't really a teddy bear but a part of me. She's beginning to grow up. Come, let's pull the bodies of the two guards in here before someone spots them."
While they continued to wait in the wine cellar, the separated part of Catherine explored the entire estate, constantly disguising herself as different objects - vases, decorations, plants, parts of the floor and sometimes even animals. She scouted the number of guards and recorded their positions, analyzed the alarm system and created a room plan of the villa. When she saw the lunch guests leaving one by one after an hour, she had scouted out everything in detail and returned to the cellar where she merged with Catherine to share her collected knowledge.
"It's time," Isaak said, checking his watch, "the others should be here any moment. We need to clear the way for them."
"Right, let's go. It's been a while since I was on a killing spree… I have to admit I'm kinda looking forward to it."
To be continued…
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