“What is it?” Colby asked him and the technician handed him the form.
“This came in while you were in conference, Mr. Colby,” he said. “At the time, I didn’t know whether to interrupt you or not. But then I did some checking and I think it could be important.”
Colby took the piece of paper, frowning as he read the name. “Lee Torrens? Who the hell is he?”
“He’s a she, sir. She’s the sheriff over at Steamboat Springs, in Colorado. Contacted the Salt Lake City office saying she has confidential information for you that might help with the situation here. They checked her out and she’s genuine, so they passed the message on,” he added.
Colby frowned thoughtfully. The place name had rung a bell. “Steamboat,” he mused. “I did some work on a case there a few years back.” He looked down at the note again. “I’ll call her. Sure can’t do any harm.”
TWENTY-NINE
TOP STATION
FLYING EAGLE CABLE CAR
SNOW EAGLES RESORT
WASATCH COUNTY
1010 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
MONDAY, DAY 3
Jesse stamped his feet in the snow, trying to keep the blood flowing. While it was a bright, sunny day, the temperature up here on the mountain was below freezing and standing around in the ankle deep snow for the better part of an hour was a great way to get frozen feet.
He swung his arms in great arcs, driving the blood out to the fingertips. His breath hung on the still air in clouds. For perhaps the tenth time, he moved to the side of the tram terminal and leveled his binoculars at the hotel. He counted half a dozen men on the roof, most of them sitting at ease by the quad fifties and the radar dish. Two of them, however, maintained a constant watch on the pass to the northwest, and occasionally scanned the mountains surrounding the hotel. As one of them swept his glasses in the general direction of the cable car terminal, Jesse froze against the building’s shaped steel side. The glasses swung past him and continued sweeping, covering the ridge lines and the trees through a three hundred and sixty degree arc.
Jesse estimated the straight line distance to the hotel as maybe three quarters of a mile, although going cross-country would almost quadruple that distance. Given a high-powered rifle and a good scope sight, he figured he could stop those guys getting off too many rounds from the fifty calibers. And he could make it pretty damn unhealthy for anyone trying to line up a Stinger on an inbound aircraft. He shrugged. The chances of getting his hands on a rifle were slim to none, he realized.
The sudden burr of his cell phone drove away these random thoughts. He fumbled in his pocket for it, clumsy with the gloves he was wearing, and slid it open. “This is Parker,” he said.
“Deputy Parker?”
“That’s right. Who’s this? Is this Colby?”
The voice was deep and authoritative. It matched the heavyset man he’d seen on television.
“This is Special Agent Dent Colby. Deputy Parker, exactly where are you?”
The voice had a strange echoing tone to it and Jesse guessed that he was talking on a speaker phone.
“How many people can hear me there?” he said cautiously. He didn’t want the world to know where he was and there was always the chance that there might be a member of the press within hearing.
“Just me and my comms tech, Deputy,” Colby assured him. “You can speak freely.”
“Okay. I’ll make it fast. I’m on the mountain above Canyon Lodge, at the top of the cable car station. I’ve been in the hotel and I’ve seen what’s going on. They don’t know I’m here.”
“Records show you checked out night before last,” Colby said. He still wasn’t totally sure about this. Parker might be calling with a gun to his head. It could be a trick on the part of the terrorists—another way to keep him off balance.
“I did,” Jesse said impatiently. “I settled my bill and stayed the night. I was having one last ski run when these guys took over the hotel and all hell broke loose.”
“Okay,” Dent said carefully. “Deputy Parker…”
“Call me Jesse, for Chrissake,” Jesse broke in.
“Okay, Jesse. You understand I have to make sure you are who you say?”
CANYON ROAD
WASATCH COUNTY
1016 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
MONDAY, DAY 3
Colby said the words very deliberately, hoping that the other man would read the underlying message—I have to make sure you’re not under duress. He glanced at the notes the technician had give him, seeing one salient fact there that he could use. If Parker had his wits about him, and if there was a gun at his head, Colby would give him a chance to reveal that fact by giving a false answer—one that the terrorists wouldn’t detect.
“I understand.”
Colby frowned at the small loudspeaker, trying to detect some sense that the other man knew what he was talking about. He thought maybe it was there but then he shrugged. Maybe he was just hoping it was.
“Okay, the sheriff in Routt County is Lee Torrens. What can you tell me about him?”
This time he was sure he could detect a grin in the man’s voice as he answered.
“I can tell you he’s a she for starters. You testing me, Colby?”
Dent let go a pent-up breath, suddenly conscious of the tension in his shoulders. He nodded at the loudspeaker.
“Just making sure you’re able to talk freely, is all.” He said. “Okay Jesse, what can you tell me about the situation up there? You’re not a hostage?”
“No. Like I said, they don’t know I’m here. I’ve been sneaking around the hotel for the past day and a half, keeping out of sight.”
Colby drummed his fingers on the desktop for a few seconds, thinking fast. This was a real break. Now all he had to do was work out the best way to exploit it.
“Let me get this clear. You’re free to move around?”
“Within limits. I had to get up to the peak above the cable car to get a signal for the cell phone. The hotel is in a dead spot. I’ve made contact with one of the hostages. She’s the security officer, name of Tina Bowden.”
Jesus, thought Colby, this was getting better and better by the minute. To the microphone, he said: “Tell me everything you can about what’s going on up there.”
Jesse paused, collecting his thoughts. Then he began. “They’re pros, Colby, real pros. The girl says there’s a military feeling to them. They’re organized, disciplined. They know what they’re doing. And they’re totally ruthless.”
Dent Colby frowned. The picture Jesse was providing didn’t gel with the impressions he’d been given in his telephone contact with the kidnappers.
“Parker, this isn’t the picture I’ve been getting. When I talk to these guys they’re coming across as a bunch of terrorist crazies.”
“Then they’re messing with your head. These guys aren’t crazy. They’re very calm and collected. According to Tina, they say they’re in it for the money and nothing else. They seem more like mercenaries than terrorists. There’s no particular racial group here. No political agenda.” He hesitated, then concluded, “If you’re thinking of these guys as a bunch of loony-tune fanatics, forget it. They’re cold, hard and organized.”
“You haven’t seen anything that might tie them into any sort of Irish operation?” Colby asked. He was pretty sure the Irish connection was a red herring, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.
“Irish?” Jesse said, puzzled, “First I’ve heard of it. Why d’you ask?”
“Never mind. Just keep telling me as much as you can. The hostages are all safe so far, right? Nobody’s been injured?”
This time the pause was longer. Much longer. Dent felt a sudden premonition of bad news, then Jesse’s voice was back on the loudspeakers again, quiet and with a note of disbelief to it.
“Jesus, you mean you didn’t know? They’ve killed maybe fifty people already.”
The words hit Colby like a kick to the stomach. He actually recoiled slightly from the microphone in f
ront of him, staring in horror at the speakers, as if he could see the man behind the disembodied voice.
“What?” he said, the words barely above a whisper.
“There was a bus… it was full of people from the hotel that they’d released. The bus was halfway down Canyon Road when they brought the mountain down. It’s buried there somewhere under that avalanche. Fifty, sixty people,” he repeated.
Colby was struck dumb by the news. There had been no hint of this in any of the conversations he had had with the terrorists. He had been proceeding under the normal rules of hostage negotiation: keep the lines of communication open, give way on a few small concessions, stall for time and try to establish a rapport with the man at the other end. Above all, do everything possible to make sure the hostages remained unharmed. And now this.
This changed everything. This was outside anything in his experience. Sixty people, simply wiped out. It was staggering. It was beyond comprehension. As he stared at the loudspeakers once more, he knew the immediate question that would be asked of him when he reported this news to his superiors. And he knew he had to ask the question now of Jesse.
“Jesse, the people on the bus… who were they?”
“I don’t know names. But they were all hotel staff. They kept a skeleton staff to run the place, and sent the rest down.”
“So, as far as you know, the guests are okay?” Colby didn’t want to ask directly about Senator Carling. If Parker didn’t know his identity, there was no point in risking telling him about it. His next words dispelled that thought, however.
“The senator’s still okay, if that’s what you’re asking.” The flat tone was discernible, even through the speakers. With over fifty people dead, Jesse wasn’t too impressed with Colby’s obvious focus on one senator. Colby shrugged. That was too bad. This was the real world.
“Do they have any idea who he is?” Colby persisted. This time, Jesse’s tone was more matter-of-fact. As a lawman, he could understand the significance of the question, and the value of the senator as a negotiating tool.
“I don’t know.” Then his memory kicked in and he altered that statement: “Just a moment. Tina said she heard their leader telling him he’d be back on the Hill as soon as this is over, so I guess they do know who he is. Look, Colby, this cold weather is playing hell with the cell phone battery. I’m getting a battery flat signal constantly and it could cut out any time now.”
Colby felt a sudden chill at the words. He’d heard the warbling chirp on the line but hadn’t registered its significance. This could be his only contact with the deputy and there were still so many questions he needed answered.
“You got any way to recharge it?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Yeah. I can plug it into the car socket overnight. Now look, from where I am, I can see those guys on the hotel roof. They’ve got two twin fifty-caliber mounts down there and they look like they’re slaved to a radar system.”
“That’s right. Plus they tell us they’ve got Stinger missiles. You see any sign of those?”
“Can’t be sure but there are cases down there that could hold ’em. I’d say they’ve probably got ’em.”
“How many men, Jesse? Any idea? And how are they armed?”
“I figure around eighteen to twenty. They’ve all got automatic weapons—the one I saw looked like an Ingram—and probably sidearms. I’d say they…” The next few words were obscured and Colby leaned forward, calling urgently.
“Jesse? You still there? Jesse?”
The reply was a little garbled but he could make it out. “Still here, Colby. I think the battery’s just about dead. Could go any moment now. If I cut out, I’ll call again tomorrow or the next day. Your number will be in the phone memory now.”
“Jess!” Colby cut in urgently, “If you can contact this”—he checked the notes he’d been taking as they spoke—“Bowden girl, see if she can tell us who’s running this thing. Name, description, anything you can tell us, okay?”
“Got it. I’ll try to make contact with her this evening, see what she knows. Let me know if—”
The line went dead midsentence. There was a slight hissing noise from the speakers in the trailer. Colby stared at them, then at the monitor again.
“Jesse? You there, Parker?”
He waited a few seconds. There was no further word. The technician was checking his instruments, shaking his head.
“He’s gone, sir. The connection is broken.”
TOP STATION
FLYING EAGLE CABLE CAR
SNOW EAGLES RESORT
WASATCH COUNTY
1021 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
MONDAY, DAY 3
Jesse cursed as the phone went dead. He looked at the display window. The green light was out. There were no symbols visible on the screen. Dead as a dodo. That was the problem with this below freezing weather, he knew. It would kill a battery quicker than anything, cutting its endurance to a fraction of its normal charge life.
There was a wooden bench by the side of the terminal building and he slumped onto it, thinking through the logistics of the next few days. He couldn’t risk moving back to the hotel before dusk. The chances of being spotted in the open during daylight were too great. That meant he would be cutting it fine to make contact with Tina this evening. He’d need to make his way to the car and plug his phone battery into the car charger, then get across to the chairlift again before dawn the following day. Assuming everything worked out, he might be able to contact the FBI agent again tomorrow morning—Tuesday morning, he reminded himself. But if just one part of the schedule went wrong, it would be Wednesday before he could phone again.
Suddenly, he felt very tired and he leaned back against the steel side of the building, closing his eyes for a few moments and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He was in that position when there was a massive crash of machinery from the building and the wall shuddered against his back.
He came up off the bench in a second, his right hand fumbling with the zip on his parka as he reached for the Colt. Then he stopped, his heart racing. He didn’t need the gun right away. But as he realized what had caused the noise, he knew he’d have to get out of sight, and quickly.
Someone had boarded the cable car at the bottom station. Whoever it was, he was on his way up the mountain right now and he’d be here in less than ten minutes.
THIRTY
THE J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON D.C.
1257 HOURS, EASTERN TIME
MONDAY, DAY 3
Jesus,” said Morris Tildeman as he studied the printed sheet of notes the FBI director had prepared for the meeting. Benjamin had just finished expanding on the notes, repeating all that Dent Colby had passed on to him. Tildeman, Janet Haddenrich and Truscott Emery had been summoned to the FBI building for an emergency briefing.
“Have you taken this to the president?” Haddenrich asked now. Benjamin shook his head.
“I’m doing that directly. He’s been tied up with the G8 meeting this morning. He’s due back in the White House at 1:15. I’ve told Pohlsen that there’s been a development but we thought it best to let the president keep his normal schedule.
“We don’t want the bad guys getting any idea that we’ve heard anything out of the ordinary. We want to keep things looking as normal as possible. As far as they know, the White House is concerned, of course, but not involved.”
The others nodded. It only needed one nosy reporter to figure out that the president had canceled an important session with the G8 council so he could confer with the FBI, NSA and CIA directors and they’d have it linked to the situation in Utah. And then the kidnappers might start wondering why the White House was showing such an interest in the matter. After all, as Jesse had pointed out to Colby, the kidnappers were keeping track of events on TV.
“The question is,” Benjamin said now, “what sort of difference does this make?”
“Jesus, fifty people dead? That’s a pretty big diffe
rence, Linus,” Morris Tildeman answered, shaking his head over the summary once more.
“It changes the entire scenario,” Emery put in and they all looked at him. He shrugged and spread his hands. “In a normal situation like this, the kidnappers leave themselves an out, right up to the point where they kill someone. Short of that point, they know the authorities will negotiate. Once that line is crossed, they know that there will be no real negotiation, no matter what is said. Once they’ve killed any of the hostages, they know that we can’t trust them to release the others. And these guys crossed that line on day one,” he added.
The FBI director nodded. “That’s the way I see it too. These guys are mass murderers. Simply no way we can let them get away with that. There’s no way we can realistically try to negotiate a solution and they’ll know it.”
“Except they don’t know we know,” Haddenrich put in. “At least that lets us keep up an appearance of negotiating.”
“More and more, I’m wondering whether they really want to negotiate, at all,” Emery said. “I can’t get rid of the feeling that there’s something more behind all this—something we’re not seeing.”
“The president isn’t going to buy your message theory now, Truss,” Benjamin told him.
The professor shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not right,” he said.
“Christ, what a mess,” Benjamin said quietly. He looked around the assembled group. “I’d better get this to the president, see what he says. Anyone got any bright ideas before I go?”
“Keep up the negotiations. Keep stalling all we can until this guy can get us more information. That’s the one card we’ve got now.” It was Tildeman who spoke but the others nodded their agreement.
“What do we know about this Parker guy?” Haddenrich asked.
“We’ve checked his background. Seems like he’s a good cop. Was a top flight homicide detective with Denver PD, then he had some kind of trouble in a shooting and moved back to Steamboat. Been with the sheriff’s department there for the past two years.”