Dent did so, scanning quickly through the details.
“Now,” said Emery, “look at the hostages’ names.”
And there it was, buried in the middle of the list—one of Senator Carling’s party, listed as an aerospace executive working for Rockair Aviation, with a degree in aeronautical engineering. But what wasn’t so obvious was that he was more than a company executive with a nine-to-five desk job. He was Rockair’s senior test pilot, and he’d had fifteen years in the air force. He was the leader of the group of pilots in the photo—the ones described as the best the air force had.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Dent Colby said quietly, as the man’s name leapt off the two lists. “You think that he…”
He hesitated and Emery concluded it for him.
“Do I think he flew the Powderburn operation? I phoned General Barrett and he ran a check of Pell’s records. There’s a twelve-month gap—listed as special duties. It coincides with the time of Powderburn. And now here he is in Utah, still involved in developing stealth technology.
“Now all of that could be a coincidence. But then I did some more checking. Seems that when Powderburn was planned, there was a special presidential aide in the White House called Ted Carling.”
“Carling? The senator?” Dent sat up a little straighter. But Emery shook his head.
“Not then. That came later. But his role in the White House is listed as ‘Special plans aide to the president on internal security’—or, more specifically, the much vaunted ‘War on Drugs.’ You see where this is going?”
“Carling was the one…” Dent began, then hesitated to make sure he wasn’t leaping to a false conclusion. But Emery finished for him.
“Pell might have been the pilot on Operation Powderburn. That’s a possibility. But one thing is definite. Carling was the one who planned it and ordered it carried out. He’s the target in all of this. The very fact that they haven’t mentioned him or used him as a bargaining tool confirms it. They want to keep us guessing.”
Right then, before Colby could say anything, the phone rang.
TOP STATION
FLYING EAGLE CABLE CAR
WASATCH COUNTY
1551 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
TUESDAY, DAY 4
The storm had been a blessing. With visibility reduced to a few yards, Jesse had taken the chance to make his way to the chairlift once more. Shrouded in the white poncho, he figured he was virtually invisible in the whiteout.
It had been a successful day so far. He’d managed to make contact with Tina Bowden again when she and the chef had arrived to prepare food in the middle of the day. This time, she had engineered a reason to come to the storeroom and he wasted no time putting the questions that Colby wanted answered. In clipped tones, as they moved through the storeroom, piling another carton with the requirements for the lunch break, she had given him the answers. How much Dent would make of them, he had no idea, but now, at least, he knew for sure that the terrorists were aware of Carling’s identity, and he had a good description of the man in charge—Kormann, she had said his name was. When the storm hit, he realized that he had a chance to get this information to Colby immediately, without another overnight wait for the chairlift.
Now, at the top of the mountain once more, armed with his own cell phone and one he’d found in Tina Bowden’s room, he hit the redial button for the FBI’s1-800 number.
As soon as he identified himself he was patched through to Colby’s phone. The eagerness in the other man’s voice was unmistakable.
“Jesse! I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow!” he said.
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, Agent Colby, but there’s a storm blowing. I used it for cover to get up here. Now listen up. I managed to speak to Tina again and here are some of the things you wanted to know.
“The leader of the mercenaries is a guy called Kormann. Around five ten, five eleven, medium weight and build—say one-sixty pounds. Dark hair going gray, so he may be in his late thirties, early forties. I saw him up here the other day and he looks pretty fit. What I didn’t see was something Tina mentioned. He has amazingly blue eyes—piercing blue.” He hesitated. “You getting this?”
“I’m recording the whole thing,” Dent told him. “Keep going.”
“Okay. I’ve been thinking some on this. They’ve got Carling and they know it. But they’re not using him as a lever to bargain with you, right?”
“That’s right, Jess. Where you going with this?”
“Just hear me out, Dent. Next up, they’ve spun you some story about Irish terrorists they want set free. But nobody in here has heard one word about that. On the other hand, this Kormann guy said right at the start that they were businessmen and they’re here for ransom.”
“With you so far,” Colby said. He and Emery exchanged glances. The man on the other end of the phone was beginning to reflect their own thinking.
“It’s just I think this whole terrorist thing is a blind of some kind, is all,” Jesse finished. “It’s not political. They’re in it for the money, pure and simple.”
“Nine point seven million is a lot of money,” Colby agreed.
“Nine point seven?” Jesse queried. It was the first time he’d heard the sum. “Why’d they pick a figure like that?”
“That’s what’s got us all wondering. You got anything on any of the others besides this Kormann type?”
Jesse hesitated slightly. He thought briefly about what he’d told Dent the previous time they’d spoken. The group was disciplined, efficient, businesslike. There wasn’t a lot more to tell. Except one other detail.
“The second in command is calling himself Pallisani,” he said. “Sure to be a false name but Tina says he looks like he’s got an Italian background and he sounds like he was born in the U.S. Maybe Brooklyn, but she’s not certain.”
Colby jotted down the details. Jesse was sure to be right. The name would be a phoney. “Anything else on him, Jess?” he asked quickly.
“He’s a bit easier to describe than Kormann. He’s tall, maybe six one or six two, with gray hair and prominent cheekbones. He’s maybe fifty and he’s very thin, Tina said.” He hesitated, then added apologetically, “Sorry I can’t give you more.”
“That’s fine, buddy. You’re doing great. Anything else spring to mind?”
“Yeah. This one I’m not sure about. It may mean nothing. But have these guys given you any sort of deadline so far?”
Dent Colby hesitated. Then he realized there was no reason why he shouldn’t give Jesse the details of the ransom demand. “So far, they’re asking for the money and they want a chopper in there on Sunday. They say they’re taking ten of the hostages with them and we’ve got to provide a plane out of Salt Lake City. If we screw up, they’ll start killing hostages.”
“Sunday?” Jesse said, uncertainty obvious in his voice.
“That’s right. Does that mean something to you?”
Again the deputy hesitated. Colby knew he was a man who considered his words carefully, never made a statement that he hadn’t thought through. “It’s just… I told you this guy Kormann was up here the other day. He came up in the cable car after we’d spoken.”
“He was looking for you?” Colby prompted, suddenly concerned that the kidnappers might have some way of monitoring Jesse’s cell phone conversations. Jesse hurried to dispel the fear.
“No. He’d simply come up here for the same reason I did—to use his cell phone.”
Again, Colby and Emery exchanged puzzled looks. Why would Kormann, who Colby guessed was the man he knew as Roger, need to travel all that way to use the phone?
Emery leaned forward and said softly: “Maybe he didn’t want the call monitored. The line runs through here.”
Colby nodded but at the sound of the unfamiliar voice on the line, Jesse was instantly alerted.
“Who was that? You got someone else in there?” He was reasonably confident Colby wouldn’t be dumb enough to let anyone from the pres
s listen in but he wanted to be sure. After all, it was his life on the line up here if Kormann’s men ever realized he was on the loose.
“It’s a guy name of Emery who’s here with us, Jess,” Dent reassured him. “He’s okay. He’s a presidential adviser.” He made a small moue at the professor as he added this last. It wasn’t technically true anymore but it was the quickest way of reassuring Jesse. Emery nodded his understanding. Jesse’s voice, when he spoke again, sounded mollified.
“Okay then. Thing was, this Kormann guy just said one or two words. He said Friday’s the day. There was something about depending on someone called George… then he repeated it: Friday.”
“Friday?” Colby said. “That was it?”
“That was it. Mean anything to you guys?”
Again, Colby and Emery exchanged puzzled looks. “Not so far, Jess,” Colby said finally. “We’ll think on it some. You got anything else for us?”
“That’s about it for the moment. I’d better call it a day. I want to get back down the mountain while this storm’s still blowing, and the chairlifts shut down at four thirty. Anything else you need to know?”
“Just a few things,” Colby said dryly. “Starting with what the fuck this is all about. But for the moment, that’s it. Good work, Jesse, and stay safe.”
“I’ll work on it,” Jesse told him. “I’ll try to get back to you tomorrow or Thursday. I’ll see if Tina has heard any mention of something happening Friday, okay?”
“Okay, Jess. Stay in touch.”
There was a brief beep as the cell phone disconnected. Colby shook his head, trying to make sense of all the disparate pieces of the puzzle. Already, Truscott Emery was typing the description of Kormann into his laptop, to send back to the research team at Quantico. At least that was somewhere they could start.
THIRTY-SIX
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
1930 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
TUESDAY, DAY 4
Kormann wiped a crust of bread around the rim of his plate, soaking up the last of the gravy. The veal had been excellent and he had to admit there were side benefits to hijacking a luxury hotel. Ralph had excelled himself tonight, he thought, pushing away the separate plate of French fries that he always insisted on and never ate.
He glanced up at Pallisani sitting opposite him in the gymnasium office. The other man had finished his meal several minutes before Kormann. He bolted his food, wolfing it down without taking time to appreciate it. Still, he thought, what could you expect? Regretfully, his mind dwelled for a few moments on the excellent wine cellar maintained by the hotel restaurant. He would have appreciated one of the fine reds that were stored there to go with the meal. But he’d set the no drinking rule from the start and he felt it was only right for him to adhere to it if he expected his men to.
Pallisani belched softly. Kormann wrinkled his nose in distaste. He wished the Italian had chosen to wait until he’d finished his meal. Pallisani didn’t notice the fleeting expression. He wasn’t big on subtlety, Kormann thought, either giving or receiving.
“So, looks like they’re going with the plan on Sunday?” Pallisani said now, and Kormann nodded.
“Not much else they could do,” he agreed. “They can’t take the chance that we’ll kill the hostages.”
“You think they bought that Irish thing?” Pallisani asked and Kormann shrugged.
“Maybe. Doesn’t matter if they didn’t buy it completely. They can’t totally ignore it and it keeps them looking in another direction. If they think we’re terrorists or political fanatics, it’ll make it that much harder to find us after it’s all over.”
“The news tonight said they were talking to the Brits about it. I guess that means they believed it,” Pallisani said thoughtfully. Kormann studied him for a few moments.
“That could have been a snow job. Maybe they believed it. Maybe not. As I say, it’s not too important. They’ve got to give it some credence at least and the doubt in their mind is what matters most.”
Pallisani nodded several times, although Kormann was willing to bet that the Italian had no real idea why the doubt was the important thing. As Kormann had observed before, Pallisani was no genius. He was a good operative and good at carrying out instructions. But the concept of mind games, of keeping the other side off balance and denying them any hard knowledge of who they were dealing with, was beyond him. Original thought was not his strong point. He was content to play his part and take the money at the end of it.
Which, after all, was why Kormann had recruited him in the first place. The last thing he wanted was a second in command who might guess what he really had in mind.
“So, what are you planning to do with your three million bucks?” Pallisani asked now. He was in an expansive mood and he wanted to discuss the prospect of the money that was coming to him. As Kormann had explained it to him, there was two hundred thousand for each of their eighteen accomplices and three million each for him and Pallisani. Leaving one hundred grand for incidental expenses, that totalled nine point seven million dollars. It was a perfectly logical reason for the odd amount and that was why Kormann had recruited eighteen men, along with Pallisani.
As far as the men themselves were concerned, the price of the ransom was determined by the number sharing in the proceeds and that was what he kept them believing. Kormann couldn’t help a small flicker of a smile as he wondered what Pallisani would say if he realized that he, Kormann, never planned to collect the ransom money. By Sunday, everyone still in the hotel would be dead.
“I guess I might get out of this business,” he said now, in reply to the question. He had no intention of getting out of the business. He loved the buzz, loved the power, loved the challenge of living by his wits. But Pallisani believed him and was nodding in agreement.
“Me too,” he replied. “Maybe settle down, get a little ranch somewhere. Somewhere warm,” he added, “not some ass-freezing dump like this.”
“Yeah,” said Kormann, bored to tears by the other man’s conversation. “That’d be the life all right.”
Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Friday to come. He glanced at his watch, then shoved his chair back from the desk he had been using as a table and rose to his feet.
“Time to check on the roof,” he said. “Keep an eye on things here.”
Pallisani nodded. There had been no need to tell him that but it made it easier for Kormann to leave alone. In his present expansive mood, Pallisani might have suggested keeping him company. As Kormann walked through the outer reception room for the gymnasium, he noticed that five of the guards were taking their meal break. That would mean three were on patrol in the gymnasium itself, where the hostages were finishing their meal. He smiled to himself again. Another variation on stew. The girl doing their cooking certainly didn’t have Ralph’s touch in the kitchen, he thought.
He went through the outer room, a kind of reception room where guests would have waited for their turn on the complex exercise machinery, and several of the men nodded to him. He acknowledged their greetings and headed for the elevator bank.
Tina Bowden saw him leave. The outer room was separated from the gymnasium proper by two heavy glass sliding doors. Tina knew the glass was almost half an inch thick and was shatterproof. That meant it was pretty well bulletproof—particularly if you were using one of those 9 millimeter machine carbines or pistols that the guards all carried. Maybe a 30-06 or a Magnum might crash its way through, she reflected. But she hadn’t seen any of them around.
Except for the one she now had secreted under her bedroll on the floor. She’d collected the gun earlier, when she and Ralph had prepared the evening meal, tucking it into the waistband of her skirt under the white blouse. At the same time, she’d stashed a dozen of the shiny brass magnum slugs into her boots, carefully concealing them when she returned to her bedspace against the wall.
Eighteen slugs in all, counting the six that she’d loaded in the pistol. It wasn’t a lot to be takin
g on ten armed men. But she hoped to supplement her weapon with one or two of the Ingrams that the guards carried, if push came to shove.
Casually now, she let her gaze roam around the room, watching the movement of the guards, mentally rehearsing the movements she would make and forcing the thought of the third man from her mind. When the time came, she knew, she would have to blot him out of her consciousness and trust Pell to take care of him. She wouldn’t be able to let any thought of him distract her from the task in hand. No matter how tempted she would be, she mustn’t glance in his direction until the first two men were down. And by then it would be too late, one way or the other. She figured that in the confusion of it all, after she’d taken out the first guard, she’d get one free shot at the second. But by the time she’d taken it, the third man would have her well and truly located. She wished she knew a little more about Pell. She would be putting a hell of a lot of trust in him.
She now turned to see where the third guard was and located him at the back of the room. Her eyes rested on him for a few moments, then looked to where Pell sat beside his companions, just a few yards away. The pilot had been watching her and as her gaze fell on him, he met it and nodded, almost imperceptibly.
THE J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON D.C.
0105 HOURS, EASTERN TIME
WEDNESDAY, DAY 5
Deep in the basement of the FBI building, research technician Brady Temple watched the names and photos of known terrorists, mercenaries and political activists as they scrolled across his computer screen in a flickering blur, faster than the eye could follow. The computer was on a probability search, into which he’d fed the parameters, such as they were, that had been emailed to them from Utah by Truscott Emery.
Age, height, build, hair color and, of course, the most salient detail of all, those piercing blue eyes that Jesse had mentioned, were all fed into the computer as it tested and rejected hundreds of names and profiles every minute. Temple had even programmed in the initial letter of the surname Kormann. All too often, he knew, when people assumed false names, they stayed with the same initials. It seemed to make things easier to remember. Or maybe it gave them a link with some kind of reality in the shadow world they inhabited.