said Nina. Warden didn’t seem to detect her undercurrent of sarcasm—though she couldn’t help noticing that he was so arrogant as to assume that she would agree to go along with the Group, no matter what. “As for what Stikes has done, I don’t think that’ll have much effect on my decision.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” Again, the financier failed to pick up on her not-exactly-buried subtext. “In that case, if you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to the Group.”
Eddie gazed through the binoculars, holding one gloved hand above the lenses to ward off the blowing snow. “So that’s the hotel? Looks like it should have Jack Nicholson as the caretaker.”
He and the group of eight men with him, in white camouflage gear and balaclava masks, were at the top of a ridge about three-quarters of a mile from the Blauspeer hotel and several hundred feet higher. At this distance through the obscuring conditions, the building was barely more than a silhouette against the clouded valley, its shape defined more by its lights than by detailed features.
But Eddie could still see enough to tell that it was heavily guarded. Figures patrolled the grounds, making sure that the hotel’s reclusive VIP guests maintained their privacy.
They were about to be gate-crashed.
His companions were some of Glas’s loyal employees, a retinue of European security personnel urgently assembled on the billionaire’s orders while Eddie was on the flight to Switzerland. A helicopter had made a risky flight into the thickening clouds to drop them on the other side of the mountain, out of sight of the hotel, so they could traverse a pass and approach from a direction that would—in theory—be more lightly guarded. He didn’t know how good the men were, but had been assured that all were ex-military, willing and able to accomplish their mission.
That assurance was about to be tested. He tilted the binoculars down to the mountainside below. It was one of the hotel’s slopes—a black run, steep and potentially dangerous, even deadly, to anyone not an expert skier. The poles of a ski lift were visible off to one side, but it was not running. The only way down was to ski.
Eddie had done a considerable amount of that during his SAS training, but mostly cross-country rather than downhill, and it had been some years since he had been on a skiing holiday. Now that he thought about it, the last time had been during his marriage to Sophia, over seven years before. Christ, where had the time gone? He hoped he hadn’t become too rusty.
He would find out soon enough. The already grim sky was steadily darkening as evening drew in. They would have to move quickly—not least because Nina would be inside by now.
He continued his sweep of the slope. Before setting out, he had surveyed the area using online aerial photos; as expected, he spotted a small building at the bottom of the ski lift. It was the perfect place for a guard to find respite from the wind …
“Thermal,” he said. A man produced a device resembling a compact video camera and handed it to him. Eddie switched it on and peered through the eyepiece at the hut.
Someone was there, a humanoid shape in bright blues, yellows, and reds standing out against the cold gray blankness of the snow. He panned the thermal imager across the vista below. More figures popped out from their surroundings, some standing watch in the shelter of buildings and trees, others trudging through the open along well-trodden patrol routes. “How many guards?” asked one of the men.
“I count, let’s see … four at the bottom of the slope, and another eight or nine nearer the hotel.” Even through the thermal imager, it was impossible to miss that all the guards were armed with MP5 submachine guns. He gave the gadget back to its owner, who conducted his own scan while Eddie checked the sky. Conditions were steadily worsening, the wind-driven snow getting thicker as the landscape dropped deeper into shadow. “Okay, get ready.”
The team members quickly began to don their skis as Eddie took back the thermal imager and checked the guards’ locations again. According to Glas, with whom he had spoken via Penrose before leaving New York, the Group maintained its own private security force; the men protecting the hotel were professional mercenaries. Even in law-abiding Switzerland, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill an intruder, relying on the power and influence of their employers to cover it up.