Читать книгу Where Truth Lies - Christiane Heggan - Страница 9

Three

Innsbruck, Austria October 9

FBI Special Agent Matt Baxter stopped to catch his breath and turned to check on his two buddies, Austrian police officers Stefan Birsner and Ernst Verlag. Both were in superb shape, but at this altitude, the steep climb up the Hintertux glacier was a challenge for even the most experienced climbers.

The lift had dropped them off at the Gefrorene Wand Summit and they’d had to walk the rest of the way to the cabin, where, hopefully, the yearlong chase would end. Stefan raised his hand in acknowledgment, and Matt nodded before resuming his walk. They were lucky, first to have found someone who would operate the lift, and second, that at this early morning hour, the trails were empty. The last thing they needed, should the plan backfire, was an audience.

Matt looked up. The cabin wasn’t much farther. It looked desolate, surrounded by all that snow, and unoccupied, which concerned him. The last report he’d received from the Vienna office was that Basim Rashad, one of the most wanted terrorists in the world, had rented the cabin for the week.

Based on the information, Matt had enlisted the help of the Austrian police, and had mapped out their route. He had turned down an offer to use a police helicopter. The sound of a chopper would alert Rashad, and who knew what that maniac was capable of if he found himself cornered? Matt had no intention of returning to Vienna with the ashes of another martyr who had died for his cause. His mission was to bring the Iranian back alive so he could face trial for masterminding a deadly bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Indonesia.

Matt stopped and surveyed the cabin, hoping that Rashad was still in bed and not watching the mountain through his window. But why would he? So far, his plans had gone off without a hitch. After playing cat and mouse with the FBI for the last year, Rashad had vanished into thin air somewhere between Bangkok and Rangoon.

Alerted that the terrorist might have sneaked into Austria—more precisely, the Mayrhofen Resort in the Ziller Valley—Matt had immediately reserved a room at the luxurious Innertalerhof Hotel in nearby Gerlos, where he had waited to hear from the Vienna office.

That was a week ago. Rashad had to be feeling pretty invincible by now.

Matt took a pair of binoculars from his backpack and focused on the cabin. It remained dark, with no sign of life, not even a trail of smoke coming from the chimney.

Either Rashad was fond of subzero temperatures, or someone had tipped him off and he was long gone.

He heard a low whistle and turned around. Stefan was pointing at the side door where a pair of skis was propped against a utility fence.

Relieved, Matt gestured for the two men to cover the back of the house. He would take the front.

He hadn’t taken the first step when all hell broke loose.

The front door slammed open and a fully-dressed man, on skis, jumped out and started down the slope.

“Shit!”

Matt made a “let’s go” gesture and took off after him.

The “Tux” as the locals called it, was a skier’s dream. Due to the height and freezing temperatures of the glacier, the Tux was open for skiing all year round and had guaranteed powder as early as October. Matt had skied the glacier’s many trails often, always for pleasure, but at this moment, his mind was only on two things—catching the bastard and staying alive.

As the slope got steeper, an almost-vertical drop from the top, Matt realized that Rashad, a risk-taker, was as skilled on skis as he was behind the wheel of an all-terrain vehicle or a twin-engine plane. Catching him wouldn’t be easy.

Matt now had a pretty good idea of where the Iranian was going—the car park eleven kilometers down. Always prepared, Rashad had probably left a car in the parking lot in order to facilitate his escape, should that become necessary.

“Sorry, Rashad,” Matt muttered. “Not this time.”

As Rashad raced downhill, he glanced over his shoulder, grinned and raised his left pole in a salute.

“You little shit.” In response, Matt let off the brakes. Leaning forward, knees bent, his poles tucked under his arms, he tore down the mountain like a speed demon. Behind him, one of the Austrians yelled a warning. Matt ignored him.

He passed the fleeing man at high speed, waiting until he was well ahead before snapping into a smart stop.

Rashad tried to veer off to the right, but Ernst had already moved into position, while Stefan kept to the left. Trapped, Basim kept on skiing, coming straight at Matt.

What the hell was that fool doing?

Matt braced himself for a collision, then at the last possible moment, Rashad stopped, sending a plume of powder up in the air.

Matt was on him in an instant.

“You have great courage, Agent Baxter.” Rashad spoke with a thick middle-eastern accent. “I admire that in a man.”

“Save it, Basim,” Matt said, calling him by his first name as was the Arab custom. “It’s all over for you.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You let me go and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You think I want your blood money, Basim?”

“Money is money. Just think of all it can buy you. Retirement, perhaps? Wouldn’t you like that? Or would you rather die from an assassin’s bullet? Because that’s what’s waiting for you, my friend. You put me away and you sign your death sentence.”

The threat didn’t faze Matt. He’d heard worse. “You’re the only one with a death sentence in his future, Basim.”

The two Austrians, young, tall and blond, moved forward. A pair of handcuffs dangled from Stefan’s hand as he approached the Iranian.

As Rashad was being cuffed, Matt called his superior at the Sacher Hotel in Vienna. “We got him,” he said, watching Basim shoot him a murderous look. “Is that chopper on the way? I’ve seen enough snow to last me for a lifetime.”

“It should arrive any moment,” Roger Fairfax replied. “And by the way, that was good work, Matt. I’ll buy you a beer when you get back in town.”

In the distance, the sound of a helicopter engine grew closer. “They’re here,” Matt said. “See you soon, Roger.”

The helicopter was just overhead now. As the pilot started to lower the cable that would lift Basim into the chopper, Matt’s cell phone rang. “Hello?” He covered his other ear with his hand to shield off the noise of the hovering aircraft. “Lucy? Is that you?”

“Yes. What’s that racket?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she shouted back. “You need to come home right away, Matt.”

Matt felt his stomach tighten. “Why? What happened?”

“Dad’s been arrested for murder.”