years before for illegal wire tapping. He was now twenty-thousand dollars richer and it was unlikely he’d go to the authorities when he found out what was going on here. Even if he did, there was nothing useful he could tell them.
THIRTEEN
THE LOBBY
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
1637 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
SATURDAY, DAY 1
T he African-American who had hijacked the shuttle bus was lounging comfortably on one of the sofas near the reception desk when Pallisani emerged from the office, dragging a still-distressed Jenny Callister behind him. The girl’s incessant sobbing was beginning to annoy him and he had things he had to get on with. Catching sight of his colleague, he called him across to the desk.
“Carter! Over here!”
Carter rose easily and sauntered over to the desk. He didn’t care much for Pallisani but he’d agreed, as they all had, that a rigid chain of command was essential for an operation of this scope.
Pallisani jerked the girl’s arm and sent her staggering toward the other man.
“Put this one with the others in the conference room,” he ordered, a little more abruptly than Carter was willing to accept.
“Yes, Duce,” he muttered.
Pallisani swung back to glare at him. “And cut the funny crap. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Carter nodded. He understood that. He also understood that he wasn’t going to put up with the Italian throwing his weight around unnecessarily. Taking orders was one thing. Taking crap was something else entirely and he hoped the big paisan got the message. He gave the girl a gentle shove in the direction of the elevator.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, “let’s join the others.”
Pallisani watched them go. He placed both hands deliberately on the reception counter and took a deep breath. He’d got the messagefrom Carter all right. What’s more, he recognized the fact that the big man was right. But dammit, he’d a right to be uptight at this stage of the operation. Things were going to plan so far, but that could change at any minute. He and his companions seemed to be in undisputed control of the hotel but the situation was a fragile house of cards. It could collapse around them at any moment. It was essential at this stage that they maintain their momentum, keep things moving, keep the hostages off balance and wondering what was coming next. Uncertainty was their ally and the longer they maintained it, the firmer their hold over their prisoners became.
He reached into his shoulder bag and brought out a walkie-talkie. It was a piece of equipment that every member of the team carried. He thumbed the squawk button on the side and spoke into the microphone.
“Kormann. You read?”
He released the button and, after a few moments, heard the small loudspeaker in the unit come to life.
“Kormann.”
Just the one word. Pallisani thumbed the talk button again.
“Phones are back on line. Let’s get moving.”
In the conference room, Kormann slid his walkie-talkie back into the leather holder clipped to his belt. He glanced around, caught Ben Markus’s eye and beckoned to him to move forward. Hesitantly, unsure of what he might be getting into, the duty manager obeyed.
“Come with me, Ben. We’ve got some business on the roof and I want you there,” Kormann told him.
Markus nodded warily. After all, he had no other choice in the matter. Kormann took his arm and steered him toward the door. On the way, they passed the dejected figure of the assistant chef. Kormann grinned at him without sympathy.
“Tough luck, buddy. Still, things could be worse.”
The chef had good reason to look glum. Originally, he had not been among those selected to remain behind. But, as he had been about to move down to the bus, Kormann had noticed the high white toque he wore and realized its significance.
“Just a moment,” he had said. “He stays too.”
Markus had remonstrated, but without any real hope of success. “But we’ve already got the five you
THIRTEEN
THE LOBBY
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
1637 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME
SATURDAY, DAY 1
T he African-American who had hijacked the shuttle bus was lounging comfortably on one of the sofas near the reception desk when Pallisani emerged from the office, dragging a still-distressed Jenny Callister behind him. The girl’s incessant sobbing was beginning to annoy him and he had things he had to get on with. Catching sight of his colleague, he called him across to the desk.
“Carter! Over here!”
Carter rose easily and sauntered over to the desk. He didn’t care much for Pallisani but he’d agreed, as they all had, that a rigid chain of command was essential for an operation of this scope.
Pallisani jerked the girl’s arm and sent her staggering toward the other man.
“Put this one with the others in the conference room,” he ordered, a little more abruptly than Carter was willing to accept.
“Yes, Duce,” he muttered.
Pallisani swung back to glare at him. “And cut the funny crap. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Carter nodded. He understood that. He also understood that he wasn’t going to put up with the Italian throwing his weight around unnecessarily. Taking orders was one thing. Taking crap was something else entirely and he hoped the big paisan got the message. He gave the girl a gentle shove in the direction of the elevator.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, “let’s join the others.”
Pallisani watched them go. He placed both hands deliberately on the reception counter and took a deep breath. He’d got the messagefrom Carter all right. What’s more, he recognized the fact that the big man was right. But dammit, he’d a right to be uptight at this stage of the operation. Things were going to plan so far, but that could change at any minute. He and his companions seemed to be in undisputed control of the hotel but the situation was a fragile house of cards. It could collapse around them at any moment. It was essential at this stage that they maintain their momentum, keep things moving, keep the hostages off balance and wondering what was coming next. Uncertainty was their ally and the longer they maintained it, the firmer their hold over their prisoners became.
He reached into his shoulder bag and brought out a walkie-talkie. It was a piece of equipment that every member of the team carried. He thumbed the squawk button on the side and spoke into the microphone.
“Kormann. You read?”
He released the button and, after a few moments, heard the small loudspeaker in the unit come to life.
“Kormann.”
Just the one word. Pallisani thumbed the talk button again.
“Phones are back on line. Let’s get moving.”
In the conference room, Kormann slid his walkie-talkie back into the leather holder clipped to his belt. He glanced around, caught Ben Markus’s eye and beckoned to him to move forward. Hesitantly, unsure of what he might be getting into, the duty manager obeyed.
“Come with me, Ben. We’ve got some business on the roof and I want you there,” Kormann told him.
Markus nodded warily. After all, he had no other choice in the matter. Kormann took his arm and steered him toward the door. On the way, they passed the dejected figure of the assistant chef. Kormann grinned at him without sympathy.
“Tough luck, buddy. Still, things could be worse.”
The chef had good reason to look glum. Originally, he had not been among those selected to remain behind. But, as he had been about to move down to the bus, Kormann had noticed the high white toque he wore and realized its significance.
“Just a moment,” he had said. “He stays too.”
Markus had remonstrated, but without any real hope of success. “But we’ve already got the five you
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