shadows, the building could have been a gigantic cruise ship sliding through a black-and-silver sea.
At the end of the village’s main street the road forked, one lane snaking down to the valley floor and the other twisting uphill to the corporate compound. Alex paused at the fork and studied the building.
Pia was up there, Faust had said, to keep her away from Frederick. But what about that newscast announcing that she and the boy were on their way to Peru? And if she wanted the kid, why had she given him away? Had it been for money, as Faust implied? If so, what made her change her mind? Had her declaration that someone wanted to harm Frederick been a last-ditch lie to save herself?
A shrug; it was none of his business. He headed downhill.
Fifty yards farther along, he paused and stared again at the office building. No harm in going up there to say goodbye, telling her he knew she really was Frederick’s mother. Maybe she would explain why she had agreed to have a kid and give it away, why she’d changed her mind and didn’t want Koenig to have the boy after all. She might even give her version of her relationship with Faust.
Alex shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position. He hesitated for another moment and began hiking up the mountain.
Chapter 11
A sentry, one of Silver Hill’s regular security men, hailed Alex fifty yards from the corporate headquarters building. “Wadaya say, Bryson? You here to relieve me?”
Alex paused on the walkway. “How’s it going, Medford? Having a good time?”
“Freezing my nuts off, man.” Medford, a slightly overweight, forty-something Midwesterner, rested the stock of his rifle on hard-packed snow and fumbled for a cigarette. “Flanagan’s got us checking in every half hour. Thinks he’s running a war zone.”
“Probably Faust’s idea. He handles security for Koenig. You meet him?”
“Koenig?” Medford spoke with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hell, I ain’t even met the Pope.”
Alex chuckled. “Faust. He’s like Flanagan, only smoother.”
“I don’t wanna meet him, then.” Medford glanced at his watch and pulled a two-way radio from a clip on his belt. “Check-in time.” He held the radio to his face. “Perimeter report. Ops normal.”
Through a squealing burst of static, a voice asked if he had seen any movement near the office.
“Come to think of it, I did see something. Little guys, I counted seven. You sure that ain’t Snow White up there?”
The radio voice suggested that Medford pull his thumb out of his ass.
“Yeah, screw you, too.” Medford hooked the radio back on his belt, flicked a wooden match with a thumbnail, and cupped the flame with a palm while lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and offered the cigarette pack to Alex.
“No thanks. I’m trying to live a clean life.”
“What you doing up here?”
“Been down on the strip with Faust. He said to check on the woman. Where’ll I find her?”
Medford pointed to the main entrance. “Somewhere.” He hoisted his rifle, gave Alex a casual salute, and trudged away, puffing on his cigarette and mumbling to himself.
Alex stowed his snowshoes, rifle, and backpack behind a shrub near the front entrance. He headed for the door but turned back and retrieved the rifle. His silvery-gray parka and thermal trousers were standard issue for Silver Hill security personnel, and Medford had been armed, so anyone he met would expect him to be carrying a weapon. He looped its nylon sling back over his shoulder and stepped into the lobby.
He had been in the office building twice before: once to sign on with Colorado Land and Cattle Company and then to process out. He paused just inside to get his bearings. A surveillance camera mounted near the ceiling caught his eye. He headed for the stairwell to the second floor, expecting to be intercepted.
The man who
At the end of the village’s main street the road forked, one lane snaking down to the valley floor and the other twisting uphill to the corporate compound. Alex paused at the fork and studied the building.
Pia was up there, Faust had said, to keep her away from Frederick. But what about that newscast announcing that she and the boy were on their way to Peru? And if she wanted the kid, why had she given him away? Had it been for money, as Faust implied? If so, what made her change her mind? Had her declaration that someone wanted to harm Frederick been a last-ditch lie to save herself?
A shrug; it was none of his business. He headed downhill.
Fifty yards farther along, he paused and stared again at the office building. No harm in going up there to say goodbye, telling her he knew she really was Frederick’s mother. Maybe she would explain why she had agreed to have a kid and give it away, why she’d changed her mind and didn’t want Koenig to have the boy after all. She might even give her version of her relationship with Faust.
Alex shifted his backpack to a more comfortable position. He hesitated for another moment and began hiking up the mountain.
Chapter 11
A sentry, one of Silver Hill’s regular security men, hailed Alex fifty yards from the corporate headquarters building. “Wadaya say, Bryson? You here to relieve me?”
Alex paused on the walkway. “How’s it going, Medford? Having a good time?”
“Freezing my nuts off, man.” Medford, a slightly overweight, forty-something Midwesterner, rested the stock of his rifle on hard-packed snow and fumbled for a cigarette. “Flanagan’s got us checking in every half hour. Thinks he’s running a war zone.”
“Probably Faust’s idea. He handles security for Koenig. You meet him?”
“Koenig?” Medford spoke with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hell, I ain’t even met the Pope.”
Alex chuckled. “Faust. He’s like Flanagan, only smoother.”
“I don’t wanna meet him, then.” Medford glanced at his watch and pulled a two-way radio from a clip on his belt. “Check-in time.” He held the radio to his face. “Perimeter report. Ops normal.”
Through a squealing burst of static, a voice asked if he had seen any movement near the office.
“Come to think of it, I did see something. Little guys, I counted seven. You sure that ain’t Snow White up there?”
The radio voice suggested that Medford pull his thumb out of his ass.
“Yeah, screw you, too.” Medford hooked the radio back on his belt, flicked a wooden match with a thumbnail, and cupped the flame with a palm while lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and offered the cigarette pack to Alex.
“No thanks. I’m trying to live a clean life.”
“What you doing up here?”
“Been down on the strip with Faust. He said to check on the woman. Where’ll I find her?”
Medford pointed to the main entrance. “Somewhere.” He hoisted his rifle, gave Alex a casual salute, and trudged away, puffing on his cigarette and mumbling to himself.
Alex stowed his snowshoes, rifle, and backpack behind a shrub near the front entrance. He headed for the door but turned back and retrieved the rifle. His silvery-gray parka and thermal trousers were standard issue for Silver Hill security personnel, and Medford had been armed, so anyone he met would expect him to be carrying a weapon. He looped its nylon sling back over his shoulder and stepped into the lobby.
He had been in the office building twice before: once to sign on with Colorado Land and Cattle Company and then to process out. He paused just inside to get his bearings. A surveillance camera mounted near the ceiling caught his eye. He headed for the stairwell to the second floor, expecting to be intercepted.
The man who
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