“We’re on our way, Raki,” Vera held my hand.
The seats of the Iroquois were of contoured leather. The bays closed shut with plexiglass windows. At the touch of a button, a walnut bar slid open.
“The Snowman is an exclusive club,” Vera poured me a glass of brandy as the copter lifted smoothly backwards and up. “Here, get warm.”
Mountain after mountain, like an angry sea turned to stone, spread out in every direction. The reflection of sun on ice and snow made the peaks glint.
“Fabulous country, isn’t it,” Vera said. “To the south is Snowking Mountain. To the west are Despair, Redoubt, and Triumph. Devils Dome is to the East.”
“Where is Snowman?”
“Just keep your eyes sharp. You won’t miss it.”
We flew for another twenty minutes through the teeth of the ice peaks. The copter was rising steadily. The pilot radioed, and in back I could see the Cobra watching to see whether there were any followers. Our Iroquois rose faster, heading for one immense crest.
The copter shot over the crest. The top of the mountain had been leveled off as if with a knife. Instead of rock and ice, there was a modernistic stone mansion, an angular creation of glass — bulletproof without a doubt — and, jutting through the stone, cedar timbers. It looked like many other expensive resort hotels, with one great difference. Snowman had no advertising, not one billboard. And the whole thing must have been airlifted at incredible expense.
The glass pod of a roof gunner followed the copter’s flight. A shelf of ice split to reveal a landing pad. A second pad appeared for the Cobra, and, looking closely, I could see three other pads with connecting steps to the main building. Now I guessed where Snowman got its name. If all five pads were in use, the complex would look from the air like the outline of a man. Or of a corpse.
The Iroquois descended, humming, to the pad. Our bay window was yanked open by our gunner, and Vera stepped out first.
“Father!”
Two men stood on the pad waiting for us. One was a soldier in the Snowman uniform and carried an M-16 slung over his shoulder. The other man was older, broad-shouldered, and richly tanned, with silver hair, black eyes, and a Roman nose. He was one of the most impressive men I’d ever met. Intelligence and ruthlessness emanated from him like heat from the sun; and he was Vera’s father. He put his arm around her protectively and measured me with his eyes before giving me a firm handshake.
“Mr. King, I am Raki Senevres.”
“So I’ve been told,” he answered in Turkish. “I very rarely believe what I’m told. Don’t you think that’s the wisest course?” He kissed his daughter again and switched to English. In any language his voice resonated with Italian. Other Mafiosos tried to hide their accent, not this one. “I’ve had strange reports about you from my French friends. Vera, my dear, you have a lot to tell your father about yourself and your friend. Come on.”
As we walked up the steps, King caught me looking at the Cobra hovering overhead.
“You fly, Mr. Senevres?”
“Planes, not helicopters,” I lied. “I admit I was wondering how you got that.”
“In parts from the South Vietnamese. From wrecks, you understand. I rebuilt them at a tenth their original cost.”
“That would be $50,000, instead of $500,000?”
“That was no guess, was it, Mr. Senevres? You’re right. Vera, I think your Turkish friend has spent some time in the arms trade.”
I wondered whether King had. Strapped to his pants leg was a beautiful pre-war Luger, easily the match of the handgun I’d had to leave behind for the Astra. King ushered us into a cedar-paneled foyer and then into an enormous living room. Three fireplaces were going. Fur rugs covered the floor, along the walls was a small library, and, for the thirsty, there were two bars. We were the only people in the lodge living room. It seemed not at all abandoned but, rather, as if it belonged to a very profligate, wealthy man.
Picture windows created views of the Cascades and an occasional glimpse of a guard or a Cobra. At a nod from King, a waiter wheeled a mobile bar over to where we sat.
“Some raki for you?” King asked me. A bottle of the Turkish liquor was nestled between Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker.
“Vodka, please.”
King was looking for a slip, so I avoided being a stereotype. He and Vera had Camparis.
“You’ll enjoy yourself here,” she told me. “There are game rooms, saunas, a heated swimming pool, a shooting range.”
“Girls, if you want them,” King added.
“No, thank you. Skiing, too, I would think.”
“You ski? Perhaps we will take a ride to the slopes before the auction starts,” King remarked. “You see, I do plan to get to know you, Raki. You know, you are the first guest outside the families who has ever been invited here. My daughter is very strongwilled. Like her father. You impressed her greatly. You impressed the chiefs. Now you must impress me. You see, if you don’t, you will never leave here alive.”
“I assumed that.”
“You should. The chiefs are like children sometimes. They are willing to throw away all the networks that have been built up over so long in France on the chance you have a better system. They should have consulted me, as Vera should have consulted me, before committing themselves to you.”
“You say ‘children,’” I answered King. “Don’t you mean ‘peasants.’ In comparison to you.”
“What do you mean?” King asked, interested.
“The heirloom cameo Vera wears as a ring. It’s a portrait of a Borgia. You’re a Borgia, aren’t you?”
King sat back, smiling.
“Well, I must admit I am impressed. You are correct again. We do come from that noble line. And the chiefs are all descended from Sicilian peasants. This knowledge of yours only clouds your future more, however.”
“No,” I told King. “All that determines my future is my shipment. I produce it or I don’t. From then on, it doesn’t matter whether I know you’re the Pope.”
King stood and paced, stopping to say, “I am beginning to see how you got this far, Mr. Senevres. You have sufficient nerve, that is for sure.” He turned to Vera. “You have a sample of his candy?”
Vera gave him a gift-wrapped box of marzipan. King inspected the contents and handed it back to her.
“Clever. I never doubted your Mr. Senevres was clever. No wonder you made a fool of DeSantis. I will see you at supper.”
He left us alone. Vera kissed my cheek.
“You’re the first man who’s ever stood up to my father. Even the toughest chiefs are scared of him. But how did you know about the ring?”
“I was in the jewelry line once. I had to know what was worth stealing,” I said, although there were too many other give aways. His accent was anything but Sicilian, and I’d seen too many portraits of Borgias to miss the family resemblance. Also, the usual Mafia chief is happy just to get a daughter accepted in college. Vera had been born to finishing schools.
“Am I worth stealing from my father? That’s what he’s really afraid of.”
If the waiter hadn’t been standing at the bar I would have shown her my answer. Instead, I just touched her thigh.
A gun-toting servant led me to my room. I hadn’t been allowed to bring any luggage; there was a selection of clothes of all sizes in the closet. A complete toilet kit was provided in the private bathroom. From the room’s window was a sheer drop of a mile or so.
I shaved, using the electric razor provided. When I was done, having checked the bathroom for hidden cameras, I opened up the shaver and planted a magnetic, buttonsize transmitter in it. I left the shaver plugged, which, if Special Effects was right, turned the whole of Snowman’s electrical wiring into a low power transmitter. A Minos satellite orbited the day before would crisscross the space above North America until it picked up the signal and then self-adjust constantly until my position was absolutely defined.