Eden's Gate - Softcover

Hagberg, David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0812544404 ISBN 13: 9780812544404

Verlag: St Martin's Press, 2002

Inhaltsangabe

A wall has gone up and come down since the end of the second World War; and Germany is once again united. As Berlin rebuilds; German authorities ask the US for help. Ex-Stasi Captain Helmut Speyer is wanted by the German authorities. Speyer and his group of commandos are up to something in their Montana compound - something that has Germany looking over its shoulder in fear. Former National Seourity agent Bill Lane and his wife mount an operation to find out what Speyer and the commandos are after. Lane must beat him to the infamous Nazi bunker known as Reichsamt 17, the site of some of the Nazi's most horrific experiments, and the keeper of one of the deadliest weapons ever made.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David Hagberg is a former Air Force cryptographer who has traveled extensively in Europe, the Arctic, and the Caribbean and has spoken at CIA functions. He has published more than twenty novels of suspense, including the bestselling High Flight, Assassin, and Joshua’s Hammer. He makes his home in Vero Beach, Florida.

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Eden's Gate

PART ONE

PRESENT DAY

1

KALISPELL, MONTANA

The Grand Hotel was old but elegant, and as Bill Lane looked down on Main Street from his third floor front window the police were setting up traffic barricades for the Fourth of July parade due to start in a couple of hours. The morning was cool, in the high fifties, and the sky was perfectly clear, the Flathead mountain range to the east like a Chamber of Commerce poster.

Someone knocked at the door and he went to answer it. He was a husky, thick-shouldered man in his mid-forties with blue, observant eyes. He still had the graceful movements of an athlete and this morning he was dressed in a light cashmere sweater, Pierre Cardin jeans, and hand-sewn soft leather boots. A small pixie of a girl smiled sweetly up at him when he opened the door, a serving cart in front of her.

A fire engine gave a single blast on its siren, and she giggled. "I've brought your breakfast, Mr. Clark," she said. "But you're going to want to get downstairs pretty soon if you want to get a good spot."

"I thought I might watch the parade from up here," Lane said, smiling. The girl couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, with the all-American fresh-scrubbed look of small town. She had freckles and a complexion that was otherwise flawless with no makeup. Frannie would be a little jealous, though not much.

"No, sir, it wouldn't be the same."

"You don't say."

"Yes, sir. And after the parade there'll be the festival in the park. It's worth going to see. Lieutenant Governor Branson is coming in, and there'll be speeches and all that stuff. But it'll be cool."

The fire engine gave another test blast on its siren, answered by a couple of police cars. Lane had to laugh. Kalispell was like something out of his midwestern childhood, and he'd forgotten how sweet and uncomplicated places like this could be. Or at least appear to be on the surface.

"Let me set this up for you before it gets cold, sir," the girl said, and Lane stepped aside so that she could push the serving cart to the table by the windows.

 

With a population of just over twelve thousand, the town was Montana's seventh largest. The surrounding mountains, lakes, and forests were achingly gorgeous. But coming in early last night by air he'd been able to pick out only a few lights here and there outside of town. Most of the state was scarcely populated. And the people liked it that way for one reason or another.

The girl opened the serving cart's leaf and handed Lane the bill and a pen to sign it with. "You don't have to add anything extra. There's already a service charge. They do it at all the hotels around here now."

Lane signed it, added a good tip anyway, and handed it back to her. "It sounds as if the natives are getting restless out there already."

"Oh, no, sir. The Flatheads won't be coming in for the parade, mostly. They usually don't. But they don't ever cause any trouble."

"Do you mean Indians?"

The girl put the pen and bill in her apron pocket. "Yes, sir. But the reservation is south of the lake, down around Polson. They don't come up here much. But it used to be different. My dad told me about it."

"Maybe they want to be left alone," Lane said. "I think that a lot of people come out here for the same reason. Nobody bothers them. Just like they want it."

"Where did you hear something like that?"

"I don't know. Read it somewhere, I guess."

A flinty, suspicious look came into the girl's eyes, and she didn't look so young or innocent as before. But it only lasted a moment,and then she was smiling sweetly again. "I'll be going. Enjoy your breakfast."

"I don't suppose the real estate offices would be open today, would they?"

"Not until tomorrow. Are you thinking about buying something? My aunt May has her own agency. Kalispell Realty. Over in the mall."

"I'll look her up," Lane said, and he saw the girl to the door, locked it when she was gone, and secured the safety chain.

He checked the window again; already people had begun to gather for the parade, bringing their lawn chairs and picnic coolers with them. The town was all decked out in red, white, and blue bunting swinging from streetlamps. A squad of men who looked to be in their fifties, wearing bits and pieces of military uniforms, marched by. A blue and white police car was parked on the corner, but the cop was nowhere in sight. Nor were the people he'd come here to make contact with. But that would change soon.

He stepped away from the window and took his 9mm Beretta from the waistband beneath his sweater at the small of his back. He cycled all nine rounds out of the breach to check the action, then removed the magazine, reloaded the rounds in the same order they had come out, and stuffed the gun back in his waistband.

Breakfast was softly scrambled eggs, a rasher of medium-done bacon, hash browns, tomato juice with a slice of lemon, and unsweetened hot tea, also with a slice of lemon. He sat down to it, one eye toward the goings-on down on the street, and the other on the door. He was a man who did not like surprises not of his own making, and he had a feeling that this town, or at least the surrounding countryside, had plenty of them.

 

After breakfast he had a smoke by the open window. The street was filling up with people now, many of whom had already set up along the curbs. There were kids and dogs everywhere. In the distance to the northwest he could hear several different marching bands warming up, and every few minutes the fire engine would give a blast on its siren.

Lane used his cell phone to make a local call. Everything would depend on timing, he thought as he waited for it to go through.

Frances Shipley answered it on the first ring, her husky British accent mellifluous and out of place almost anywhere except in Londonor on stage. He and Frannie, who was a lieutenant commander in Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, had been married for one year. Lane could not imagine a life without her. Together they headed a super secret and very tiny organization of troubleshooters for the White House and number 10 Downing Street called simply "The Room."

"Yes," she said.

"I'm getting set to head downstairs. Is everything ready on your end? Tommy's in place?"

"He's about a half-block out. Looks like he's eating an ice cream cone. Cheeky bugger."

"Ah, some people have all the luck."

"Yes, don't we, darling?" Frannie said sweetly.

"Any sign of our people? I haven't seen anything from here yet."

"They're in town."

"Okay, don't call me, I'll call you." Lane said, and he was about to switch off.

"Watch yourself, William," Frannie cautioned.

"You, too. Ta-ta." Lane broke the connection, pocketed the phone, and pulling on a light Gucci leather jacket, left his room and headed downstairs.

 

The parade was a half hour from starting and downtown was full. Shops such as clothing stores and hardware stores, and banks, post offices, city hall, and libraries were closed for the holiday. But places like restaurants, gift shops, bakeries, and ice cream shops were open and doing a land office business. There was probably no one left in town who wasn't here, and the tourists were easy to spot because their boots and jeans were too new, and they stood around self-consciously.

Lane spotted the woman across the street coming out of an art gallery specializing in Indian and cowboy artifacts. She was very tall and slender, wearing a light yellow dress with large blue polka dots, and a very...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: St Martin's Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2002
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0812544404
• ISBN 13: 9780812544404
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar