Breach of Power (The Action-Packed Jake Pendleton Political Thriller series Book 3) Page 3

  * * *

  Höllental Valley, Germany

  Fifteen minutes after Ashley Regan left Sam Connors sitting on the rock at the bottom of the Leiter, she arrived at an almost vertical rock face with an iron cable secured across it called the Brett. When there was no path or ledge to walk on, iron bolts had been anchored into the rock face to serve as steps across the lateral passage. Regan gazed down the slope and saw Sam nearing the top of the Leiter.

  “Do you need another rest?” Regan shouted down the iron staircase. “Or can we keep moving forward?”

  “Go on, Ashley. I’m right behind you.” Connors reached the top of the Leiter and was walking toward Regan. “I’ll catch up to you at the glacier.”

  Regan attached her two umbilical cables from her harness to the iron cable and stepped out onto the first iron peg, moving skillfully across the rock face. She looked back and saw Sam attaching the umbilical to the cable.

  She reached the end of the Brett, unhooked her umbilical, and pulled her hiking poles from her backpack. She had fleeting thoughts about waiting for Sam to catch up but knew it wouldn’t be too long before they were together at the base of the Höllentalferner glacier. Besides, if the past two years were any indication, it would take Connors a painfully long time to cross the Brett, and Regan was not a patient woman. After the Brett, Regan knew, Sam would have no trouble with the remaining hike to the glacier. All that remained was to follow the trail over the meadows and scree-covered slopes leading to the glacier. Centuries ago the very same meadow was covered by the glacier. Now, recessional moraines deposited by the glacier marked the path from the Brett to the base of the glacier. There, they both could take a needed rest before donning the crampons to walk across the icy glacier to the Klettersteig. From the glacier, the remaining hike was nearly vertical and the most challenging.

  Regan reached the base of the Höllentalferner glacier by 9:30 a.m. There were actually three glaciers at Zugspitze but this one, the Höllentalferner, was the only one with a glacial tongue. And at the base of the tongue was a small ice cave carved by the summer’s heat. Water on the glacier's surface flowed down through crevasses and fractures in the glacial ice melting out channels called moulins. These moulins transported the water to the base of the glacier helping it slide across the ground beneath. Last year, and the year they met, the ice cave was too small to enter without belly crawling through the ice cold glacial melt. But this year had been a warm summer in the southern mountains of Germany and the glacial tongue revealed an ice cave with an opening five feet in diameter. Large enough to venture inside without getting soaked.

  Regan searched down the mountain and located Connors, a tiny speck trudging up the slope. She figured another twenty to thirty minutes before Sam could reach the glacier.

  Plenty of time to take a look inside.

  Regan stuck her hiking poles into the ground next to the opening forming an X-shaped cross, a signal to Sam that she’d gone inside. She bent over, and crept into the ice cave. At first she wasn’t sure how far inside she could go as the blue-green ice walls narrowed around her. At one point the passage constricted until she could go no further without removing her backpack, which she did, pulling it along behind her. She sidestepped through the confining divide, her chest and back both pressing against the ice walls. A large ice room opened in front of her. The temperature had been dropping the deeper she traveled into the cavern but once she entered the chamber, the temperature seemed to plunge. She pulled off her sunglasses and squinted at the glare from the ice. Her eyes soon adjusted and she pushed forward.

  She reached the end of the rocky, earthen floor about fifty feet inside the ice cave. Her next steps would be on the ice. She grabbed her crampons from the side of her pack and attached them to her boots.

  Ice crunched beneath her boots as she stepped across the solid ice. Ahead another twenty feet, she came to a blockage where the sides of the ice cave had collapsed, almost completely obstructing the path ahead. She considered turning back but her curious nature pushed her forward. She peered through a two-foot diameter hole and saw that the cave continued on as far as she could see. She stared at her watch and counted. She’d been inside seven minutes, which meant Sam was still at least fifteen minutes down the mountain. Five more minutes of exploring then back out with plenty of time to meet Sam at the base of the glacier.

  Regan pushed her backpack through the small opening then squeezed through and into the next chamber. She walked forward another two and half minutes, crouching for the last two, when she spotted something sticking out of the ice wall twenty feet ahead. She shivered. Regan knew she needed to leave now to meet Sam but curiosity pushed her toward the brown object sticking out of the ice.

  Her inquisitive nature had landed her in hot water on several occasions, both as a child and as an adult. Maybe it was her rebellious nature or her anti-authority attitude, it seemed she was never one to do the right thing and always the first to get in trouble.

  Ten feet away she stopped. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

  A human body.

  She’d heard the stories of bodies from ancient times being unearthed by glaciers in this part of the world, but the closer she got the more she realized, this body wasn’t that old. Decades, maybe a century, but no older. The clothing was too modern. She could tell the body was a man; the ice had preserved him well with his face still buried behind three inches of ice. He appeared to be sitting when he froze, knees tucked toward his chin, left arm dangling by his side. His right hand was clutching his chest, maybe a heart attack she thought. He was half in, half out of the ice wall. Legs and chest almost completely exposed.

  Curiosity, not fear, fueled her excitement and pushed her forward. “What are you doing here?” Ashley said aloud…as if expecting a reply from the frozen man.

  She looked at her watch. Sam would have to wait.

  “The bigger question is.” She said aloud again. “Who are you?”

  She reached out and touched his chest. The fabric on the coat was stiff and unyielding and she could see his hand was clutching something underneath his coat. By the crease formed in the coat, she guessed it was a small box or book of some kind.

  She pulled on his hand. “May I take a look?”

  The ragged glove tore loose from his hand exposing his freeze-dried skin. She tugged again on his hand and it moved slightly away from the coat. She grabbed the top of his coat and tried to unbutton it. The fabric and the button were still frozen together, but pliable.

  Most people she knew couldn’t stand the thought of touching a dead body. Certainly Sam wouldn’t have touched it, just gone in search of help and let someone else handle the situation. But she wasn’t like Sam. She was fearless, open to adventure, and full of curiosity. Always in search of a thrill. Always pushing the limits and challenging boundaries. And mischief found her at every juncture. It was her way.

  As a child, she was a tomboy and played with frogs, lizards, rat snakes, and garter snakes. To her mother’s dismay, she would catch two small green lizards in her backyard in Charleston and let them bite her ear lobes and hang there. It didn’t hurt, just pressure, and as long as she kept moving the lizards wouldn’t let go. She’d run in the house and yell to her mother to come look at her new earrings. Her mother fell for it every time…or at least pretended to.

  She worked the frozen fabric back and forth until she was able to free the top button. She started working on the second button when she heard a distant noise coming from the entrance to the ice cave.

  “Ashley? Are you in there?” Sam's voice echoed through the cave.

  Regan picked up her pace. She couldn’t let Sam know what she was doing without having to listen to another morality lecture on doing the right thing.

  “I’ll be right out.” Regan yelled back. The reverberations of her voice inside the small enclosure made her uncomfortable as small chips of ice fell around her. She wondered if this man crawled up in here and made some sort of noise only to ca
use the walls of the cave to crash down around him.

  She feverishly worked the second button free. “Let’s see what you have there.” She reached her arm inside his coat. It was cold and damp and for the first time she realized she was touching death…or at least something dead. She let her fingers feel around, deeper inside his coat until they found the item. She felt the edges. Leather, cold and wet. It was a book. She grasped the top and tugged but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Come on, come on. Let go.” She hit the man’s chest and felt embarrassed.

  Clutching the top of the book, she rocked it from side to side, slowly freeing it from the icy grip of the coat. With an upward pull, the book started moving. Rocking and pulling until she caught the first glimpse of her prize as a corner of the book exposed through the opened buttons near the collar.

  “Ashley? What are you doing in here?” Sam Connors was getting closer.

  Regan worked it carelessly upward through the coat until she could get a two-handed grip. She grasped each corner of the book and pulled upward with all her might. The book let loose and Regan tumbled backwards onto the ice—book in hand.

  “Ashley.”

  “Dammit, Sam. I’m coming.” She eagerly wanted to look inside the book but had no time. Connors would want her to put it back and then let the authorities have it. She found it, it was hers now. She unzipped her backpack, stuffed the book inside, and zipped her pack secure. Then she returned to button up the man’s coat.

  “Oh my God.” Sam’s voice was close. “What have you found?”

  Ashley turned and saw Sam peering through the opening. “A frozen dead man.”

  “What are you doing to the body?” Sam Connors pointed to the body. "We should get out of here."

  “I was checking for identification, but he’s too frozen.” She lied. She'd done it so many times. Sam was always trusting and gullible. Ashley gave Sam an impish smile, another trick she learned that always worked. “We’ll report it when we get to the summit."

  “Let's get out of here." The worry in Sam’s tone wasn’t lost on Regan. "This place is creepy. I can't believe you found a dead body."

  Regan found it hard to contain her excitement, but she knew Sam would complain that the book didn't belong to them. Ashley didn't want to hear it. Finders—keepers. Sam would try to reason with her, say the book was evidence, perhaps it was, but Regan instinctively knew the book had an intriguing story behind it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but her meddlesome nature would never allow her to give it up.

  Regan slipped her backpack over her shoulder. "Lead the way."

  Connors turned and walked back toward the mouth of the cave.

  Ashley Regan smiled. The book's existence would remain her secret.

  3

  Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe

  Abigail Love had been following Martin and Teresa Kingsley through the streets of Pointe-à-Pitre all morning. The wealthy New Hampshire couple arrived at their Pointe-à-Pitre condominium, one of the many homes they owned around the world, yesterday afternoon after a long layover at the San Juan Airport in Puerto Rico. Love knew because she was on the same flight. The couple, both in their mid-fifties, were here on business. Which is exactly why she was here.

  Love was hired by the Kingsleys' competition, a successful businessman who didn't want outsiders taking his hard earned business away from him. Martin Kingsley and a local man from the nearby town of Morne Rouge had formed a partnership and planned to open a rum factory on Guadeloupe. Kingsley had recently sold a recording studio and planned to invest that capital into this new venture. Love was hired to ensure that never happened.

  She found her appearance made it easy for her to get close to her targets, often to the point of befriending and socializing with them prior to the hit. She was attractive, physically fit, tanned, and heartless. Lure them into my web like a spider and then attack was her mantra. That's one reason she rented a condominium in the same complex as the Kingsleys.

  The waterfront streets of Pointe-à-Pitre were lively early in the morning and the outdoor market crowded. A small cruise ship had deposited a few hundred visitors in town, which created a traffic jam in the narrow streets.

  Love already knew the Kingsleys' schedule, Martin Kingsley's anyway, courtesy of her employer. He'd provided a package complete with all the details of the Kingsleys' itinerary. That's how she knew which flight they were on, which condominium they owned, and where Martin would be at any given time. Her employer had created a spreadsheet meticulously detailing her target's information. If only all her hits could be this easy. Many of her contacts left out vital information, which on occasion had put her in harm's way. She'd been tempted to pay those employers an unwelcome visit but the money was too good to jeopardize her reputation.

  Her career was born out of violence. When she was twenty-two and in her final year of college, she began an affair with an older man. Although she didn't know it at the time, he turned out to be a drug dealer who had doubled crossed one buyer too many. One night, her jealous lover accused her of flirting with a young waiter. The quarrel turned into a shouting match until he hit her—a backhanded blow to her jaw that knocked her to the floor.

  She touched her face and felt the warm blood spilling from her mouth. She stood and screamed. "You bastard!"

  "Shut up, bitch." His next blow knocked her against the kitchen counter.

  She felt her eye starting to swell. Blood trickled from her brow.

  He walked up behind her, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her upright.

  His hot breath next to her ear, "pack your shit, bitch, and get the Hell out of my house."

  She spotted a meat cleaver on top of a carving board in front of her. She grabbed the handle, spun around, and slammed the blade into the side of his neck. A fountain of blood sprayed the kitchen as the man fell to the floor in disbelief. Blood gushed across the tile floor. Within a minute he grew still. The blood flow slowed. His face turned ashen. Another minute later, he was dead.

  While serving two years in prison on a plea bargained Involuntary Manslaughter charge, she met another abused woman and a friendship evolved. Along with their friendship, an idea emerged for a new line of work. Now, almost seventeen years later, she owned her own business—all women. All trained to kill. Love's Desperate Desire. She called them escorts.

  At 9:00 a.m., Kingsley answered his cell phone. Five minutes later a car pulled to the curb. Kingsley kissed his wife on the cheek and folded his six-foot three-inch frame into the compact car. Love knew Kingsley and his partner were driving to look at the property they planned to buy for their rum factory. She also knew they had plans to attend dinner parties tonight and tomorrow night and were scheduled to close the real estate deal the following day. A date he would never make.

  Love followed Teresa Kingsley the short few blocks back to the condominium complex. Twin eight-story buildings standing only four feet apart. She was in the East Tower and the Kingsleys were in the West. A six-foot concrete wall surrounded the complex with security guards at the main entrance to the complex and again at the entrances to each building. Security cameras monitored the lobbies of each building as well as the front gate. Security was state of the art at this upscale complex. Although violent crime wasn't a problem in Pointe-à-Pitre, burglary and vandalism were. Peace of mind for the owners outweighed the added cost of good security.

  Love stood behind Teresa Kingsley at the complex's main entrance and waited while Kingsley looked for her identification and room key to show to the guard.

  Kingsley turned to Love with an embarrassed look on her face. "I'm sorry. My husband has my passport. This might take a while. Why don't you go ahead?"

  Love smiled. "That's quite alright. I don't mind waiting. I'm just going to the pool anyway." One large pool with a bar and a grill served the twin towers. Her employer had provided her with a detailed layout of the complex.

  "Ma'am." The guard motioned for Love to walk around Kingsley.

&nb
sp; Love did as instructed, showed her identification and key, and was cleared into the complex.

  "I'm so sorry." Kingsley said as Love walked around her.

  "Good luck." Love nodded at the guard and walked to her building.

  The typical assassin's creed was to strike your target and vanish without a trace. Abigail Love didn't see it that way. It was much more than just a job. She enjoyed playing with her unsuspecting prey. Luring her victims into a false sense of security. Luring them to their doom. All of this felt thrilling. Tantalizing. It made the kill almost orgasmic. Little did Teresa Kingsley know, she had less than two days left to live. Just the thought made Abigail Love shiver.

  * * *

  Belle Haven Country Club

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Jake had never worked with the carrot-topped man but the warning Francesca had given him was right; his cocky demeanor was annoying. The tall thin engineer, known to him only as Matt, had worked for Elmore Wiley going on two years and had only one job function, pilot Wiley's miniature spy drones.

  Last year's drone was Wiley's electronic wasp equipped with an infrared video camera, microphone, and operated on three tiny watch batteries. Obsolete in comparison to Wiley's latest invention, which Matt called Skeeter, a spy drone the size and shape of a mosquito, also equipped with a video camera and microphone. The nanotechnology Wiley used allowed the mosquito replica to operate on a miniaturized single cell battery, which also served as the drone's torso. Although Skeeter didn't have infrared capability, it did have a needle capable of drawing a DNA sample, delivering a toxin, or injecting a micro RFID under the skin of its intended victim. The radio frequency identification device would allow the target to be tracked within a two-foot tolerance. Just like a real mosquito, Skeeter was propelled by flapping its silicone wings allowing it to hover, climb and descend, and travel at a speed of eight miles per hour in no-wind situations.