The Alex King Series by A BATEMAN (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📕

guests were asleep. And that left west. Under the pines and firs, a funicular travelled underground to the carpark below. A safe and weather-friendly method of transportation that added a little more theatre to the guest’s experience. The track terminated fifty-metres short of the hotel and offered another act of theatre – an ice tunnel to the bottom of the hotel’s steps. Lit with coloured lights, gentle back ground music of Scandinavian folk tunes, and ice carvings like that denoting each room in the now ruined ice hotel, it made arrival to The Eagle’s Nest Hotel an event.

Rashid made his way down the steps to the funicular. A pair of steel gates were opened and pinned back against the concreted walls. He saw that the train must have been at the bottom of the tunnel, as all he could see was a pair of tracks at a forty-five-degree angle disappearing into the darkness. He turned to the control panel and studied the switches. An electrical cut-out button, on and off switch and a dial for what he gathered would be speed control. The other two buttons denoted up and down. He looked above him and saw the monitor on the wall, the train was parked at the bottom and nobody was on the screen. He switched the on button upwards, pressed the up button, then gently turned the dial. The train moved steadily out of the frame and he could see that the waiting area was empty. He listened for the approaching train, heard nothing and twisted the dial further around.

It all happened at once.

The beams from the headlights hit him, blinded him and the train appeared. He was aware of a great wind rushing over him, forced up through the tunnel – an icy draft. He turned the switch back, but it was too late. The train crashed into the barrier and the noise was like canon-fire. Rashid was bowled over as the shock travelled through the barrier and into the control booth. He got up, looked a little sheepishly at the train and then at the monitor. He switched the down button on, eased on the dial and the train moved steadily away. He changed the direction and brought it back, parking it considerably more gently than before. Satisfied he hadn’t broken a million-pound’s worth of funicular, he switched the panel off. The wind ahead of the train had shown how tightly the train fit in the tunnel, and with the train at the top of the tunnel, he hit the master switch and hoped he had sealed off another weak point.

66

 

“All of the guests have gone.”

“Not all.”

“But they have, I saw them to the coach personally,” Huss persisted. “Only your party, my manager and four members of staff remain.”

“There is a tall, thin man with Slavic features,” Ramsay said. “A hooked nose, to be precise. He was limping this morning, came back covered in snow and ice. We bumped into him on our floor.”

“And you suspect this man to have stolen your laptop?”

“Yes.”

Huss shrugged. “The coach will have reached Kitilla by now, I do not see what else I can do…”

“He won’t have left. He is still here, I’m positive of that.”

“But I can assure you, all of the guests have departed. I insisted they all leave. We could no longer guarantee their safety. Not with the bomb and all.”

“I thought you were insisting it was a lightening strike?” Caroline interjected. “That was what you were insisting last night.”

“Perhaps I was wrong…”

“But you remember this man?” she ventured.

“No.”

“Strange,” she paused, feigning confusion and bemusement. “You were talking to him at the reception desk.”

Huss shrugged. “I talk to a lot of people,” he said. “That is all part of owning a hotel. Now, I think I have answered enough of your questions. You have insisted that you can investigate this matter, what do you propose to do?”

“Very little, now that most of the potential suspects have boarded a coach out of here,” Ramsay replied.

“Then, why are you still here?”

Ramsay looked at his eyes. He was trained to spot liars, their tells. Everybody had one. “There are men coming,” he said. “They have hostile intentions.”

“Towards my hotel?”

“Towards somebody staying here.”

“But I told you; apart from your party, there are only a few staff. Enough to keep it running, but in truth, they are live-in workers with nowhere else to go,” he paused. “So, if these hostile forces are after you or your group, and putting my hotel at risk, then I am going to have to insist you leave.”

“Good luck with that,” Caroline said, taking the Makarov pistol out of her pocket and holding it down by her side. Huss stared at the weapon incredulously. “Let me know how it works out for you,” she added.

“What are you doing?” Huss asked. Ramsay looked at her, as if reiterating the owner’s feelings. “This is my hotel!”

“I think we’ve gone way past diplomacy,” she said. “Mister Huss, for the next twenty-four hours, possibly more, this building has been requisitioned by us, for our needs and protection. You can cooperate with us, or you can see out the storm locked up for your own protection.” She looked at Ramsay, who was still not quite on board with her decision. She turned back to Huss. “Actually, you know what, lets make that the case.” She turned back to Ramsay. “We don’t know who to trust here and that’s putting the team at risk.” She looked at Huss, raised the pistol. “Gather all your staff together now.”

“But…”

She cocked the Makarov’s hammer. The weapon would fire on the double action with the hammer down anyway, but it was always good for effect.

“Okay!” he protested. He picked up the phone in front of him, pressed a button and after a few