They had cut almost a ninety-degree turn. Everything they had going for them was on the right-hand side of the aircraft, which included the remaining wing and the thermals rising up from the floor of the valley. It was one of those thermals that caught beneath the wing and pitched the glider into a barrel roll.
After one complete revolution, the remaining portion of wingspan dug into the rocky ground and completely snapped off, sending the fuselage rolling back up the meadow until it finally came to rest on its side. The smell of cordite in the cockpit from the discharge of Harvath’s MP7 was quickly replaced by another, much more terrifying scent-jet fuel.
Harvath lowered the pilot to the leeward portion of the Icarus, then planted his feet on the seat supports and unbuckled his seat belt. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Can everybody move?” he asked as he unlocked the canopy.
Schroeder responded first, followed by a grunt from Rayburn. Even Gösser, who hadn’t had time to fully buckle in, was alive and literally kicking. The canopy was pinched shut by a large rock, but after several thrusts from the man’s heavy boots, it sprang open, and they were able to flee the aircraft and get the pilot to safety before the relatively small fuel tank of the Icarus exploded in a significant fireball.
Safely away from the wreckage, Harvath asked if everyone was okay. There was a chorus of yeses, capped off with the motorglider’s groggy pilot coming to and saying, “So much for all-terrain tires.”
Rayburn’s security men were already swarming out of the château, as Harvath hastily wrapped a makeshift bandage around the pilot’s head.
“You don’t need to do that,” the man said as he tried to get up. “I just want to know which one of you assholes shot me.”
“That would be this asshole,” said Schroeder, wrapping his beefy hand around Rayburn’s arm and jerking him upward.
“Okay,” interrupted Harvath, handing him the radio, “you’ve just been promoted to combat controller. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ve got to find a way for those other gliders to land.”
“What are you talking about?” said Schroeder. “There are too many rocks. Those planes will crack up just like we did, or worse.”
“Maybe not,” said the pilot. “A couple meters more to the right, and we might have had a smoother area to land.”
“I don’t care what you do,” said Harvath as he removed the remote detonator from his pocket. “Just figure it out. “Then, arming the remote, he looked at Rayburn and said, “You’re on, sunshine. Do everything you’re supposed to and you could live to see a ripe old age. Fuck around and they’ll be playing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ at your funeral, if you know what I mean.”
Subconsciously, Rayburn’s hand moved toward his groin and the explosive device Harvath had forced him to duct-tape beneath his shorts.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Harvath, and Rayburn quickly removed his hand. “I’d try also not to think about Elle Macpherson either, “He added as he shoved Rayburn toward Château Aiglemont and its advancing troops.
Convinced that even under duress Rayburn could talk them into the château, Harvath had provided him with a script, any derivation from which he had guaranteed would result in the worst case of jock itch Rayburn had ever had.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Call everyone into the dining hall,” commanded Rayburn. “Someone is preparing to move against the Aga Khan. They tried to take me out while I was in Sion last night. I have more reinforcements coming in via air. Make sure they get to the dining hall ASAP. Let’s move. The briefing is in five minutes. Go!”
Rayburn then rushed Harvath, Schroeder, and the other Stern commando past several of the security personnel and up the front steps of the former monastery. Though many of the security personnel looked as if they had questions about what the hell was going on, they obviously knew better than to question a direct order from their boss and immediately went into action.
Inside, Château Aiglemont looked more like an English manor house than a former monastery turned health spa. Medieval tapestries, antique furniture, and even suits of armor accented every inch of the heavy stone walls. “Which way to Tokay?” asked Harvath as he withdrew the map Rayburn had drawn for him.
“At the end of this hallway you make a right, and you’ll find a stairway that leads to the subbasement.”
“How many guards?”
Rayburn looked at his watch. “Only two, but they will have heard about the meeting in the dining hall by now, and one of them will stay while the other comes up.”
“What about the Aga Khan?” replied Harvath. “Where do I find him?”
Rayburn hesitated a moment and then pointed the opposite way and said, “To the right of the stained glass window is a staircase that leads up into the bell tower. Halfway up is a statue of Saint Nicholas von Flüe.”
“The patron saint of Switzerland,” said Harvath. “How appropriate. What about it?”
“He holds a rosary in his hand. Gently pull down on it, and a door will open. That doorway leads to the monastery’s second floor. The Aga Khan’s rooms are at the very end.”
“Is there any other way to get up there?”
“Not unless you’ve got a very tall ladder.”
Harvath had no intention of climbing a ladder to get to the Aga Khan. Looking at the timer on his Kobold Chronograph, he tossed Schroeder the detonator and said, “We’ve got less then two minutes. You and Gösser take Rayburn with you and find Tokay. If he doesn’t cooperate, blow his balls off.”
“Wait a second,” said Schroeder. “I thought we were here to rescue your hostage. Where are you going?”
As important as Emir was, Harvath couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get his hands on the Aga Khan himself. “I want the guy behind all of this.”
“You can’t go by yourself. Let’s get the hostage first. After that, we’ll be able to watch your back,” said Schroeder.
Harvath shook his head. “We don’t have time to discuss this. Get Emir, and I’ll meet you outside.”
Schroeder could tell he wasn’t going to get anywhere by arguing with Harvath and so he nodded his head and took off.
Harvath found the doorway at the end of the hall and beyond it the smooth stone steps, which led up to the second level. At the statue of Saint Nicholas, he pulled on the rosary beads, and the statue moved back to reveal a narrow entryway onto the second floor.
Posted outside the Aga Khan’s rooms at the end of the frescoed hallway were two husky, ex-military types who reminded Harvath very much of the security guards he’d encountered at Sotheby’s in Paris. “Who the fuck are you?” barked one of the men, obviously American by his accent, as he snapped his weapon to attention and pointed it in Harvath’s direction.
“FNG,” replied Harvath, using the military acronym for fucking new guy. “Rayburn wants both of you in the dining hall for a meeting. I was sent to relieve you.”
“I’m not going anywhere until Rayburn gives me the order himself.”
“What are you, the only guy without a fucking radio in this place?” said Harvath. “Do you know what just happened outside? Didn’t you hear that a meeting has been called?”
“Sure but-”
“Sure, but nothing, asshole. I was on that plane outside, which is now in flaming pieces, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like debating this with you.”
“Maybe we should go to the dining hall,” replied the man’s partner.
“Fuck that. Until I hear from Rayburn, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself,” said Harvath as he turned and began walking down the hallway. So much for taking the compound without a shot being fired, he thought as he readied his MP7 and prepared to turn and fire.
“Hold it a second,” said the sentry just as Harvath was about to spin around and pull the trigger. “I’m already on Rayburn’s shit list. I don’t need any more trouble. Besides, I could use a cup of coffee.”