She pulled up directly in front of the main house, in plain view not only of someone inside, but of LeFevre and the others. As she got out of the car and walked up, the chalet’s front door opened, and a very large man stood there, in black slacks and a dark short-sleeved pullover that was tight across his thick shoulders. If he was carrying, it was not obvious.
“The princess and the children will be down momentarily,” the security officer said. His thick accent was the same as that of the man she’d spoken to over the intercom. He wasn’t smiling. He held out his hand. “Your identification.”
She opened her ID wallet and held it up for him to see.
He took it, and carefully inspected the badge and then the photograph, comparing it to her face. He grunted. “I’ll keep this until you leave.”
This was the first test of who would be controlling the situation. Liese shook her head and held out her hand. “No,” she said, emphatically.
The security officer scowled. But he handed over the wallet, which she put back in her purse.
“Are you armed?”
Liese looked up, returning his scowl. “Most Swiss Federal Polizei do not carry firearms. They do not see the necessity. What is your name and position here?”
The security officer didn’t flinch. “My name is Sayyid Salah. I am the butler.”
Liese stifled a laugh. “Very well, Mr. Salah. The sooner I can speak with the princess and children, the sooner I’ll be gone.”
The security officer stepped aside to allow Liese to enter, and then he directed her through the short entry hall, with its heavily carved wooden coat rack and mirror, into the great room, just as Salman’s wife, the Princess Sofia, came down the stairs, followed by four children. The princess was a diminutive woman, with a tiny round face and very large, very dark eyes. She was not dressed in traditional Muslim garb. Like her three girls and one boy she wore blue jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. The children ranged in age from seven to thirteen, and except for their dark coloration and Semitic noses they could have been typical Swiss kids. They smiled uncertainly.
Liese felt absolutely rotten for being here like this. She could understand Mac’s reasoning, and yet this was all wrong in her mind. She wasn’t going to harm them, but they would not know it. Once she pulled out her pistol they would be terrified.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” the princess said. Her voice was mellifluous, her French accent good. “I am Sofia Salman, and these are my children.”
Liese wanted to apologize, say there had been a mistake, and get the hell out of there. But beyond doing this for Kirk, she had a clear vision of the television images from 9/11 in New York and Washington and Pennsylvania. Especially the World Trade Center towers coming down. Of couples hand in hand leaping to their deaths from the buildings to escape the horrible flames.
Bin Laden had been the spiritual leader for that horrible day, but Khalil had been the major planner, the guiding force. The concept for the attacks had come from his warped brain. And so had whatever was going to happen in America next. More people would die, unless he was stopped. This time bin Laden promised to strike at children.
“Mademoiselle?” the princess prompted.
They stood in tableau for a second, the princess and her children at the foot of the sweeping staircase that led to the upper floor, the security officer at the entry hall three meters behind Liese’s left shoulder.
“Je suis desolée, Madame,” Liese said. She pulled out her pistol, as she turned left toward the security officer to present less of herself as a target.
The man reached for something at the small of his back.
“Do not go for your weapon,” Liese ordered, sharply. “I mean the princess and her children no harm, but I will shoot you!”
The security officer hesitated for just a second, then slowly brought both hands up and away from his body. There was a calculating look in his eyes. He was a pro. He would be patient and wait for her to make a mistake.
Liese glanced at the princess, who had gathered her girls, but the ten-year-old boy stood defiantly in front of his mother and sisters, ready like a good Bedouin man to defend his womenfolk. Liese felt horrible.
The security officer had begun to lower his right hand.
“Goddamn you son of a bitch, I’ll blow your fucking head off if you don’t turn this instant and get out of here,” Liese shouted.
Another man, dressed in a Western business suit, appeared from the back of the house from the opposite side of the great room, and stopped. His hands were in plain sight, but Liese was now caught in the middle of the two men. From a defensive stance she was in a very bad position. She could not cover both of them.
She switched her aim to the princess. “Do nothing foolish and we’ll all walk away from this. I mean nobody any harm. I promise you.” She tried to make the princess and her children see that she was telling the truth, but it was not possible. A crazy woman was holding a gun on them.
“Lower your weapon, and you will be allowed to leave here,” the man from the far end of the room told her, reasonably. “No one will interfere with you.”
“I can’t do that,” Liese replied. “I want both of you out of here now.”
“What do you want here, Sergeant Fuelm?” the security officer in the suit asked. “Or should we telephone your superiors and let them talk to you?”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” Liese said. “I’m only going to need a few hours.”
“Why shouldn’t we inform your superiors?”
“Because then the Kantonpolizei would officially know that Prince Salman’s actual identity is that of the terrorist we call Khalil.”
The princess gasped. She said something to the security officer in the business suit.
“I don’t know what fantasy you have deduced that from, but you are wrong, Mademoiselle,” the security officer said. “Your error could very well cost you your life before this day is done.” The man was maddeningly calm. He could have been discussing the weather. “You have one last opportunity to lower your weapon and leave in peace. If you do not, we will be forced to kill you.”
“Insha’allah,” Liese said.
The boy started to say something, but Liese looked directly into the princess’s eyes and drew back the Walther’s hammer. The princess pulled her son to her.
“Very well,” the security officer said. “We will get out of your way. And we will do as you wish and not call your superiors — though by now I suspect you must understand that because of Prince Salman’s position within the royal family we will have to inform Riyadh. What might happen after that will be out of my control.”
“Leave,” Liese told him, “and nobody gets hurt.”
“As you wish.” The security officer said something to the princess, and then he and the man who’d answered the door withdrew.
“What do you want with us?” the princess said. “You’re crazy if you think my husband is a terrorist. He is a playboy, not a murderer.”
Liese nodded. “I sincerely hope that you’re right.” She motioned toward the grouping of furniture in front of the huge, freestanding fireplace. “Sit down, please. If you’d like, call someone to bring you something to drink, eat.”
The princess straightened up. “We will sit as you order, since it is you holding a weapon pointed at me and my children. But we will not eat or drink, nor will you be given refreshments.” The woman’s left eyebrow arched. “Unless, of course, you mean to slaughter us all for a glass of water.”
What had happened to them all in the past ten years? The Soviet Union had disintegrated. The cold war had been won by the West. Then the world had begun sinking into utter chaos.