The Eiger Sanction

Trevanian

• Publisher: Old Street Publishing
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781910400005
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

'Superior suspense on almost every page... the hero is a masterpiece of conflicting qualities something for everyone' NEW YORK TIMES--'The only writer of airport paperbacks to be compared to Zola, Ian Fleming, Poe and Chaucer' NEW YORK TIMES-- 'Trevanian can write hoops around Ian Fleming' BOSTON GLOBE Jonathan Hemlock lives in a renovated Gothic church on Long Island. He is an art professor, a mountain climber and a mercenary, performing assassinations for money to augment his black-market art collection. But now he is being tricked into a hazardous assignment that necessitates climbing one of the most treacherous mountains in the Alps - the Eiger. Part thriller and part satire, The Eiger Sanction is a breathtakingly suspenseful read written with Trevanian s customary pzazz and boasting a magnificent cast of characters.

Kleine Scheidegg:

JULY 9

He slept late. By the time he had dressed and shaved, the sun was high and the dew was off the meadow that tilts up toward the north face of Eiger. In the lobby he passed a chatting group of young people, their eyes cleansed, their faces tightened by the crisp thin air. They had been out frolicking in the hills, and their heavy sweaters still exuded a chill.

The hotel manager stepped around the desk and spoke confidentially. “They are here, Herr Doctor. They await you.”

Jonathan nodded and continued to the dining room entrance. He scanned the room and discovered the group immediately. They sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave onto the mountain; their table was flooded with brilliant sunlight, and their colorful pullovers were the only relief from the dim and sparsely populated room. It looked as though Ben had assumed, as the natural privilege of his experience and age, social command of the gathering.

The men rose as Jonathan approached. Ben made introductions.

“Jonathan Hemlock, this here’s Gene-Paul Bidette.” He clearly was not going to have anything to do with these phony foreign pronunciations.

Jonathan offered his hand. “Monsieur Bidet.”

“I have looked forward to meeting you, Monsieur Hemlock.” Bidet’s slanted peasant eyes were frankly evaluative.

“And this is Karl Freytag.”

Amused, Jonathan matched the unnecessary force of Freytag’s grip. “Herr Freytag?”

“Herr Doctor.” He nodded curtly and sat down.

“And this here’s Anderil Mayor.”

Jonathan smiled professional approval into Meyer’s wry, clear blue eyes. “I’ve read about you, Anderl,” he said in German.

“I’ve read about you,” Anderl answered in his soft Austrian accent.

“In which case,” Jonathan said, “we have read about each other.”

Anderl grinned.

“And this lady here is Missus Bidette.” Ben sat down immediately his uncomfortable social duty was discharged.

Jonathan pressed the offered fingers and saw his reflection in her dark sunglasses. “Madame Bidet?”

She dipped her head slightly in a gesture that was, at one time, a greeting, a shrug at being Madame Bidet, and a favorable evaluation of Jonathan—a gesture altogether Parisienne.

“We just been small-talking and eyeballing the hill,” Ben explained after Jonathan had sent the waiter after a fresh pot of coffee.

“I had no idea this mountain Jean-Paul has been talking about for a year now would be so beautiful,” Madame Bidet said, taking off her sunglasses for the first time that morning and letting her calm eyes rest on Jonathan.

He glanced up at the Eiger’s cold, shadowed face and the long wisps of captured cloud at the summit.

“I would not say beautiful,” Bidet offered. “Sublime, perhaps. But not beautiful.”

“It is the possibility of conflict and conquest that is beautiful,” Freytag clarified for all time and for all people.

Anderl peered at the mountain and shrugged. Obviously he had never thought of a mountain as beautiful or ugly: only as difficult or easy.

“Is that all you are having for breakfast, Herr Doctor?” Freytag asked as Jonathan’s coffee was served.

“Yes.”

“Food is an important part of conditioning,” Freytag admonished.

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Meyer here shares your peculiar eating habits.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were acquainted.”

“Oh, yes,” the German said. “I contacted him shortly after I organized this climb, and we have made several short climbs together to attune him to my rhythms.”

“And you to his, I assume.”

Bidet reacted to the cool tone of the exchange by inserting a hasty note of warmth and camaraderie. “We must all use first names. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know your wife’s first name,” Jonathan said.

“Anna,” she offered.

Jonathan said the full name to himself and repressed a smile that only a native English speaker would understand.

“How are the weather reports?” Karl asked Ben officially.

“Not real good. Clear today; maybe tomorrow. But there’s a bunch of weak fronts moving in on us that makes it pretty dicey after that.”

“Well, that settles it,” Karl announced.

“What does that settle?” Jonathan asked between sips of coffee.

“We must go now.”

“Have I time to finish my coffee?”

“I mean, we must go as soon as possible.”

Ben squinted at Karl incredulously. “With the possibility of a storm in three days?”

“It has been climbed in two.” Karl was crisp and on the defensive.

“And if you don’t make it in two? If you’re pinned down up there in heavy weather?”

“Benjamin has a point there,” Jean-Paul interposed. “We must not take childish risks.”

The word “childish” rankled Karl. “One cannot climb without some risk. Perhaps the young face these risks more easily.”

Jonathan glanced from the mountain to Ben, who turned down the corners of his mouth, closed his eyes, and shook his head heavily.

Anderl had not been a part of this discussion. Indeed, his attention was fixed on a group of attractive young girls out on the terrace. Jonathan asked his opinion on the advisability of climbing with a two-day weather limit. Anderl thrust out his lower lip and shrugged. He did not care whether they climbed in good weather or bad. Either would be interesting. But if they were not going to climb today or tomorrow, he had other things he might give his attention to.

Jonathan liked him.

“So we reach an impasse,” Karl said. “Two in favor of climbing right now, and two opposed. The dilemma of the democratic process. What compromise do you suggest? That we climb halfway up?” His voice was heavy with Teutonic wit.

“It’s three opposed,” Jonathan corrected. “Ben has a vote.”

“But he will not be climbing with us.”

“He’s our ground man. Until we touch rock, he has more than a vote; he has complete control.”

“Oh? Has that been decided upon?”

Anderl spoke without taking his eyes from the girls on the terrace. “It is always like that,” he said with authority. “The ground man has the last word now, and the leader once we are on the face.”

“Very well,” Karl said to cut off discussion on a point he was losing. “That brings us to another issue. Who is to be leader?” Karl glanced around the table, ready to defend himself against any opposition.

Jonathan poured himself another cup and gestured with the pot; his offer of coffee was declined by Karl with a brusque shake of the head, by Jean-Paul, who put his hand over his cup, by Anna with a movement of her fingertips, by Anderl, who was paying no attention, and by Ben with a grimace, his beer mug still a quarter full. “I thought it was pretty much set that you would lead, Karl,” Jonathan said quietly.

“And so it was. But that decision was reached before the American member of the team had his unfortunate accident and was replaced by a man of such international repute—up until a few years ago, at least.”

Jonathan could not repress a smile.

“So that we start off with a firm understanding,” Karl continued, “I want to make sure everyone is in agreement about who shall lead.”

“You make a good point,” Jean-Paul said. “It is true that Jonathan has climbed the mountain twice before.”

Gallic reasonableness was countered with Teutonic exactitude. “A correction, if I may. The good doctor has failed to climb the mountain twice. I don’t mean to offend you, Herr Doctor, but I am forced to say that I do not consider a record of failure automatically grants you the right to lead.”

“I’m not offended. Is it all that important to you that you lead?”

“It is important to our group. I have spent months designing a new route that departs in significant ways from the classic ascent. I am sure that once I have gone over it with you, you will all agree it is well thought out and quite feasible. And taking the face by a new route will put us in the record books.”

“And that’s important to you?”

Karl glanced at him with surprise. “Of course.”

Anderl had pushed his chair away from the table and was watching the power struggle with amusement in the folds of his thin, heavily tanned face.

Anna relieved her boredom by shifting her glance from Jonathan to Karl, the two natural leaders of the group. Jonathan sensed she was making a choice.

“Why don’t we leave it at this,” Jean-Paul said, moderating. “This afternoon we shall all go over the route you have planned, Karl. If it looks good to us, then you will be leader on the mountain. But until we are on the face, Benjamin will be in command.”

Karl agreed, certain the appeal of his new route would convince them. Ben concurred with a glum glance at Karl. Jonathan agreed. And Anderl didn’t care one way or the other.

“So!” Jean-Paul clapped his hands together to punctuate the end of what had been, for him, an unpleasant encounter. “Now we will take our coffee and become better acquainted with one another. Right?”

“Oh?” said Jonathan. “I had assumed that you and Karl were already acquainted.”

“How so?” Jean-Paul asked, smiling.

“In a business way, I had imagined. Your company makes aeresol containers, his produces pesticides. It would seem natural that …” Jonathan shrugged.

Karl frowned at the mention of pesticides.

“Ah! I see,” Jean-Paul said. “Yes, I can see that it would be a natural error. As a matter of fact, our meeting here is the first. It is sheerest coincidence that we are in related industries.”

Anna glanced out the window and spoke to no one in particular. “In fact, I had assumed that every manufacturer of liquids in Europe had been to our house at one time or another.”

Jean-Paul laughed and winked at Jonathan. “She finds some of my colleagues a little dull.”

“Oh?” Jonathan asked, wide-eyed.

The conversation turned to social trivialities, and after fifteen minutes of this Ben rose and excused himself, saying he wanted to check over the equipment. Anderl decided to help him, and the two of them went off.

Jonathan watched Ben depart with his characteristic hyper-energetic hopping gait with which he compensated for his limp. A thought crossed his mind.

“I hear you were injured last month,” he said conversationally to Karl.

“Yes. A fall. Nothing really.”

“It was your leg, I believe.”

“Yes. I cut it against a rock. I assure you it will not hamper my climbing in the least.”

“Good.”

Karl and Jean-Paul fell to chatting about mountains they had both climbed, comparing routes and events. Jonathan had an opportunity to sit back with his cup and examine the three of them at his leisure. There had been nothing in the behavior of any member of the team to suggest he knew what Jonathan was and why he was there.

Anna Bidet’s thoughts had turned inward, hidden behind the long lashes which veiled her quick, intelligent eyes. For some time she had been withdrawn, quite content with the company of her own mind. From time to time she would focus out on the men around her and listen for a moment before deciding there was nothing to interest her in the conversation, then she would dissolve back into herself. Jonathan let his eyes rest on her. Her clothes, her rare comments, her glances occasionally flashing in question or amusement, then eclipsing with a sudden drop of the lashes—everything was studied and effective. She was at one time dignified and provocative, a combination that is the exclusive property of Parisian women of a certain class and age.

She emerged from her reverie with the feel of Jonathan’s gaze upon her. She returned it frankly and with amusement.

“An interesting combination,” she said quietly.

“What is?”

“Art critic, scholar, and mountain climber. And I’m sure there’s more to you than that.”

“What do you make of it?”

“Nothing.”

Jonathan nodded and turned his attention to Jean-Paul, who obviously did not come from her world. His recent wealth fit him like his clothes, a little imperfectly because he lacked the panache to dominate them. He was over age for a major climb, but there was no fat on his sturdy agricultural body. One eye dropped down like a tragic clown’s, but his expression was alive with intelligence and convivality. His nose made a long, thin line starting rather too far up above the eyes and taking a capr...