Page 2 of Ground Truth

Despite the building’s impressive facade, the entryway was a simple double door designed to take the brunt of the Alpine winters. Just inside the exterior doors, two greeters stood to either side, smiling and nodding, and directing the guests to an elevator.

Flint walked in, smiling like the others. He didn’t dare speak. The guests sounded German and Italian. His American accent would attract far too much attention. Fortunately, they were only interested in chatting among themselves. No one spoke to him, and he returned the favor.

He followed the group into the elevator, bumping against a woman in a red silk dress and the doors closed.

“Excusez-moi,” he said, keeping his voice low. He looked away to avoid being drawn into conversation as the elevator ascended.

When the doors opened, he gestured for the group to go ahead of him. One or two nodded their appreciation as they exited, but most simply ignored him.

He followed them into an expansive reception room. The far side consisted of a two-story curved glass wall that probably cost more than Flint earned in a year.

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Chapter 2

Glittering chandeliers hung down around a central, live pine tree that looked to be a permanent fixture, and modern art decorated the walls. On either side of the room, life-size figures depicting Roman gods formed the centerpieces to elaborate fountains.

A string quartet played Vivaldi on a discreet, elevated stage.

Waitstaff in close-fitting black uniforms threaded their way through a crowd, shoes clicking on a marble floor. Flint scooped a champagne flute from a passing tray and ambled his way into the throng, smiling and nodding at people as he passed.

He glanced casually around the ceiling and noted the absence of any obvious security cameras. Which didn’t mean there were none.

The half-dozen square-shouldered men that stood to attention around the walls screamed that armed security was ever present.

Flint took a sip of champagne and relaxed. Aside from attending a party to which he hadn’t been invited, he wasn’t guilty of anything. Even when the evening was over, he wouldn’t be guilty. His goal was simply to restore property to its rightful owner.

Just then Ernst Hedinger came into view.

Flint turned away and headed for cover behind a fountain. Now that he knew the host was actively engaged at the party, he could move on to the next stage.

He took an exit theArchitectural Reviewarticle said led to a restroom.

A guard heading in the opposite direction eyed him as he walked down the corridor. Flint raised his glass and smiled. The guard grunted. Flint didn’t stop.

He entered an enormous restroom and locked the door. The guard could be a problem, but there was no way to change the plan now.

A second door, painted to blend in with the walls, took him to an empty service corridor. He paced silently toward the corner and glanced around before proceeding.

A window revealed he was at the rear of the property. The upward slope of the ground now put him at ground level.

Three doors down, he found a sign that identified a wet room for skis. He listened a moment before entering and heard no one inside.

The wet room was also enormous. Skis lined one wall and snowboards, the other. A couple of dozen snowsuits hung on a rail in the middle of the room.

Two snowmobiles were parked by the far wall. A large door in front of them obviously exited onto ground level. He found the ignition wires on both machines and pulled them out, which would prevent the snowmobiles from starting easily.

Flint swapped his dress shoes for snowboard boots from a rack. He searched until he found a wiring closet in the corner.

To his relief, the closet was an access shaft that ran up four floors. Just as he’d guessed.

The guess had been a gamble. The magazine article’s diagram had simply shown the closet as “electrical access,” but he’d reasoned that a sixteenth-century building would be limited for modern electrical cables. Which was likely to force routing through one access point. He’d been right.

Flint climbed a ladder to the top floor, where a dusty hallway exited through a door into a laundry room. Flint paused, listening a moment before opening the door wide enough to stick his head through.

Pillows, bedsheets, and towels were stacked on shelves. Two large washing machines stood on pedestals, likely to isolate them from the floor, where vibrations could disturb their pampered owner. Tiny green LEDs on the front of the machines gave the room a faint, eerie glow.

Flint grabbed a towel from the stack and kept moving.

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