Target: Point Zero Read Free Page B

empty cities he’d passed along the way. Though just as dark and cold as they were, looking at it through the dirty windshield was almost hypnotic. He was warm inside for a moment, a sensation he didn’t experience too often.
    He brought the truck to a stop at the side of the road about two miles from the outskirts of the city. Finally killing the big engine for the first time in fifty-one hours, he sat inside the chilly cab, soaking in the stupendous scenery and paying close attention to the small settlement just ahead. It could have been a postcard for the Alps: a collection of chalets and quaint Alpine buildings with the twin peaks soaring dramatically in the background. It was incredible. Hunter believed he could never get tired of looking at it.
    But eventually he found himself slumping down further into the cold, hard seat. He knew he would have to stay here, in the cab of the truck, for at least a little while. Night would soon be falling for real. If he was going to drive through the city, it was best he do so under the cover of darkness.
    He adjusted himself in the seat yet again, lifting his feet up to the dashboard and leaning back against the driver’s side door. Gradually his tired muscles began to relax. His ears heard nothing but silence—and were grateful for the change. Slowly, he began to close his eyes.
    When he opened them again, the first thing he saw was a line of hundreds of lights, twinkling off in the distance.
    Hunter was back up sitting straight in his seat in a flash. The lights were coming from the city, aglow at the base of the two mountains. He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure. This was the first sign of civilization he’d seen since leaving Baikonur. The buildings appeared alive and cordial, the smoke from many fires wafting high above them. Another warm tingling sensation was building inside his chest. He rubbed his eyes again. When he listened hard enough, he thought he could hear the faint hum of voices, electricity and machines, the sounds of life were resonating from the place.
    Rising out of the city, he could see a string of lights climbing up the side of the mountain towards the wide, snowy pass where the twin peaks met. They were bead-lights, faint and stuttering, illuminating a mountain road-way. This was good news; the road continued up and over the peaks, just as he’d hoped.
    But there was something happening way up where the two great mountains converged. The glow of many fires was illuminating the pass and the night sky on both sides of the peaks. A thick cloud of ugly black smoke was rising above it all. It looked like a forest fire, even though both the mountains and the crevice in between were capped in a perpetual layer of snow and ice. Hunter rolled down the truck’s window and turned his ear toward the west. He could hear the sound of explosions and gunfire, way off in the distance. He couldn’t believe it, it sounded like a war going on up there.
    He let his eyes fall back to the small city, getting slowly sucked in by its mysterious warm glow again. He hated to admit it, but he was cold, tired, hungry and thirsty. He was eyeing the place rather dreamily now—a shot of bergenwhiskas, a mug of beer and a plate of roast-beef stew would be a feast to him at this point…
    The next thing he knew, he was climbing down out of the truck, jumping first to the running board and then to the snowy road below. It was cold out and he had only a medium-season jacket pulled over his flight regs. Strangely though, it seemed warm enough. Strapping his trusty M-16F2 over his left shoulder, he pulled his ball cap down over his head as far as he could, stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking.
    After a while, his feet felt so light, they hardly touched the ground.

Three
    T HE NAME OF THE place was the Rootentootzen.
    Located near the south end of the city just below the twin massive peaks, it was a tavern in the very best old Alpine tradition. Built of stone, wood and