The sun rising over the scraggly peaks reflected off of the snow on the mountains, creating a pristine setting; the majestic peaks were ideal for skiing if that was your fancy, or simply there to be enjoyed, for the view really was breathtaking from the balcony of the large rustic lodge. However, the occupants of Rural Route 2, Iron Mountain, Colorado, or Moosehead Lodge as it was commonly known as to the inhabitants of Iron Mountain, were there neither to enjoy the skiing nor the scenery. The lodge has been chosen for a clandestine meeting with an agenda of world wide significance. For them. The mountains offered privacy and isolation.

 

     The five jeeps and three four-wheel drive vehicles were huddled together in front of the large rustic cabin-like structure, as if to mimic a herd attempting to stay warm against the elements. The wind was howling, and causing the smoke that rose from the chimney in white plumes to swirl around before being lost in the clear and quiet mountain air.

 

     The pine trees that rose behind the cabin were heavy with snow, their branches bending under the weight of the previous night’s snowfall. The roads leading to the cabin were largely snow packed and would pose a hazard to most private vehicles not specifically equipped for the locale.

Without warning, the quiet of the morning was shattered by the explosions that rocked the mountain as approximately one hundred eighty pounds of plastic explosive were detonated in strategic spots so as to send a wall of snow and ice cascading down the mountains, burying the cabin, the vehicles, as well as the unfortunate occupants of Moosehead Lodge. Accounts of the disaster compiled later from those in town made reference to hearing thunder in the mountains immediately before the avalanche.

 

     The three men that were huddling around the propane stove above where the avalanche had started, took turns watching the cabin with binoculars for any signs of life. If no one appeared by late afternoon, they would venture down there to confirm the fate of those assembled. Their instructions had been simple; create an illusion that all of the occupants died as the result of an act of nature. If this was not possible, make any survivors disappear in a mountain lake – quickly, quietly, and most assuredly, permanently.

 

     The explosives had done their work well. The velocity achieved by the wall of snow had been such that when it engulfed the lodge, all of the still sleeping occupants were either trapped or buried in the bedrooms they were occupying in the rear of the lodge.

 

     It had taken them nearly three hours to scale down from their vantage point to observe the results of their efforts. Their employers would be pleased. Better a wall of snow to accomplish the deed than the carnage of automatic gunfire, or the mountain lake, had been their instructions.

 

     The public would read about it over their morning coffee tomorrow, or the next day, and not give it a second thought. But, an investigation of the mountains above would still yield enough evidence for the occupant of the Oval Office to know that it was no accident, and to know that he would have to contend with the consequences of violating Knight’s Code.