Chapter 8 Thomas #2
I leaned forward to look out the windshield, through a gap in the trees.
I could see it: a dark shape against the darkening sky perched on a rocky outcrop like a falcon surveying its domain.
Even from this distance, I could make out the high walls, the guard towers, and the methodical movements of men who were clearly not servants tending a country retreat.
“That’s not an estate,” I said. “That’s a fortress.”
“Medieval foundation,” Will observed. “But modernized. Look at the communication array on the east tower. And those are definitely not decorative lights along the perimeter.”
Otto pulled the car to the side of the road, tucking it into the shadow of a dense stand of pines. “I cannot go closer without being seen. The approach is too exposed.”
“Then we go on foot.” I checked my watch. We had perhaps two hours of daylight left. “Will and I will scout the perimeter. You stay with the car and keep the engine warm. If we’re not back by midnight, get word to Bisch.”
“To Bisch?” Otto’s eyebrows rose. “You now trust him?”
I hesitated. “I trust him to tell the Baroness. What she does with that information is up to her.”
We left the car and began our approach.
The fortress was monstrous up close.
Will and I spent an hour circling the perimeter, moving from cover to cover, cataloging everything we saw.
The walls were thick stone, at least fifteen feet high, topped with razor wire that gleamed in the fading light.
Guard towers at each corner were manned by men with rifles who swept the approaches with professional regularity.
Giant floodlights glared out. They would turn the surrounding terrain into a killing field the moment darkness fell.
We watched trucks coming and going through a heavily guarded gate, men in dark clothing moving with military precision, and the occasional bark of commands in a language I couldn’t quite identify from this distance.
“How many guards do you count?” Will asked, pressed against a boulder beside me.
“At least a dozen on the perimeter. More inside, probably, plus whatever staff they need to run a facility this size.” I lowered my binoculars. “Will, this is a military installation.”
“Look at the east wing.” He pointed toward a section of the fortress that jutted out over the cliff face. “The windows are barred, and those ventilation pipes . . . that’s not standard architecture. I bet that’s a detention facility.”
A prison built into the mountains, invisible from the valley below, staffed by professionals who knew how to keep secrets?
“If they’re holding anyone here . . .”
“Then they’re not getting out without an army.” Will’s voice was grim. “We can’t assault this place. Not the two of us. Not even with Bisch and Otto.”
“The Baroness has resources—”
“The Baroness has a mole she can’t identify. Anyone she brings in could be reporting to the other side.” He shook his head. “We need another way.”
I studied the fortress, trying to find a weakness. The walls were too high to climb. The guards were too alert to slip past. The gate was too heavily defended to force.
But there, on the eastern side where the building met the cliff face, I saw a narrow drainage channel emerging from the rock and disappearing into a culvert below the wall. It was barely visible in the gathering dusk.
“Will. Look at that.”
He followed my gaze. His eyes narrowed as he calculated the same thing I was thinking.
“Sewage outlet,” he said. “Or drainage. Either way, it’s an opening.”
“Big enough for a man?”
“Maybe. It’s hard to tell from here.” He was quiet for a moment. “We’d need to get closer. After dark, when the floodlights are on but the guards are tired. And we’d need a distraction.”
“And we’d need to not die.”
“That, too.” He almost smiled. “But it’s a way in that doesn’t involve walking through the front door.”
The drive back to Bern was long and quiet.
Otto drove without speaking, and Will had fallen into one of his contemplative silences, staring out the window at the darkness.
I should have been tired. We had been moving constantly for days, barely sleeping, running on coffee and adrenaline.
But as hard as I tried to relax, my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
Adlerhorst.
The Chamber Session.
February 15th.
The pieces were starting to fit together, forming a picture that made my blood run cold.
They were planning an occupation rather than a simple coup, a complete takeover of Swiss infrastructure, coordinated and executed in a single night. I was now sure Adlerhorst was the nerve center, the place where the leaders would gather and the orders would be issued.
“Thomas.” Will’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Look.”
He was pointing at something through the windshield. Ahead of us, on the outskirts of Bern, red and blue lights were flashing. Police cars, multiple vehicles, clustered around something I couldn’t see.
Otto slowed the car. “Should I go around?”
“No.” A shivery feeling was spreading through my chest. “Get closer.”
We crept forward, joining a small crowd of late-night motorists who had stopped to gawk at whatever was happening. I rolled down my window, straining to see past the police cordon.
And then I saw it.
A warehouse was engulfed in flames. Fire trucks sprayed water that seemed to evaporate before it could touch the inferno. The building was collapsing in on itself, sending showers of sparks into the night sky.
“Otto, where are we? What is that place?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.
Otto’s voice was unusually stiff, almost mournful. “It is the warehouse where the Baroness was supposed to meet Maurer.”
“No.” The word came out strangled. “No, no, no—”
I was out of the car before Otto could stop me, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of the police officers trying to maintain the perimeter. Will was right behind me, his hand on my arm, pulling me back.
“Thomas, stop—”
“She’s in there!” I struggled against his grip. “The Baroness is in there!”
“You don’t know that—”
“The meeting was tonight! She went alone! She—”
“Thomas.” Will’s voice was sharp, cutting through my panic. “Look.”
He was pointing at something beyond the fire, a cluster of figures standing near an ambulance, silhouetted against the flames.
One of them was tall with silver-blonde hair catching the firelight.
The relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. Will caught me and held me upright as my legs threatened to give out.
“She’s okay,” he said quietly. “She’s okay.”
I watched the Baroness turn. She had spotted our car at the edge of the crowd. Even from this distance, I could see the devastation in her face.
She walked toward us slowly, each step heavy with exhaustion and something worse.
“Maurer?” I asked when she reached us.
She shook her head.
“I arrived early. I wanted to scout the location before he appeared.” Her voice was hollow. “The fire started five minutes before he was supposed to arrive. If I had been inside . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
“Damn it,” Will said. “Someone told them about the meeting.”
The Baroness looked at us, and I saw the same terrible calculation happening behind her eyes that had been happening in mine for days.
“Yes,” she said. “Someone told them.”
Her gaze drifted past us, toward the car where Otto sat waiting.
Then to where Bisch had arranged the meeting.
Where Bisch had written the address.
Where Bisch had known exactly when and where the Baroness would be.
“Someone told them,” she repeated, and her voice was ice.