Chapter 24 Thomas
Thomas
We returned to the farmhouse as dawn broke over the mountains. The Baroness was pacing in the living room. She looked up when we entered, and I saw the question in her good eye before she asked it.
“Well?”
We stepped into the kitchen. Will set the satchel on the table and opened it. The folders spilled out.
“We found what we were looking for,” he said. “And more.”
She reached for the letters first.
I watched her face as she read them, watched the understanding slip into place, piece by piece. When she reached the final letter, the one that gave her exact location at the Grand Hotel Bellevue, she went very still.
“Engel,” she said.
“Yes.”
She set the letter down carefully, as though it might shatter. For a long moment, she didn’t speak. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the rage, the fury, and the cold promise of vengeance.
They didn’t come.
Instead, she picked up the first letter again and read aloud: “The young woman continues her studies, and we trust this arrangement remains agreeable to all parties.”
She set it down again.
“They had his daughter.”
“That’s what it looks like,” Will said carefully.
“I smuggled that girl out of Vienna when she was only a child.” The Baroness’s voice was distant, remembering. “She had a doll, a little cloth thing with button eyes. She would not let go of it, not even when we had to run. Friedrich wept when I put them on the train.”
She quieted for a moment.
“And now they used her to break him.”
“He betrayed you,” I said, the words harder than I intended.
“Yes, he did.” She met my eyes, and I saw something complicated there.
“He made an impossible choice, and people died because of it. Otto died because of it.” Her bandaged hands curled against the table.
“But I find I cannot hate him the way I want to. I have spent too many years in this work and have seen too many people broken by similar methods.”
“What do we do about him?” Will asked.
“Nothing . . . yet.” The Baroness straightened in her chair.
“Engel is a problem for after February 15th. If we survive this, I will deal with him then. His daughter will be protected. She is innocent in all of this. But Friedrich . . .” She shook her head slowly.
“Friedrich will answer for what he has done.”
She gathered the letters, stacked them neatly, and set them aside.
“Now. Tell me what else you found.”
We spread the evidence across the table and walked her through it: the payment records, the correspondence, the personnel placements and infrastructure acquisitions.
Most importantly, confirmation of the timeline leading up to February 15th, with the Chamber Session as the culmination of everything.
“This is enough,” the Baroness said when we finished. “This is enough to expose them—if we can get it to the right people in time.”
“Manakin said State Department is aware of the situation,” Will offered. “If we can get this evidence through official channels—”
The Baroness shook her head. “Official channels move too slowly. We have five days. We need something faster, something that cannot be buried or delayed.”
Will suggested, “Another allied nation? France? Maybe even Rome? After last year, surely the Pope would—”
“The press,” I said.
The Baroness looked at me.
“You mentioned a journalist, the one you were supposed to meet at the hotel.” I leaned forward. “If we can get this evidence to him, he can publish it. He can force the government to act.”
“Schweizer is likely under surveillance, and after what happened at the Bellevue, they will be watching anyone connected to me.”
“Then we find another way to reach him . . . or we find another journalist.” I glanced at Will. “Someone outside Bern, someone they’re not watching.”
The Baroness was quiet for a moment.
“There is a man in Bern,” she said slowly. “He writes for the Neue Zürcher Zeitung. He published stories that helped expose Nazi collaborators. He is careful, thorough, and he owes me a favor.”
“Who in Europe doesn’t?” I couldn’t resist the jab.
The Baroness rolled her eye.
“Can you reach him?” Will asked, steering us back on track.
“Not directly, but Bisch can. Werner and Bisch served together in the resistance. If anyone can make contact without being noticed, it is him.”
Bisch nodded once. “I will leave today.”
“There is also the matter of the Swiss government itself.” The Baroness turned back to us.
“The evidence implicates Lüthi and Brenner, but the rest of the Federal Council may be clean. If we can reach the others before February 15th and warn them about what is coming, they may be able to stop the Chamber Session before it starts.”
“How do we reach them without going through compromised channels?” Will asked. “And what if they aren’t clean? What if they’re part of this, too, and we’re walking into another trap?”
“A fair concern.” She hesitated. “There is a general. He is retired now but still quite respected. He has connections to the military and the Council. If I can convince him of the threat, he may be able to arrange a meeting with the Council President directly. I am confident the President has no knowledge of this scheme.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Will asked.
“My life has been in his hands many times, William. He is a good man. I doubt many things these days, but of that, I am certain.”
“A meeting will be dangerous. Just leaving this house exposes you,” I said. “If the Order has people in the military and in the police, which we must assume they do, the moment you surface, they’ll know.”
“Which is why I need protection I can trust.” The Baroness looked at Will. “The CIA team, you said they are in Bern, yes?”
“Four men. They’re working under diplomatic cover with limited resources, but they’re there.”
“I need them to provide security for my meeting with the general. Swiss faces will draw less attention, but Americans—” She shook her head. “If the Order sees Agency involvement, they may hesitate. They want this to look like an internal Swiss matter. Foreign operatives complicate that narrative.”
“How will the Soviets view it?” I asked.
“They will despise America for meddling.” The Baroness scoffed. “But they know your strength. They will not wish to cross your operatives unless it is absolutely necessary, and they would never do so in public, where sunlight shines brightest.”
“You want the CIA team as a deterrent,” I said.
“I want them as a shield. At least long enough for me to make my case.”
“And if they don’t hold back? If the Soviets or the Order aren’t deterred from making a public statement?”
“Then I will need men with guns who are not afraid to use them.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “Bisch will be with Vogel. You and William cannot be everywhere at once, and you, Thomas, are in no shape to fight. Manakin’s team fills the gap.”
It made sense, I supposed. I still didn’t like it. Bringing in more players meant more variables, more chances for something to go wrong, but we were out of options.
“There’s something else,” Will said slowly.
“It’s the infrastructure seizures. The letters said they needed everything in position by midnight on the 14th.
They mentioned communications, transportation, and key intersections.
If we knew which targets they were planning to hit, Manakin’s team could help us monitor them, maybe even disrupt them. ”
“Engel’s documents also mentioned specific acquisitions,” the Baroness said. “Warehouses, a printing facility, and properties near transportation hubs. Cross-reference those with the personnel placements. We may be able to identify their targets.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover with four men.”
“Four men and the two of you. And whatever resources the general can provide, if I can convince him.” She met my eyes. “I know it is not enough, but it is what we have.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s pretty darn thin.”
“Yes, it is,” the Baroness agreed. “But I have built entire networks from less.”
She pushed to her feet, swaying slightly before steadying herself against the table.
“Bisch, you will contact Vogel. Take copies of the payment records and the key letters, enough to convince him, but not enough to compromise us if you are caught.” She turned to Will and me.
“You will contact Manakin’s team. Arrange a meeting.
Tell them we need security for my meeting with the general and assets to monitor the infrastructure targets on the night of the 14th. ”
“And you?” I asked.
“I will reach out to the general.” She looked down at her bandaged hands. “I cannot write. I can barely hold a telephone. But I can still talk. I can still convince.”
“You should rest,” Will said. “You’re still recovering—”
“I will rest when Switzerland is safe.” Her voice brooked no argument.
“We have five days. Every hour matters. Every contact, every conversation, every piece of evidence that reaches the right hands—it all matters.” She looked at each of us in turn.
“We have lost too much to fail now. Otto, Aldric, all the others who died trying to stop this, I will not let their deaths be meaningless.”
The kitchen fell silent. Outside, the morning sun was climbing higher, burning off the mist that clung to the mountain slopes.
It was a new day.
There were five days left.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”
Bisch left within the hour, the documents secure in a hidden pocket of his coat.
Will and I drove into Bern that afternoon. We took the long way. The very long way.
“Gray Peugeot,” I said, watching the rearview mirror. “Three cars back. It’s been with us since the last village.”
Will didn’t turn around. “How long?”
“Six minutes. Maybe seven.”
He took the next right without signaling, a sharp turn onto a narrow road that wound between farmhouses and frozen fields. I kept my eyes on the mirror and counted seconds.
The Peugeot didn’t follow.
“Clean,” I said. “Or smart enough to hand off to another team.”