Chapter 27 Will #3
The Baroness was quiet for a moment, her gaze turning inward.
“The Order’s plan depends on the crisis appearing genuine, something that demands emergency action.
If we can prove it is orchestrated or if we can document their people at the sabotage sites and capture evidence of coordinated action, then the crisis will be exposed as manufactured. ”
“You want photographs,” the woman said slowly.
“Photographs, descriptions, license plates . . . anything that proves multiple sites were hit by the same organization at the same time.” The Baroness tapped the map.
“I have a journalist who writes for the Neue Zürcher Zeitung. I have given him copies of our documentary evidence, and he is preparing a story, but he will not publish without verification. He requires proof that what we claim is actually happening.”
“And if we get him that proof?” the woman asked.
“If he publishes, and the story breaks before the Council convenes, whatever ‘crisis’ they attempt to create will be exposed as a conspiracy.” The Baroness’s eyes were bright now, the plan taking shape.
“The compromised ministers cannot push their decrees without revealing themselves to all of Switzerland and the rest of the world. Even if the sabotage succeeds, the political objective will fail.”
I watched the CIA woman working through everything she’d just learned—the risks, the boundaries, and whether this fell within her authority.
“Observation and documentation,” she said finally. “That’s technically within my mandate.”
“What I suggest is observation,” the Baroness agreed. “With cameras.”
A hint of a smile crossed the woman’s face. “You’re good at this.”
“I have had a lifetime of practice.”
The woman looked to her team. Some silent communication passed between them, then Marcus shrugged and Danny nodded. Eddie’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted toward acceptance.
“All right,” the woman said, turning back to the Baroness. “Talk us through it. Let’s hammer this out.”
The Baroness pulled the map closer. “First, you should know we are not operating alone. General Werner Hoffmann met with me yesterday. He is retired but still well connected. He has seen our evidence and believes us.”
“The meeting we provided security for,” the woman said.
“Yes, that meeting. By morning, the general will have quietly briefed three Council members he trusts. When the session convenes, they will be prepared to oppose emergency measures.” The Baroness sighed.
“Unfortunately, I do not believe that will be enough. Hoffmann may be wrong about who can be trusted, and the compromised ministers may outnumber the loyal ones. Or the crisis may be severe enough that even honest men feel they must act.”
“So we’re the insurance policy,” Thomas said.
“We are the parallel effort,” the Baroness corrected.
“If Hoffmann succeeds politically, we win. If Vogel’s story breaks in time, we win.
If both succeed, the Order is crushed from two directions, and Stalin receives well-deserved mud on his putrid face.
” The Baroness spread her hands. “I do not gamble on single points of failure.”
She turned to the map and pointed to the warehouse on the eastern side.
“This should be our primary target. Based on the Opel your man followed yesterday, we believe this is their staging area where men and equipment gather before dispersing to the infrastructure sites. If we can photograph activity there on the night of the 14th, we should prove coordination.”
“What kind of activity?” Marcus asked.
“Armed men loading vehicles, equipment being distributed. Ideally, we capture faces we can identify later.” The Baroness traced routes on the map. “From there, they will fan out to their targets. Power stations here, here, and here. Communications hub here. Possibly others we have not identified.”
Eddie leaned forward, studying the map. “That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“It is, which is why we must prioritize.” The Baroness tapped the warehouse again. “This is where we focus our main effort. The infrastructure sites are secondary. We photograph what we can, but we do not spread ourselves too thin.”
The woman nodded slowly. “Eddie does reconnaissance tomorrow, a daylight pass on the warehouse to assess security, access points, and patterns of movement. We need to know what we’re looking at before we commit.”
“Carefully, please,” the Baroness said. “If they spot him—”
“They won’t.” Eddie’s voice was quiet, confident. “This is what I do.”
“The night of the 14th,” the woman continued, “we position teams for observation. Primary team on the warehouse. Secondary team mobile, covering whatever infrastructure sites we can reach.”
“Who goes where?” I asked.
She considered for a moment. “Emu, you’re with me and Marcus on the warehouse. You’ve got tactical experience. If something goes sideways, I want you there. I would suggest Condor, too, but his injury rules him out of direct action.”
I nodded, grateful she’d accounted for Thomas’s shoulder, because I knew my stubborn man would insist on throwing himself in front of a moving train if everyone allowed it.
“Condor, you take Danny and Eddie. You’re our mobile team with a list of likely targets. Stay invisible, photograph everything, don’t engage.”
“And me?” Bisch asked.
“Communications and transport. You know the area. If something goes wrong, you’re our way out.”
The Baroness added, “I will coordinate from here. Radio contact every thirty minutes, but we must keep our transmissions short. The Soviets are masters at interception. If any team misses a check-in, we should assume compromise.”
“And then?” the woman asked.
“Scatter and regroup at a backup location. Bisch will provide coordinates.” The Baroness’s voice was flat. “The mission continues regardless of individual losses, including mine.”
No one argued. We all understood what we’d signed up for.
The planning continued for another hour, reviewing routes, timing, communication codes, and fallback positions. By the time we finished, dull winter light was seeping through the windows.
“Rest today,” the Baroness said, rising stiffly. “All of you. Tomorrow we prepare. The night after, we act.”
The CIA team decided to stay at the farmhouse. It was too risky to keep moving, to keep exposing everyone in public, and we needed quick coordination. Dr. Müller’s house was getting crowded, but no one complained.
As the group dispersed, the woman caught my arm.
“Hey. Emu.”
I turned. This close, I could see the fatigue creeping into her eyes.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly. “Most operators I’ve worked with are just following orders. You look like you actually give a damn.”
Her words brought back images of the Baroness’s hands when we’d first found her, of Otto dying in that bedroom, and of Thomas bleeding in the snow. My gut twisted as I thought about all we’d lost.
“Someone has to,” I said.
She studied me for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she reached up and squeezed my arm.
“Get some sleep. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” She winked and walked away.
Thomas appeared at my elbow. “She likes you.”
“She’s mocking me. I still don’t know her name, even a false one.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive, especially for those in our line of work. You know that better than most. And names are overrated, especially false ones, Emu.” He grinned as he slid his hand into mine and squeezed gently. “Come on. Let’s catch a couple hours of sleep while we can.”
“Just sleep?”
“For now.” His smile was tired but warm. “I believe I made you a promise, but it’ll have to wait until we’re done saving Switzerland.”