Outside the Federal Palace, the morning sun spread her warmth over Bern.
Newsboys were already on the corners, waving the morning edition, shouting headlines that would change Switzerland forever. Citizens stopped to buy papers, to read and stare in disbelief at words that revealed how close they had come to losing it all.
The conspiracy was exposed.
Radios would crackle throughout the day and into the night with updates. Breathless voices would speak of how traitors were exposed and captured. They would describe how the nation’s sacred space had been infiltrated. Proudly, they would praise the handful of loyal men and the lone woman who had stood in the breach and guarded the hopes and dreams of millions.
Switzerland would remain free.
But in the chamber where it had all unraveled, the five remaining councilors knew the truth. This was not an ending.
It was a beginning.
The roots of the Order ran deep, and plucking them out completely would be nearly impossible. Other nations would face threats. Leaders would fall. And yes, there would be more arrests, more revelations, and more moments when the foundations of trust would shake and threaten to crumble.
The five councilors knew their battle was won.
But something in President Josef Frei’s gut told him the war was only beginning.
36
Will
Thomas was asleep finally. The doctor had given him something for the pain that had pulled him under within minutes. He’d fought it, of course. Tried to stay awake, stay alert, stay ready for whatever came next, but the drugs had won the day.
I watched him from the doorway, drinking in the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his hand curled against the pillow where I’d been lying, as though, even in rest, he reached for me.
I pulled the door closed as quietly as I could and made my way down the hall to the kitchen. The farmhouse was quieter now. The American team had retreated to one of the outbuildings for their own debriefing, and the Baroness had finally allowed herself to rest in a puffy leather chair by the fireplace. Her eyes were closed, though I suspected she wasn’t really sleeping.
Bisch had resumed his post by the window with his rifle leaned against the wall within arm’s reach.
“He’s asleep,” I said as I stepped up beside Bisch.
He nodded but didn’t turn.
“I need to make a call.” I didn’t have to tell him who would be on the other end.
“There is a village,” he said, finally looking in my direction without turning his body away from the window. “It is twelve kilometers to the southwest. It is barely a dot on the map, but there is a post office with a telephone. It should be open by now.”
“Can you drive me?”
“I can.” He reached for his coat. “Should we bring the Baroness?”
“Let her rest. I’ll be back before anything happens.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “The car is out front.”
The drive was silent. Bisch wasn’t a talker under the best of circumstances, and these were far from the best of circumstances. The road wound down from the farmhouse through snow-covered fields, past shuttered chalets and frozen streams. The sun was fully up now, pale and cold, casting long shadows across the landscape.
I stared out the window and tried not to think about Thomas.
It didn’t work.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined him struggling to stay upright on an ice-covered bridge.Then I recalled the doctor’s grim expression as he assessed the damage.
All because he’d done exactly what we were supposed to do.
That was the part that kept spinning in my head like a dreidel that refused to fall, the part I couldn’t let go of. For once—for once—we’d actually followed orders. “Observation only,” Manakin had said. “Document the attacks, gather evidence, do not engage.”
