We’re flying over mountains now. If the big, curved expanse of water I glimpsed through the window is Lake Geneva, then these mountains are the Chablais Alps. I spot the tallest range and count seven summits. The Dents du Midi! I was right.
We begin descending. My estimate is that we’re in the Swiss canton of Valais, only two hours’ drive from Mount Evor.
The chopper touches down on a private helipad.
Kurt’s two mercenaries wrap me in their strong grips, lift me out, and lead me into an idling long black car. I am sandwiched between them in the back seat while another soldier climbs into the front passenger seat.
Kurt, his personal bodyguards, and the rest of his group get into three other cars. Ours takes point. The convoy careens down a mountain pass that winds through a pine forest.
I suppose we’re headed to some secret location in the woods where Kurt owns a cabin. Or a revamped World War II bunker. Or a refurbished medieval dungeon. He’ll keep me there for a while, trying persuasion first, then maybe torture to see if he can at least get some useful intel out of me before I become food for the vultures.
Here’s the deal.
I meant it when I told myself I’d rather die than be taken captive again. Kurt let Charlie go, which means my hands are free.
Well, OK, literally speaking, they’re tied.
But in the figurative sense, there is nothing now—absolutely nothing—stopping me from going for broke.
DARREL
We navigate turn after turn along the narrow mountain pass. Like all Swiss roads, this one is in mint condition, permitting a certain speed despite the frequent turns. Towering pines soar into the sky on either side of the road, their branches absorbing the highlights of the setting sun.
Their deep shade of green calms my mind and brings clarity.
Within seconds, I’ve hatched a plan.It’s bad.My chances of survival are one in one hundred. But that’s OK, because my goal now isn’t survival. It’s avoiding captivity at any cost.
I take a deep breath and focus my physical energy, preparing for the sudden movement I’m about to make. I have only one shot at this, and I’d rather not muck it up.
A flock of birds lifts off and flies overhead.
Let’s go!
My hands shoot up above my head, the sturdy plastic zip ties digging into my wrists. With a determined grunt, I bring them down and outward, rotating my wrists at the same time. The force of the motion is intense, but I don’t have time to register the pain. The locking mechanism on the ties snaps under the pressure, and I tug my wrists apart.
My hands are free now.
While the element of surprise is still on my side, I lunge to my left and throw a swift, powerful punch at the guard sitting next to me. It lands on his jaw. He crumples, knocked out cold, his head lolling to the side.
“Fuck!” the merc on my right points his gun at me.
My third guard, the one in the front passenger seat spins around, gun drawn and aimed at my head. They both yell at me to freeze or they’ll shoot, their voices tense with adrenaline. But no triggers are pulled. They know that their boss wants me alive.
That hesitation gives me the opportunity I need.
The car slows down as we approach a left turn, the tires screeching against the asphalt.Now’s my chance.With every ounce of strength I have, I kick the door on my left. It resists my first attempt. But the desperation of a man who’d rather rebreak his body than spend another day as a prisoner wins out. The locking mechanism shatters under the impact of my second kick.
The door flies open and the fresh evening air rushes in.
The breach destabilizes the vehicle for a second. The remaining conscious guards are thrown off balance, their guns wobbling as they struggle to regain control. I don’t waste any time. Clambering over the unconscious guard on my left, I launch myself out of the car. The wind whips past me as I hit the ground. I roll to absorb the impact. Pain surges through me, but I push it aside.
Keep moving!
I scramble to my feet and sprint away from the road, into the darkening woods, my heart pounding in my chest. The soft, bumpy forest floor under my feet smells of earth and fresh growth. The fading light filters through the trees, helping me avoid roots and other obstacles.
Behind me, I hear cars braking and doors slamming. Men shout in frustration. They’ll be after me in no time. I need to move fast.
Branches whip against my face as I sprint through the underbrush. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Every muscle strains. My legs are screaming for relief. But I keep running, propelling myself deeper into the forest. I can’t afford to slow down now.
