Chapter 5 - The Ambush in the Pass
We left Cologny before dusk in a convoy of two armored Range Rovers. The snow had intensified into a blinding squall, swirling across the winding alpine highways toward Zurich. Steven sat beside me in the back, monitoring live satellite communications while Julian's security detail led the way.
"Richard’s jet touched down at Kloten Airport forty minutes ago," Steven reported, checking his encrypted tablet. "He checked into the Dolder Grand under the alias 'Marcus Hale.' Chloe Laurent is not with him. She was picked up by federal agents at Logan Airport when she tried to board a flight to Miami with two duffel bags of jewelry."
I felt no pity for Chloe. She had chosen her path with open eyes, intoxicated by Richard's false promises of power and wealth. But Richard was the architect, and he was the one who needed to face the reckoning.
Suddenly, the lead vehicle swerved violently, its brake lights flashing crimson against the whiteout conditions.
"Brace!" Steven barked, throwing his arm across my chest to pin me securely against the seat.
A deafening crash echoed through the mountain pass as a heavy black snowplow barreled out of an unlit logging trail, slamming directly into the front Range Rover and spinning it off the shoulder into the deep snowdrift.
Our driver slammed on the brakes, the ABS grinding furiously as the heavy armored vehicle skidded across the black ice, stopping mere feet from the mountain rockface.
Through the blizzard, three figures dressed in tactical winter gear stepped out from the trees, automatic weapons raised.
"Ambush!" the driver yelled, reaching for his weapon.
"Stay down, Valerie!" Steven ordered, unholstering his Glock. He didn't hesitate; he shoved me toward the floorboards, shielding my body and my baby with his own broad frame.
The driver kicked open his door, returning fire into the blinding snow. The rattle of automatic gunfire shattered the alpine silence, bullets spiderwebbing across the reinforced ballistic glass of our windshield.
Julian’s voice crackled through Steven’s comms earpiece from the disabled lead vehicle: *"Richard hired private contractors! He smelled the trap! Do not let them breach your doors!"*
My heart hammered against my ribs, but fear was instantly replaced by white-hot fury. Richard was desperate enough to spill blood in the snow to save his own skin. He wasn't just running; he was trying to silence the witnesses before he crossed the border into Liechtenstein.
"Steven," I whispered, clutching his arm, feeling the solid, unyielding muscle beneath his coat. "The baby."
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"Nobody touches you while I am breathing," Steven whispered back, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with an intensity that went far beyond professional duty. "Hold on."
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