Chapter 33 - Blood on the Alpine Express
Forty minutes later, the frozen silence of the Swiss mountain pass was shattered by the hiss of hydraulic brakes.
The Alpine Cogwheel Express—an exclusive, private luxury train used by Zurich's banking elite to traverse the secluded peaks—was idling at the high-altitude maintenance terminal three miles below the collapsed bunker. Snow was falling in thick, blinding curtains, cloaking the world in suffocating white.
Claire and Vanessa emerged from the exhaust grating of the mountain shaft, shivering violently, their breath frosting against the sub-zero air. Below them, crossing the illuminated platform toward the train's observation car, was Dominique.
She wasn't alone.
Four heavily armed private security operatives dressed in winter tactical gear flanked her, forming a protective perimeter. One of them held an open satellite briefcase, transmitting encrypted data across an uplink.
"She’s transferring the offshore authorization keys," Claire whispered through chattering teeth. "If those files reach the Syndicate’s offshore servers in the Cayman Islands, the entire fortune disappears into dark accounts. Margaret’s restitution fund... the thousands of families our father ruined... they’ll never see a dime."
"Then we board that train," Vanessa said flatly.
"Vanessa, there are five of them. We have one knife, a half-empty magazine, and I’m bleeding through my coat."
"Then we don't fight fair," Vanessa answered, turning her gaze toward the fuel depot located fifty yards above the train platform. "Mother always said a Whitmore never engages in a duel when an ambush is cheaper."
Using the howling blizzard as cover, they slid down the icy embankment. Claire’s shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat, but the cold acted as a natural anesthetic, numbing the pain into a dull ache. While Vanessa crept toward the rear freight car where the maintenance crew had left an open service door, Claire circled the perimeter, her eyes locked on Dominique through the tinted glass of the luxury carriage.
Dominique was pouring herself a glass of champagne. Her posture was aristocratic, completely composed, utterly devoid of the frantic terror that had consumed Claire and Vanessa for months. She looked like Vanessa used to look—untouchable, cruel, and completely convinced of her own supremacy.
*Clang.*
A sudden metallic sound echoed from the rear car.
One of the tactical guards spun around, raising his rifle. "Movement on car four. Checking it out."
"Hurry up," Dominique’s voice drifted through the partially open platform door, ice-cold and impatient. "The train departs in three minutes. Kill whatever crawled out of that hole and leave the carcass in the snow."
Claire watched the guard disappear into the shadow between the carriages.
Ten seconds passed.
May you like
Then, the train’s exterior lights abruptly cut out.
***
