Chapter 11
Half a world away, above the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps, the private Gulfstream G650 banked smoothly through a sea of brilliant morning sunlight. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was dead silent, save for the steady, hypnotic drone of the jet engines. Julian Vance—now legally and biometrically recognized as Arthur Pendelton—sat by the window, staring out at the breathtaking expanse of white summits and deep, shadowed valleys below.
He held a glass of amber whiskey in his hand, though he hadn't taken a sip in over an hour. The ice had melted completely, diluting the liquor into a pale, watery amber. His tailored gray suit jacket had been replaced by a heavy wool cardigan, and his dark hair was slightly tousled, lending him the appearance of an aging academic or retired diplomat rather than a hunted international fugitive.
The cabin door chimed softly, and the flight attendant walked down the aisle, pausing beside his seat. "Mr. Pendelton, we are thirty minutes out from our private landing strip outside Zurich. Customs clearance has been pre-arranged under your diplomatic credentials. A car will be waiting on the tarmac to take you to your residence in the hills."
Julian nodded without looking up from the window. "Thank you. That will be all."
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The flight attendant retreated to the galley, leaving him alone once more with his thoughts. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the encrypted flash drives—the very drives he had brought into the hotel room with the intention of using them as leverage ag
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