Chapter 24
The air at three thousand meters was thin enough to taste like iron.
We were positioned on a jagged limestone overlook, cloaked in white tactical gear that bled into the snow-dusted slopes of the Swiss Alps. Below us, the Saint-Gothard Pass snaked like a frozen artery through the mountains. According to Dupond, the "medical extraction" was moving via a heavily armored convoy disguised as a Red Cross transport.
"Thermal contact," Adrian whispered into his comms. He was lying prone next to me, a high-powered spotting scope pressed to his eye. "Three vehicles. Lead scout, the ambulance, and a rear guard. They’re moving fast."
I checked the monitor of the portable signal-jammer Alexei had rigged. We weren't here to blow up a convoy; we were here to perform a delicate "surgical"
