Chapter 138 - The Silent Code
"He's blinking, Mom."
Noah’s voice broke the suffocating silence of our living room.
The ten-year-old was already off the sofa, his socks silent against the hardwood as he moved directly in front of the television, pulling an iPad from his school satchel. His small fingers flew across the screen, scrubbing the recorded broadcast backward by thirty seconds, slowing the frame rate to twenty-four frames per second.
"What do you see, Noah?" I asked, kneeling beside him, my voice trembling with suppressed panic as Sophie came to stand at my elbow, clutching her rabbit.
"Look at his left hand on the podium," Noah instructed, zooming in on the high-definition image of Ethan’s fingers resting against the polished wood.
Ethan’s index and middle fingers were tapping against the grain in an irregular, rhythmic sequence.
Tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
"Polybius square," Noah murmured, his eyes scanning the digital chronometer beside the video feed. "Combined with standard military short-burst Morse. He’s transmitting coordinates."
"Coordinates to what?" Sophie asked softly.
"To the secondary vault in Chamonix," Noah answered, deciphering the letters with terrifying, mathematical precision. "Seven... four... two... Alpha. He’s telling us that the Annecy perimeter is already compromised. We have twelve minutes before the hunter teams reach the gate."
As if on cue, the high-security console mounted beside our stone fireplace let out a low, continuous warble.
PERIMETER WARNING: SENSOR GRID 4 BREACHED. THREE UNIDENTIFIED VEHICLES ENTERING LOWER ACCESS ROAD.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Ethan had known. He had calculated the syndicate’s response to the second. By putting himself on international television in Geneva, he had forced Lord Charles Sterling to commit his heavy reserves to the Swiss plaza, while simultaneously triggering their automated ground teams to hit Annecy before we could react.
The French doors of the terrace swung open with a sharp, cold draft of alpine wind.
Captain Dupont and Marcus Vance rushed into the room, wearing dark tactical windbreakers, carrying heavy duffel bags.
"Victoria, grab your boots," Marcus barked, his face pale, throwing a pair of thermal parkas onto the sofa. "The municipal police checkpoint at the base of the mountain road was bypassed three minutes ago. Two armored SUVs with disabled transponders are moving up the switchbacks."
"Where is Sister Beatrice and Dr. Moreau?" I demanded, hauling Noah and Sophie toward the master bedroom to grab our emergency bug-out packs.
"They were evacuated through the underground wine tunnel forty minutes ago in Dupont's civilian Peugeot," Marcus replied, racking the bolt on a tactical carbine. "They're en route to the gendarmerie barracks in Chambery. But these hit teams aren't looking for the nun, Victoria. They're looking for the children."
Sophie didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She calmly slipped her arms through the straps of her small backpack, zipped her plush bunny into the front pouch, and pulled on her heavy winter boots, her stormy gray eyes locking onto mine with an unshakeable, fierce maturity that made my breath hitch.
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"Daddy told us never to run in a straight line, Mommy," Sophie said quietly. "He said the wolves only watch the road."
"We aren't taking the road, baby," I promised, taking her small hand in mine. "We're taking the mountain."
