Chapter 22 - The Ghost of Geneva
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The air in Lausanne smelled of pine wood, ozone, and freezing mountain rain. A heavy fog hung over the airstrip as the C-17 settled onto the tarmac, its reverse thrusters roaring against the silence of the Swiss countryside.
A dark grey, bulletproof Mercedes van idled near the edge of the runway, its headlights cut to parking lights.
Madison stepped down the rear ramp, her combat boots clicking against the wet asphalt. She had her gloved hand resting flat on the grip of her pistol concealed beneath her long coat. Ethan walked close behind her, clutching his backpack.
The van's side door slid open with a sharp mechanical hiss.
An old man stepped out into the misty drizzle. He wore a heavy wool trench coat, his silver hair cropped close in a military cut. Across his left cheek ran a faint, faded scar—a souvenir from a covert operation in Berlin thirty years ago.
Madison stopped in her tracks. Her breath hitched in her throat.
"Grandpa?" she whispered.
Arthur Carter looked at his granddaughter, his weathered face breaking into a tired, solemn smile. His eyes were the exact same shade of steel-blue as Madison’s.
"You grew up to be a fine officer, Maddie," Arthur said, his voice deep and raspy. "Just like your mother."
Madison took three fast steps forward and threw her arms around the old man's neck. Arthur embraced her tightly, resting his chin on her shoulder before looking down at Ethan.
"And you," Arthur said softly, reaching out a hand to pat Ethan's head. "You look just like your dad when he was eight."
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"You left us," Ethan said, his voice trembling with a mix of confusion and anger. "We thought you were dead!"
"I had to die, son," Arthur said softly. "Because as long as I was dead, The Architect thought he was the only predator in the forest."
