Rules of Deception

A path opened to the right.

Jonathan spun the wheel. The Mercedes lost its tail. He nudged the accelerator and the car found its bearings. The tires asserted their grip, the nose lurching forward. But only for a moment. In front of them the walking path continued downhill, but now it was bathed in the shadows of a pine legion. Snow became ice. The tires lost all purchase. He was sliding, hopelessly out of control. The tail swung right, then left, continuing through forty-five degrees, as they careened backward down the hill, gathering speed.

Ji

The car jumped as it crested the path’s boundary. It hit a hard object and caromed away from it like a billiard ball from a bumper. Jonathan saw a hut flash by. Everything was moving too fast. He gripped the steering wheel and held on for life. The tail bounced violently, and suddenly, the ride grew smooth. The jarring noise disappeared, and there was silence. Jonathan realized that they were airborne. The rear of the car plummeted. The hood rose like a black wave before him, and he blinked as the sun flashed in his eyes. With a terrific thud, the car landed, tumbled onto its side, turned over once, twice, and then came to a rest on its roof.

Ji

Looking down the hill, he caught glimpses of the Davosstrasse between the backs of stores and buildings. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the stores. Dazed and numb, he maintained enough presence of mind to feel for the flash drive.

Thank God, it was there.

A warm breath of wind touched his back, and suddenly he was airborne. The fury of the explosion engulfed him. He landed on his stomach, his face buried in the snow. He raised himself on an elbow and peered over his shoulder. The Mercedes was awash in flames, windows blown out, the hood bent into an A-frame.

Jonathan didn’t know what had happened, whether the gas tank had exploded or if it had been something more sinister. Behind the burning car, on the hillside overlooking the meadow, a police car drew to a halt. A man jumped out.

“Dr. Ransom!” he yelled. “Stop. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

It was the officer from Ascona, the same grizzled cop he’d seen just a few minutes ago on the street.

Jonathan ran.

69

Von Daniken started down the hillside. The snow was knee-deep and wet, and it buried his leather brogues. He didn’t care. He’d bill the department for a new pair. He put his hand on his pistol, then took it away. In thirty years of service, he’d never drawn his gun and he saw no reason to start now.

A second police car pulled up on the road behind him. Several plain-clothes officers jumped out. Suits all around. He didn’t recognize any of them. No doubt they hailed from the state police.

He turned to Myer. “Radio for a cordon to be set up on Davosstrasse to make sure Ransom doesn’t get back to the main street.”

“Chief Inspector von Daniken,” someone called.

Von Daniken looked over his shoulder. The voice…he knew it. He studied the men closely. He’d never seen any of them before.

“Stay where you are,” said the familiar voice. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

Von Daniken did a double take. Those are my words, he thought as he put a face to the voice. He saw the slight figure emerge from between the cars. The pale complexion. The red hair worn too long for a man his age.

“The charge is conspiring with a foreign intelligence service,” Alphons Marti called from up on the hill. “Come back to the car, Marcus, so I don’t have to tell my men to restrain you.”

Von Daniken continued to trudge through the snow. A warrant for my arrest. How ridiculous. Yet, deep inside, he’d been waiting for the hammer to fall. It wasn’t just what Tobi Tingeli had told him this morning, though that had sealed the deal. He’d known two nights earlier, when Marti had refused to let him call out the police to search for the drone.

He looked at Kurt Myer, but Myer was being led away, too, and forced into the back of the police cruiser.

“Are you accusing me of being a spy?” asked von Daniken.

“I let the law accuse. My job is simply to enforce it.”

Von Daniken looked from Ransom to Marti. By now, several of his men were making their way down the slope. One of them had even drawn his gun. The American was jogging in the opposite direction, away from the car. “Aren’t you going to stop him? He’s the one we’re after!”

“Not today, Marcus. Today, you’re our number-one suspect.”

By now, a crowd had gathered around the outskirts of the meadow. Several people ran toward the car, including one man with a fire extinguisher. Ransom threaded his way among them, slowing his pace to a walk, getting closer and closer to freedom.

Von Daniken began walking across the meadow, his pace quickening until he was jogging. “Ransom,” he called. “Stop! Do you hear me?”

More soldiers and policemen were reaching the scene every second. No less than ten uniformed men were making their way up the western side of the meadow, fa

The policemen’s eyes flitted from von Daniken to Marti. Everyone knew the members of the Bundesrat by sight. As one of the seven-member Federal Council that ruled the country, he was a prominent national figure. They were not apt to disobey his orders.

Marti barked a command to one of his aides, who radioed a message via his walkie-talkie. The assembled soldiers ignored Ransom and converged on von Daniken. Dropping his hands to his knees, the chief of the Service for Analysis and Prevention, one of the nation’s highest-ranking law enforcement officials, stopped in his tracks and waited like a common criminal for the officers to reach him. “It’s alright,” he said, out of breath. “Give me a minute.”

Marcus von Daniken straightened up and looked across the snowy meadow. Caught in the glare was the outline of a black figure, dark as a rook’s wing. Then it disappeared.

Ransom was gone.