Chapter 4 - The Switzerland Express
The private hangar at Boeing Field was a vast, cavernous space of polished white concrete, blinding halogen lights, and the heavy, metallic smell of aviation fuel and warm hydraulic fluid.
Sitting in the center of the hangar was a Gulfstream G650ER, its sleek, matte-black fuselage reflecting the bright lights above like a polished obsidian blade. On its tail fin, painted in dark charcoal grey that was nearly invisible unless caught by direct light, was a simple crest: an stylized alpine rose intertwined with a heavy iron chain—the ancient emblem of the Jyn commercial empire.
A flight crew of three, dressed in sharp, dark uniforms, stood at the base of the motorized boarding stairs, while a perimeter of eight heavily armed security operatives maintained a three-hundred-hundred-yard zone around the aircraft.
A sleek black Mercedes van pulled into the hangar, its tires squealing softly against the sealed concrete floor before coming to a smooth stop beside the plane's stairway.
The side door slid open.
Jyn stepped out first, scanning the high rafters of the hangar with a fast, practiced eye before offering his hand to Nia. She stepped down, carrying Leo, who was fast asleep once more, wrapped tightly in his green dinosaur blanket, his thumb tucked securely into his mouth.
Behind them, requiring two security guards to help maneuver his massive bulk out of the vehicle, came Thor. The Shepherd trotted out onto the polished floor, his claws making a distinct click-clack sound that echoed off the high corrugated steel walls. In his mouth, looking absurdly tiny against his massive grey jowls, was the yellow stuffed duck.
A tall woman in a crisp grey suit stepped forward from the base of the stairs, holding an encrypted tablet. She had sharp features, short dark hair, and an air of absolute efficiency that made Mara Vance look like an amateur.
"Mr. Jyn," the woman spoke in crisp, Swiss-accented English. "The flight plan to Bern Belp Airport has been cleared through North American transit authority. We have a ten-minute window before civil radar tracking opens over the Canadian border. The flight time will be nine hours and forty minutes."
"Thank you, Greta," Jyn said, gesturing toward Nia. "This is Nia Santos. And my son, Leo. Their security clearances are absolute. Anything they require during transit is to be provided without delay."
Greta bowed her head slightly toward Nia, her eyes dropping briefly to the sleeping child with a look of profound, respectful interest. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Santos. Your private stateroom has been prepared. We have secured pediatric medical supplies, organic meals, and... an additional crate of identical yellow plush ducks, per Mr. Jyn’s instructions."
Nia blinked, looking over at Jyn, who maintained a completely straight face.
"You bought a crate of ducks?" she asked.
"Redundancy is the primary principle of risk management," Jyn replied smoothly, gesturing for her to ascend the stairs.
As they reached the top of the boarding ramp, Thor paused at the threshold of the aircraft. He lowered his broad snout, sniffing the carpeted doorway with deep, loud snorts, testing the air inside the cabin for any unfamiliar scent. Satisfied that the plane met his standards, he squeezed his wide body through the door, immediately turning left toward the main cabin and making himself at home on a four-thousand-dollar hand-woven cashmere rug near the primary seating area.
The interior of the Gulfstream did not look like an airplane; it looked like a high-end penthouse suite in Zurich. Deep leather armchairs, brushed steel fixtures, dark walnut paneling, and wide panoramic windows created an environment of quiet, suffocating luxury.
Nia carried Leo into the private rear stateroom, carefully laying him down on the wide, plush queen-sized bed. She pulled the heavy duvets over his small shoulders, placing his favorite duck beside his head. He stirred briefly, letting out a soft sigh, before sinking back into a deep, peaceful sleep, entirely unaware that he was currently six thousand feet above the Pacific Northwest, leaving behind everything he had ever known.
Nia walked back out into the main cabin, dropping into a deep leather chair across from Jyn, who was already seated with his laptop open, his eyes scanning long streams of financial and legal data.
Through the oval window beside her, the lights of Seattle were shrinking into a tiny, glowing grid beneath a thick blanket of grey clouds. The city where she had been born, where she had gone to college, where she had raised her child alone in a quiet house with a squeaky stair, was disappearing at five hundred miles per hour.
"He's going to wake up in Switzerland," Nia said softly, her voice barely carrying over the low, rhythmic hum of the jet engines.
Jyn looked up from his screen. "Yes."
"He doesn't know what Switzerland is. He thinks the park down the street is the center of the universe."
"He will learn," Jyn said. "Children adapt faster than adults, Nia. They do not hold onto the past with the same desperate tenacity that we do. To him, the world is wherever you are."
Nia leaned her head back against the soft leather headrest, closing her eyes. The adrenaline that had sustained her through the siege, the breach, and the wild ride to Boeing Field was finally beginning to drain away, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
"Why didn't you tell me three years ago?" she asked quietly, her voice dropping into a register of quiet pain that had been buried beneath anger for weeks. "When we met in San Francisco... when you stayed at that small hotel near the bay... you told me your name was Julian. You told me you worked in software."
Jyn was silent for a long moment. The only sound in the cabin was the soft click of his laptop keyboard as he closed the screen.
"When I met you in San Francisco," Jyn said, his voice unusually low, "I had just spent three weeks buried in a brutal internal purge of my father's old lieutenants. I was covered in the filth of a world I was desperately trying to clean up. I went to that hotel because I wanted forty-eight hours to pretend that I was an ordinary man—a man who could sit in a quiet coffee shop, talk to a beautiful archivist about old books, and walk down the street without three armed men following ten paces behind him."
He looked out the window at the pitch-black sky beyond.
"I didn't tell you my real name," Jyn continued, "because to tell you my real name was to invite you into a war zone. I thought if I left... if I disappeared back into my world... you would be safe. I didn't know you were pregnant. If I had known..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "If I had known, I would have burned the Chong family to the ground three years ago instead of waiting to build a legal case."
Nia opened her eyes, looking across the aisle at the man who held so much power, yet looked so utterly isolated sitting in the center of his dark, luxurious plane.
"You really thought you could just leave me with a fake name and a good memory?" she asked gently.
Jyn looked back at her, his dark eyes reflecting the soft ambient light of the cabin. "It was the only unselfish thing I had done in ten years. And it turned out to be the greatest mistake of my life."
From the floor beside his chair, Thor let out a loud, theatrical sigh, shifting his massive body so that his broad head rested directly on Jyn’s polished leather shoe. Jyn looked down at the dog, a small, genuine expression of warmth touching his eyes as he reached down, his long fingers burying themselves in the thick grey fur behind the Shepherd's ears.
"He likes you," Nia noted softly.
"He tolerates me because I purchase the high-grade beef," Jyn replied dryly. "He loves you because you don't smell like gunpowder."
Nia let out a quiet laugh—the first genuine, unburdened sound she had made all night. She reached out, placing her hand over Jyn’s on the armrest between them.
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"We have nine hours," she said. "Tell me about this compound in the mountains. Tell me if there are squeaky stairs."
Jyn folded his hands over hers, his fingers warm and strong against her cold skin. "There are no squeaky stairs," he promised softly. "But there is a lake. And three thousand meters of solid granite between my son and anyone who would ever try to hurt him."
