The Alps
It was looking to be a quiet spring. A season to step back, breathe, and enjoy the rare luxury of stillness. Judd was more than ready to escape the neat confines of their picturesque Swiss apartment in Pully. Nestled on the shores of Lake Geneva, the small town of twenty thousand was the perfect staging ground—close enough to any European capital in a matter of hours, yet far enough removed from the shadows that constantly trailed him. Here, danger felt like a distant memory.
But Judd knew better.
When General Perl suggested a road trip through the Alps, Judd hadn’t hesitated. A chance to put some miles between himself and the covert world he operated in. A perfect excuse. But Judd also knew Perl. And downtime with the General never lasted long.
General Perl was a man who thrived on movement. A roguishly handsome Brazilian with an easy smile, he had climbed the ranks faster than most, much to the dismay of the old guard. His boyish charm and a talent for languages made him impossible to ignore—an asset in the high-stakes world of global intelligence. He had grown up everywhere and nowhere, even flirting with a brief career as a child star on Mexican television. It was that blend of charisma and cunning that made him the perfect choice to lead Squid Squad’s global operations, ensuring the team could be anywhere, anytime, however the mission required.
The two men climbed into the rented BMW X3, the turbocharged 3.0-liter inline-six purring beneath them as they pulled out of Pully. They filled the drive with easy conversation, bouncing from updates on Perl’s beloved *Seleção Canarinho* to the ever-present gossip that even the intelligence world couldn’t escape.
Their route traced Switzerland’s most scenic roads—through Vevey, skirting Interlaken, winding past glaciers and cliffs. A mini Grand Tour. There was no rush. But as they reached the Furka Pass, Judd couldn’t help but notice the shift in atmosphere. The road had become a playground for the world’s most exotic machines—a parade of Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and a rare Hennessey Venom F5, each carving their way up the legendary switchbacks of the Swiss Alps.
They parked near the weathered stone façade of the Hotel Belvédère, an abandoned relic from a bygone era. Judd stepped out, stretching his legs as he wandered toward the viewing platform, one of the countless scattered across Europe’s alpine spine.
Then Perl’s voice cut through the crisp mountain air.
“Hold on,” he said, his words wrapped in that effortless Latin drawl. “I need to introduce you to someone.”
Judd turned, following Perl’s gaze toward the hotel’s locked door.
His instincts kicked in. The Hotel Belvédère had been closed for years, long since taken over by the Carlen family as their private retreat. No guests. No visitors.
So what the hell were they doing here?
A slow realization dawned on Judd.
This wasn’t just a road trip. Perl had something else in mind. Something far more interesting.
