The airport is small,barely more than a private airstrip carved in between two mountains. The runway is bordered by towering pines heavy with snow, and the air outside is so cold it stings when the cabin door opens.
I step out behind Victor, my boots crunching against the icy tarmac. My focus turns to the black SUVs parked at the edge of the runway, their engines idling, exhaust shooting out into the cold air.
Two men in dark suits stand beside the vehicles, their hands folded in front of them. They're definitely armed.
Victor adjusts his coat, straightens his tie, and walks toward the men with the kind of effortless authority that comes from years of political manipulation.
I follow a few steps behind, my eyes scanning the area.
One of the men steps forward, extending a hand. "Monsieur. Welcome to Château d'Éclipse."
Victor shakes his hand, his smile polite and practiced. "Thank you. This is my associate,” he says pointing to me.
The man glances at me, his expression neutral. "Of course."
I don't offer my hand, and neither do they. I just nod.
The man gestures toward the SUVs. "Please. The château is only a short drive. You'll be escorted directly to your suite."
Victor nods, and we climb into the back of the lead vehicle.
As we get close, the château becomes even more impressive up close. The stone walls are massive and look like they've stood for centuries. The windows are tall and arched, glowing with warm light, and the main entrance is framed by heavy wooden doors.
We pull up to the front, and the SUV stops. Men open our doors, and we step out.
Victor starts toward the entrance, and I fall into step behind him, my role as his bodyguard firmly in place.
I look around. Guards are stationed at every corner, their weapons visible but not overtly threatening. Cameras are mounted above the doors.
Inside, the floors are polished marble, and massive crystal chandeliers hang overhead. The walls are lined with oil paintings, portraits of long-dead aristocrats staring down at us with cold eyes.
A man in a suit approaches. "Monsieur. Welcome. Your suite has been prepared. If you'll follow me."
Victor nods, and we're led up some grand stairs with carpeted steps and down a velvet-lined hallway.
The air smells faintly of cigar smoke and flowers, and somewhere there is the distant sound of classical music.
We pass a few other guests. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns. They glance at us briefly, smile, and return to their conversations.
Finally, we reach a door at the end of a long corridor. The man opens it, gesturing inside.
"Your suite, Monsieur. If you require anything, please do not hesitate to call."
Victor thanks him, and we step inside.
The suite is large, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley. The furniture is dark wood, and a fire crackles softly in the stone fireplace. Two bedrooms branch off from the main living room.
Victor closes the door and locks it.
"Check for anything that could be watching or listening to us," he says.
I nod, and we move through the room, running our hands along the walls, checking under the furniture, inspecting the lamps and the phone. It takes us ten minutes, but we find nothing.
"Nothing," I say.
Victor exhales, loosening his tie. "Same."
He walks to the bar cart and pours himself a drink.