Spider silk

At the "Eagle's Nest" medical center, the air was filled with the distinctive, cool smell of disinfectant. Elaine's private ward now resembled a frontline battle point.

Her left leg was still immobilized in a heavy cast and raised high, but the hospital bed had been adjusted to a semi-reclining working position. Three high-security curved monitors in front of her displayed complex data streams and global financial network maps at an astonishing speed. Her face was still somewhat pale, but her eyes, fixed intently on the screens, shone with focused and sharp light, as if the physical pain could not impede the speed of her thought.

Keegan's recovery is astonishing. In just three weeks, the cast on his left arm was removed and replaced with a lighter but highly supportive carbon fiber brace, securely fastened to his side with bandages. With no other work to do, he spends most of his time silently sitting in a hard-backed chair against the wall in the corner of the ward, his figure almost blending into the shadows.

He didn't disturb Elaine's work, only occasionally getting up to silently refill her warm water, or pulling her blanket back up if it slipped off, or adjusting her lying position to relieve her aches and pains. Or he would watch over her to make sure she ate on time... His presence was like a silent barrier, allowing Elaine to focus more intently on her work.

Hesh sustained the least injuries and has joined the perimeter security efforts at the base, maintaining close contact with Ghost, who is in charge of the interrogations and internal purges.

Meanwhile, in the interrogation room at the very bottom of "Eagle's Nest," a room with special acoustic treatment and absolute soundproofing, the atmosphere was tense and chilling. Ghost himself was in charge, his gaze from behind the skull mask like two icicles, piercing Carlson, the former flight control supervisor, who was strapped to a specially made seat by high-strength alloy shackles.

Carlson's hair was disheveled, his face pale, and sweat poured down his forehead. At first, he gritted his teeth, repeatedly insisting that he was only acting on General Thorne's orders and was a victim of power struggles. However, when Ghost expressionlessly projected the unusual financial transactions of his secret overseas accounts over the past year onto the wall in front of him, and simultaneously played several encrypted communication clips between him and the crashed pilot the night before the mission, containing details of "fine-tuning" the flight path and contingency plans for "special circumstances," Carlson's psychological defenses began to crack.

“Thorne is dead.” Ghost’s voice came through the mask, devoid of emotion, yet carrying immense pressure. “No one can protect you. But the ill-gotten money in your account is enough to keep you in a military prison until you die. Or… worse.”

Carlson's breathing became heavy, and his eyes began to dart around in panic. Finally, after Ghost presented irrefutable evidence that his distant cousin had received funds through offshore companies, he completely broke down.

"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!" He slumped in his chair, his voice hoarse. "It was...it was someone who forced me to do it! But not General Thorne himself! They contacted me through...through an encrypted deadmail box! A one-time order, untraceable!"

He recounted intermittently that the other party had instructed him to use his authority to arrange the rendezvous mission, which was to be carried out by a specific (already bribed) pilot, and to ensure that communications remained in a special "low-observable silence mode" during the mission. Most importantly, he was required to provide the pilot with a "pre-set emergency yaw coordinate for dealing with extreme situations." And this coordinate happened to point to the treacherous mountainous area that led to the crash and loss of life.

“I…I didn’t know they were going to crash the plane! They only said it was to…to test the electromagnetic interference of the new equipment, and that absolute stealth was required!” Carlson cried as he tried to explain, but even he didn’t believe his own words.

Ghost pressed Carlson for information about the contact, and Carlson knew almost nothing. But he desperately tried to recall, offering a vague yet potentially crucial detail: "I... I really don't know who it is! But once, I secretly tried to trace the signal source in reverse, and although I failed, in the very short audio fragments I intercepted, it seemed... it seemed I heard a very faint... church bell sound in the background, a very distant one..."

In the hospital room, Elaine received an encrypted interrogation summary from Ghost, highlighting the vague clue of "church bells." Her hands flew across the virtual keyboard:

First, she began an extremely complex reverse tracing process, following the mysterious remittance path received by the pilot's account. After passing through dozens of offshore shell companies and money laundering procedures worldwide, this cunning "financial serpent" finally revealed its head to an unexpected lair—the prestigious Templar Gallery, a high-end medieval and Renaissance art auction house in Zurich, Switzerland, whose clients are all wealthy and powerful. This auction house has a deep background and close ties with many ancient European families. Meanwhile, she mobilized global geographic information systems, acoustic databases, and historical sound archives. Based on Carlson's description of the bell's characteristics (deep, melodious, and likely time of ringing), combined with the possible sound wave propagation conditions in and around the Alps where the "Eagle's Nest" is located, she screened and compared the bells of hundreds of churches and monasteries.

After hours of relentless data mining and correlation analysis, two seemingly unrelated clues converged dramatically: a key, albeit hidden, shareholder of the "Templar Gallery" was also a major donor to a charitable organization called the "St. Michael Foundation." This foundation was registered and headquartered in St. Moritz, a remote town in the Swiss Alps renowned for its well-preserved medieval monasteries and pristine natural scenery. Crucially, the unique timbre and frequency of the evening bells at the thousand-year-old Benedictine monastery in St. Moritz perfectly matched the characteristics of the "distant bells" described during the interrogation!

Elaine pressed her advantage, delving deeper into the public and private funding flows of the "St. Michael's Foundation." An even more chilling discovery was made: the foundation, under the guise of "supporting cutting-edge life science research," had provided substantial "research grants" to several top European university laboratories. At least three of these laboratories were confirmed to have had "private data sharing" or "collaborative research" relationships with "Tree of Life" company!

“Keegan! Hesh!” Elaine’s voice was hoarse with extreme excitement and exhaustion. She quickly projected the analysis results onto the main screen in the form of clear charts. “The middleman who instructed Carlson, the bells in the background, most likely came from the St. Moritz Monastery! The auction house that is the source of the funds has a direct equity connection with the ‘St. Michael Foundation’ there! And this foundation has had financial dealings with the ‘Tree of Life’! This is no coincidence! St. Moritz, that monastery, there is definitely something wrong with it!”

Hesh, who had been listening in silence, frowned deeply. He repeatedly replayed every detail of the last few seconds before the crash in his mind: the plane's attitude, the abnormal roar of the engine, and the pilot's seemingly struggling but actually strange actions.

“Something’s not right,” Hesh suddenly spoke, his voice low and certain. “When the pilot was fighting Keegan, it seemed he was intentionally or unintentionally guiding the nose of the plane at a specific angle, not letting it crash randomly, but ensuring that the plane would disintegrate in a predetermined area with the highest probability.” He looked at Keegan and Elaine: “This doesn’t seem like a simple cover-up; it’s more like executing a complex order: not only to kill us, but to ensure we die at that specific coordinate point, and to destroy everything as much as possible. Are they afraid we’ll leave something behind in the crash? Or… are they afraid we didn’t die there?” Hesh’s analysis, based on battlefield instinct, remarkably aligned with Elaine’s discovery of the “preset yaw coordinates” and the complexity of the entire incident.

Elaine's mind raced: "So there are probably three reasons why they orchestrated our plane crashing into the mountains while crossing the Alps: First, to silence us and destroy evidence: this is the most direct. In that extreme environment, the violent impact, explosion, freezing temperatures, and potential avalanches would maximize the chances of completely destroying us and all the data we carried, ensuring absolute safety. Second, to fabricate an 'accident' story: a 'plane crash' in a remote, uninhabited area with harsh weather and complex terrain would be a perfect, convincing accident. This would effectively prevent a thorough, in-depth military investigation, protecting their spies within the higher ranks. Third, and most importantly—this is a pre-planned 'trap zone': they might have deployed a rapid response team there. If there are survivors after the crash, they can arrive immediately to finish them off and clean up the scene, ensuring no survivors and leaving no trace of their involvement." She frowned and paused: "There's another possibility: the location ensures we're not near any secret passages or transport routes they might have. They're afraid we might accidentally discover something; they need to stick to a fixed route, and they don't dare take that risk."

She let out a sigh of relief: "So, the crash site's coordinates were definitely not chosen randomly. It was both an execution ground and a cover, and more likely, it concealed a secret node or transportation route that they desperately needed to protect. We should immediately mobilize all resources to focus our reconnaissance on the area surrounding the original flight path!" Elaine's analysis made the conspiracy surrounding the crash even more intense and bizarre.

Keegan listened silently to the compilation and analysis of all the clues. He walked to the large electronic map on the wall, his deep gaze like the most precise probe, firmly locking onto the remote town of St. Moritz in eastern Switzerland. “The foundation, the auction house, the ‘Tree of Life,’ the meticulously planned crash…” His deep voice echoed in the ward, connecting all the clues. “This ‘St. Michael Foundation’ is far more than just a front for money laundering. It’s likely a crucial secret hub of the Makarov network, a base for coordinating funds, laundering operations, and possibly even for secret meetings or hiding key figures or data.” He paused. “Elaine, we need to investigate what’s unusual between St. Moritz and the crash site. The other side is willing to expose Carlson, their insider, to keep us quiet. The secrets of St. Moritz might be more strategically valuable than we imagine.”

At that moment, the ward door slid open, and Price entered, accompanied by Ghost. Keegan reported their analysis to him, a heavy cloud hanging over his resolute face. "St. Moritz…it's not the Greenland ice fields, nor is it a war-torn region," Price said, his voice heavy and calm. "It's the heart of Europe, a famous tourist destination, with tight security and sound laws. We can't send a small team for armed reconnaissance. This operation requires infiltration, disguise, surgical precision infiltration and intelligence gathering. It requires entirely new identities, perfect backstories, and…absolute elites." His gaze slowly swept over the three people in the ward, finally settling on Keegan and Elaine.