And there, he knew, was the catch. The reason it would never work. It was a lie Christine would never allow. Not for her, and certainly not for their child. Slaton took it no further, feeling like a beggar on a cold street staring at a vacation poster in a travel agent’s window—imagining a trip to paradise you would never take. When his beer came he drank it quickly and settled the bill. Ten minutes later he found the hotel where Krueger had booked him a single night’s stay. Slaton had never heard of the place, and when he walked inside he realized why. Lustrous marble floors, gilt accents, crystalline chandeliers.

The concierge greeted him and guessed his name. Bags, Monsieur Mendelsohn? None tonight? Very well … An elegant woman at the desk glanced at his passport and, deferring any bothersome signatures or swiped credit cards, he was soon being escorted to a palatial suite. Once alone, Slaton stood in a room with eighteen-foot ceilings and hand-painted murals. Louis XIV furnishings set delicately on ornate Persian rugs. Now that he was a billionaire, Slaton supposed it was only fitting that he should stay in a five-star hotel.

He could not contain a grin, thinking, God, Christine, how I wish you were here for one night. In spite of all the rest, this would make you laugh.

Chapter 34

THIRTY-FOUR

Sanderson’s eyes cracked open to darkness.

It was not pitch black that he saw but a dim geometry of shadows, black on gray, angled lines overhead. Where am I? he wondered. His head hurt and he rose slowly, gradually sitting up in what felt like a soft bed. Yes, he was in a bed. A clock on a nightstand shone bright red numbers: 9:34. Morning or evening?

He had no idea.

His eyes adapted to the gloom and shadows resolved. He saw a bathroom, a closet, and the outline of a small television. He was in a hotel room. With that revelation the dots began to connect. He remembered tracking an Israeli assassin across Sweden to the village of Oxelösund, followed by a harrowing passage in Janna Magnussen’s crate of an airplane. Stepping onto the dock in Sassnitz, Germany, and then … and then nothing. Sanderson couldn’t recall anything more, not even how he’d ended up in this room.