Sanderson’s time on the computer came to an end. He did not purchase more. He left the restaurant, thanking the young waitress as he passed the main counter, and after a cool five-minute walk found himself in the main Sassnitz transfer terminal. He stopped in front of a machine that sold tickets for the ferry north to Malmö. From there, he could reach Stockholm easily by train, and be home late tonight. An adjacent machine sold tickets for German rail. With a connection, perhaps two, he could be in Geneva by early evening. Sanderson stood still for a very long time with his hand poised over his pocket. North or south? Either was an improvement, he reasoned. At least I don’t have to get on another godforsaken seaplane.

Comforted by this thought, he made his selection, and ten minutes later was waiting patiently in the busy boarding area.

*   *   *

Slaton settled his business with Krueger that evening. He signed the name Natan Mendelsohn to documents authorizing his banker to manage a series of accounts. After this, Krueger handed over the agreed upon funds.

A visibly nervous Krueger asked, “When will I hear from you again?”

“More likely later than sooner. I’ll be leaving Zurich tonight.”

“Then I wish you happy travels, my friend. Is there anything else I can do before you leave?”

“Two things. First, I owe a debt to a charter pilot in Sweden. I’d like you to send her a check in the amount of twenty-two thousand U.S. dollars. Here is the name and address.” Slaton handed over a folded slip of hotel stationery.

Krueger took it without looking. “And the other?” he asked tentatively.

“How many cars do you have?”

“Cars?” the banker stuttered. Slaton had once again made a diagonal move in Krueger’s parallel world. “Well … two. A Range Rover and an Audi.”

“Which did you bring here tonight?”

“The Rover.”

Slaton smiled thinly.

Without even being asked, the banker handed over a key.

Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

Christine stood in front of a bank on Kungsgatan Street trying to avoid the gaze of passersby, and hoping that no one would pay attention to a distracted American woman loitering near an ATM. It was shortly after closing time, and for the last thirty minutes she had watched tellers and mortgage officers vacate the branch office, one by one, until a security guard locked the door behind them. She’d studied each bank employee, but none fit the profile she was looking for. David, of course, had anticipated this and briefed her on a contingency plan. Given the time of day—the Thursday evening rush to get home—Christine was sure she would find her man soon enough.