“You’re taking a chance right now with me,” Seth answered Yost’s unspoken question. “How do you know I’m not just a clever KGB agent?”

Yost’s eyebrows knitted themselves into one long mass as he considered Ridgeway’s question. The thoughts shifted behind his eyes. Finally: “The same way you knew to trust me, Mein Herr,” Yost began slowly. “If you were not who you say you are, you would never have dropped your guard with me. You would have dealt with me differendy. Do you agree?”

Seth nodded thoughtfully

“Good,” Yost said. “We have some important arrangements to make, questions to answer, before you meet my father tonight.”

Brilliant sunlight cascaded through the windows of the sitting room that separated Zoe’s bedroom at the Eden au Lac from Rich Cartiere’s.

The suite simplified plans for Zoe’s security. Rich Cartiere had barricaded the door to her room using his prodigious strength to move a Louis XIV armoire in front of it Except for the windows that faced a sheer drop, no ledges or fire escapes nearby, the. only way to get to Zoe was through the door that connected to the sitting room. And Cartiere, the huge former paratrooper, slept in the sitting room at night along with Stratton. Strange people, she thought. Mysterious. They would explain after she had rested, Stratton promised. She let things drop. They had saved her life.

Zoe stretched lazily now and closed her eyes for a long moment savoring the inner rapture of the condemned prisoner now granted a miraculous reprieve. Again she said a small prayer of thanksgiving, growing more comfortable each time with the notion that perhaps faith could make a difference.

And although it was only slightly past one o’clock in the afternoon, she had already run the gamut of the Eden au Lac’s beauty salon. After a long luxurious bath, the hairdresser had cut and styled her hair, tsk-tsking all the while, but too discreet to actually come right out and ask madame how her hair had managed to fall into such a shabby state of repair.

While the hairdresser fussed, the manicurist labored over her nails with the fervor of a sculptor attacking a virgin block of marble.

Next had come the woman with the facials that smelled of a well-made amaretto mousse, and later, the beauty consultant, who made Zoe feel truly feminine again. And finally, the hotel’s fashion consultant, who came with books of clothing designs and fabric swatches, taking her measurements and promising to scour the boutiques of Zurich to assemble madame’s new wardrobe.

Zoe turned her face into the bright warm sunlight and tilted her head downward toward the lake. Through the window, she saw a lone sailboat beating its way to windward. The sight struck a blow to her heart. Where was Seth? She had called and called, even getting up in the middle of the night, but there had been no answer, only the sound of his voice on the recording. She wished there was a way to remotely listen to the messages others had left on the machine. Perhaps they would provide a clue to Seth’s whereabouts.