“Your husband seemed quite happy with the arrangements we made,” the manager said. “I spoke to him last night when he checked in.”

The anger on her face broke and scattered like the last dark clouds of a summer thunderstorm.

“In fact, I placed the painting of which you speak back in a safe deposit box. I did it myself, madame.”

He watched as Zoe’s face had turned from anger to amazement to relief. Her features softened, and as they did, the hotel manager noticed for the first time how beautiful she was.

Zoe felt her heart race. Seth was here! He was here!

“Seth’s in this hotel?” She turned to Stratton. “That’s why he didn’t answer the phone last night or today!” She paused, a puzzled look occupying her features. “But how? How did he know?”

She turned back to the manager and touched his sleeve lightly.

“What room’s he in?” she asked eagerly.

The manager looked at her intensely. She didn’t look like an angry wife. There was no jealousy or hatred in her eyes, only relief. Still… he hesitated.

“Well,” he began reluctantly, “normally we don’t give out information on our guests but…”

“We’ve both been… traveling. My husband and I,” she said. “And we’ve obviously missed connections so—”

“As I said, we normally don’t give our such information, but in this case, I think we can accommodate your request.”

“Thank you!” Zoe said breathlessly as she followed him over to the front desk.

Seth Ridgeway stepped off the stairs and turned toward the lobby.

“Wait!” The cabdriver placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Not that way.” Seth stopped. “There are too many people who might see you. Come with me, out the side. I have parked there just for this reason.”

Seth looked out on the lobby. The main doors were straight ahead, the front desk was out of sight to the left, and there was a comfortable seating area to the right near a frieze. Save for a very large man walking toward the front desk, the lobby was deserted. As he watched, the large man disappeared to the left. The man looked like a huge walking threat.

“You’re right,” Seth said quickly. “Lead the way.” He followed the Turkish cabdriver down a narrow service corridor and finally through a plain scarred wooden door near the kitchen that led out into the crisp night air.

TWENTY-THREE

The cabdriver pulled slowly to the curb of the Limmat Quai just north of the Wasserkirche. Late-evening traffic swirled around them as the cab came to a halt Behind them a motorist leaned angrily on his horn. The cabdriver ignored him. Moments later the car, a BMW, pulled around the cab with a screeching of tires and roared on past.

“I will take you all the way to your destination,” the cabdriver offered.

“Thank you,” Seth replied, “but I have directions to follow.”

The cabdriver nodded.

“Can I at least pay you for the fare from the hotel?”