“Hey, lady, what do you think you’re doing?” he said. He made as if he were trying to pull her off the truck. “Leave those guys alone. They probably have someplace to go.” Bob had seen Franklin’s car coming at them a split second before impact and he’d never been happier to be in a car accident—though perhaps “accident” wasn’t quite the right word. He had waited ninety seconds before getting out of the car. Nemo said he needed at least six minutes. They were already a quarter of the way there.

After Bob and Patton had “struggled” for another minute or so, Patton still clinging to the side of the truck, the window rolled down slightly and the driver said, “Aus, aus!” waving toward Patton.

“Don’t you Aus me, mister,” said Patton. “I’m just asking if this is Switzerland.”

“Ja,” said the man, and then, switching to English he added. “Yes, this is Switzerland. Get off my truck.”

“Then where is the goddamn Matterhorn?” said Patton, grabbing the driver’s shirt sleeve. Bob glanced over at Franklin and saw him hold up four fingers. Just another couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll take care of her. You be on your way. I’ll deal with the police.”

“Get her off my truck,” said the driver, sounding more exasperated than angry.

“Maybe I should take her to the Matterhorn, ja,” said Bob with a wink at the driver, but this did not elicit a chuckle or even a smile. After another thirty seconds or so of Bob pulling on Patton’s arm, she finally stepped off the truck.

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll just find the Matterhorn by myself.” She staggered off up the road away from the accident and, of course, directly behind the truck. The German cranked his engine and honked at her, but by the time she got out of his way and he had backed up and turned onto the side street a block behind, another two minutes had gone by.

As soon as the truck disappeared, Patton and Bob ran back to their respective cars. Franklin took small side streets and wound their way back toward the highway that would take them to Vaduz; Bob drove to the rendezvous point a few blocks from the bank.

At 3:02 a.m., a man banged on the side of Nemo’s truck and shouted, “All done, thanks for the tip.” Thirty seconds later, Nemo was out of the garage and back on the street. As he turned the corner at the end of the block, he saw the headlights of a Mercedes dump truck swing onto the street he was just leaving. Five minutes later, he met Alex and Bob on a quiet street corner.

“Did it work?” said Bob. “Did you make it out in time?”