He figured René was waiting for the next business day to get a human confirmation from his own bank that the money had arrived and was free and clear. Then he would dispose of Evan.

For now Evan was back in his cage, and the cage had been made escapeproof. The bars on the balcony were rewelded and reinforced, the fireplace flue was bolted shut, and the front door had sprouted two more dead bolts. Evan had nowhere to go except into the shower, so here he was.

At last he got out and dried off using one of the bamboo-shoot-patterned towels. The shock collar seemed to be waterproof. The tape holding René’s fingerprint had all but sealed to the underside of Evan’s arm like a clear Band-Aid.

The plastic trash bag had been replaced in its spot near the toilet. The only person who’d seen him use it to thwart the collar was Nando, and he hadn’t survived long enough to tell anyone. Evan tried to take solace in this shred of an advantage.

His clothes remained balled on the floor where he’d kicked them off. He’d been searched well, but René’s men hadn’t thought to check beneath the insole of his left boot, where he’d hidden the piano wire.

They’d transformed his room into a dungeon, and all he had was a trash-can liner and a loop of piano wire.

He reminded himself that despair was not a luxury in which he could indulge right now.

He dug the RoamZone out from the pocket of his dirty jeans and studied the cracked screen, wondering where the boy was and what he was going through right now. He recalled the boy’s scared voice, his words distorted over a swollen lip: So what? I get beat up all the time. Evan looked at the four walls that held him. Being trapped was one thing. Being kept from helping a kid who needed him was nearly intolerable. You should see how they keep us here. Like cattle, all lined up.

And Alison Siegler. The Horizon Express would be nearing the locks of the Panama Canal by now, where her cries would be drowned out by the massive gates, the roaring culverts, the grinding machinery of the chambers. Every minute Evan was in René’s hands brought her closer to her destination. She was eight days from delivery.

Frustration raged, a blade-winged bird beating inside Evan’s chest. He forced himself to breathe evenly, to calm the bird, to focus.

He headed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. He was just pulling on some clean clothes when he heard a rumbling from outside.

He rushed across the room and out onto the balcony, hard snow pelting him. The lights beneath the eaves bathed the front of the chalet in an alien glow that leaked around the corner. No one was in sight.