“It wasn’t easy. Cooperative bank managers are hard to find in Switzerland, but I have a gift for creating … leverage.” He tasted the word and liked it. “Then came the persistence to even attempt to follow your wires. Most of them zigzagged off into the World Wide Web, ping-ponging around the globe, and then—poof. We were about to give up when we had a stroke of luck. A data-mining program matched the precise amount of a particular wire made from your account to an online purchase registered by an auction house halfway around the world that same day.”

“The katana.”

“Yes. Your samurai sword. An odd choice of toy. Do you know how many other transactions of $235,887.41 were conducted on September seventeenth?”

“None.”

“Five, actually. But the other four were easily eliminated from consideration. Because we had the starting and ending points of your payment, all your magical machinations in the middle were for naught.”

The smug set of René’s face brought to mind a Jack saying: Someone who thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room rarely is.

Evan made a note to attune his payment procedures by adding a few cents to each transaction in the future.

He pictured that gray Ford Transit van springing up in his rearview mirror as he’d neared the Norfolk FedEx office. The same FedEx to which the Seki auction house had shipped the sword. The van hadn’t been tracking him, not yet; it must have been patrolling the block, waiting for a signal from inside that the package had been claimed.

René seemed pleased by the specifics he held in his plump palm, but everything attached to that wire was cut-bait ready. Evan’s bank account was as end-stopped as the 4Runner, registered under a false identity nestled inside a confusion of front companies. He just had to keep his head level, follow his training protocols, choose his moment.

Manny must have sensed a shift in Evan’s emotions, because he firmed the shotgun to his right shoulder. He was closest to Evan, the barrel no more than four feet away. After the fate of his predecessor, he’d earned the right to be jittery. In the back, Dex remained alertly forward on the balls of his feet, his massive body idling, a Mustang waiting for the light to change. He lifted a pawlike hand to scratch his face, and again Evan caught a glimpse of something on the skin. Red and black Magic Marker? A tattoo? A stitched wound?

Evan looked at René. “What next?”

“Your money in the account is denominated in various currencies, some fairly exotic. Our cooperative bank manager has instigated the necessary transactions to convert your holdings into Swiss francs, my preferred brand. Three full business days are required for the trades to settle. First thing Friday morning, you will type your codes, send the wire transfer, and go on your merry way.”