It was approaching five when Zoe left the salon and headed upstairs to her room to begin dressing for the party. Her escort, Mikhail Danilov, was staying in the adjacent room, while three doors down was a man who had checked into the hotel under the name Jonathan Albright, executive vice president of something called Markham Capital Advisers of Greenwich, Connecticut. His real name was Gabriel Allon, of course, and he was not alone. Seated on the opposite side of the small desk was Eli Lavon. Like Gabriel, he was wearing a pair of headphones and staring intently into a laptop computer. Lavon’s was receiving a stream from the compromised phone of Zoe Reed while Gabriel’s was taking in the feed from Martin Landesmann’s. Zoe was watching the hourly news bulletin on the BBC. Martin was discussing security arrangements for the party with Jonas Brunner, his personal bodyguard.

The meeting concluded at 5:03. Martin conferred briefly with his chief party planner, then headed upstairs to the room located in the southeast corner of Villa Elma, 1,238 feet above sea level. Gabriel heard the now-familiar eight atonal beeps as Martin entered the security code into the keyless lock—eight digits that would soon be standing between Mikhail and Martin’s most closely guarded secrets. A few seconds later came the sound of the office door opening and closing, followed by the clatter of Martin’s fingers over the keyboard of his computer. It seemed Martin had a bit of work to do before the party. So did Gabriel. He handed his headphones to Eli Lavon and stepped into the corridor.

A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung from the latch. Gabriel knocked twice, paused, then knocked twice again. Zoe opened the door a few seconds later and peered at him over the security bar.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, feigning irritation.

“You can let me in, Zoe. We swept your room while you were gone. You’re clean.”

Zoe unlocked the door and stepped aside. She was barefoot and wearing only a white hotel bathrobe.

“Is that what you’re planning to wear tonight?” asked Gabriel.

“I prefer it to that dress Martin bought me.”

“He might be disappointed if you don’t wear it.”

“So will every other man in the room.”

Gabriel walked over to the desk. Zoe’s phone was lying on the blotter. He picked it up, pressed the power button, and held it until the screen turned to black.

“Is there something you need to tell me about my phone?” Zoe asked.

“It’s just a precaution.”

“Yes,” she said, her tone sardonic. “And I came all the way to Geneva to bask in the glow of Martin Landesmann for a few hours.”

Gabriel placed the phone on the desk again but said nothing.

“Just make sure you switch it off when this is over.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “You never told me what you call it.”