“Actually, I’m afraid it is.”

Monique looked at him. “What have you done?”

“I need your help, Monique.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We can lose everything.”

THE MAN who sprang at Jonas Brunner and his men like a predatory cat had two advantages. One was the advantage of sight—after nearly an hour in the office, his eyes were accustomed to the gloom—while the other was training. Yes, Brunner and his men were all Swiss Army veterans, but the lanky Russian with eyes the color of glacial ice was ex-Sayeret Matkal and therefore expert in the ways of Krav Maga, the official martial art of the Israeli military and intelligence services. What it lacks in beauty it more than makes up for in efficiency and sheer brutality. Its doctrines are simple: continuous motion and constant attack. And once the battle is joined, it does not end until the opponent is on the ground and in need of serious medical attention.

The Russian fought bravely and in near silence. He broke two noses with palm strikes, fractured a cheekbone with an adroit elbow, and left a larynx so damaged its owner would speak with a rasp for the rest of his life. Eventually, though, he was overwhelmed by the greater numbers and combined weight of his opponents. After rendering him defenseless, Brunner and his men pummeled their opponent viciously until he lapsed into unconsciousness, at which point there arose a great swell of applause from one floor below. Brunner briefly imagined it was for him. It wasn’t, though. The One World documentary had just ended, and Saint Martin was basking in the adulation of his guests.

GABRIEL DID NOT hear the applause, only the violent struggle that preceded it. Next came the voice of Jonas Brunner ordering his men to take Mr. Danilov quietly down to the cellar. When the signal from the radio vanished from the airwaves, Gabriel didn’t bother trying to reestablish contact. Instead, he dialed Zoe’s number and closed his eyes. Answer your phone, Zoe. Answer your damn phone.

ZOE WAS filing slowly out of the ballroom when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she was greeted by the unexpected sight of Monique Landesmann, a pleasant smile on her face. Zoe felt her cheeks begin to burn but managed a smile of her own.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Zoe.” Monique extended her hand. “Martin’s told me so much about you. He admires your work a great deal.”

“If there were more businessmen like your husband, Mrs. Landesmann, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much to write about.”

Zoe was not sure from where she summoned these words, but they seemed to please Monique.

“I hope you enjoyed the film. Martin’s very proud of it.”

“He should be.”