At the end of the passageway, they hurled her to the ground and restrained her with silver duct tape, ankles first, wrists next, finally her mouth. Then a single immense bodyguard hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her down another passage and into a small, darkened room that smelled heavily of mold and dust. There he placed Zoe on her feet and asked whether she was able to breathe. When she responded in the affirmative, he drove a huge fist into her abdomen. She folded like a pocketknife and collapsed to the stone floor, struggling for breath.

“How about now? Can you breathe now, Ms. Reed?”

She couldn’t. Zoe couldn’t breathe. Zoe couldn’t see. Zoe couldn’t even seem to hear. All she could do was writhe in agony and watch helplessly as lights exploded in her oxygen-starved brain. She did not know how long her contortions lasted. She only knew that at some point she became aware of the fact she was not alone. Lying facedown on the ground next to her—unconscious, tightly bound, wet with blood—was Mikhail. Zoe laid her head on his shoulder and tried to rouse him, but Mikhail made no movement. Then her body began to convulse with an uncontrollable fear, and tears flowed onto her cheeks.

AT THAT same moment, Jonas Brunner was standing alone in his office, staring down at the items on his desk. One Bally wallet with credit cards and identification in the name Mikhail Danilov. One room key from the Grand Hotel Kempinksi. One ultraviolet flashlight. One Sony USB flash drive. One small electronic device with a numeric keypad and wires with alligator clips. One miniature radio and earpiece of indeterminate manufacture. Taken together, the items added up to only one possible conclusion. The man now lying bleeding and unconscious in the cellar of Villa Elma was a professional. Brunner picked up his phone and shared that opinion with Ulrich Müller, who was now airborne over Canton Zurich.

“How long was he alone in the office?”

“We’re not sure. Perhaps an hour, maybe more.”

“What was the state of the computer?”

“It was on and connected to the Internet.”

“Where are they now?”

Brunner answered.

“Can you get them out of the house with no one noticing?”

“No problem.”

“Be careful, Jonas. He didn’t do this alone.”

“What do we do after we get them off the property?”

“I have a few questions I’d like to ask them. In private.”

“Where should we take them?”

“East,” Müller said. “You know the place.”

Brunner did. “What about Monique and Martin?” he asked.

“As soon as the last guest leaves, I want them in the helicopter.”

“Monique isn’t going to be happy.”

“Monique doesn’t have a choice.”

The line went dead. Brunner sighed and hung up the phone.