“I want to talk to Martin.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s nonnegotiable.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’d better, Ulrich. Or the next call I make is to the Swiss Federal Police.”

“I need thirty minutes.”

“You have five.”

ZOE AND MIKHAIL sat face-to-face in the storage facility, each bound to a chair, mouths covered with duct tape. The guards had fled for the warmth of their cars. Before leaving, they had switched off the lights. The darkness was absolute, as was the cold. Zoe wanted to apologize to Mikhail for betraying the operation. Zoe wanted to tend to Mikhail’s wounds. And more than anything, Zoe wanted reassurance that someone was looking for them. But none of that was possible. Not with the tape over their mouths. And so they sat in the cold, mute and motionless, and they waited.

MARTIN LANDESMANN’S immense timbered chalet was ablaze with light as Ulrich Müller drove through the security gate and sped quickly up the long drive. A pair of guards stood watch outside the front entrance, shifting from foot to foot in the sharp early-morning cold. Müller walked past them without a word and entered the residence. Landesmann was seated alone before a fire in the great room. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a heavy zippered sweater and holding a crystal snifter filled with cognac. Müller placed a finger to his lips and handed Landesmann the phone. Landesmann scrolled through the two PDF files, his face a blank mask. When he was finished, Müller took back the phone and switched it off before slipping it into the pocket of his overcoat.

“What does he want?” Landesmann asked.

“His people back. He’d also like to have a word with you.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“I tried.”

“Is he in the country?”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

Landesmann carried his drink over to the fire. “Get him up here, Ulrich. And make sure he’s in a less demanding mood by the time he arrives.”

Müller powered on his phone and headed outside. The last sound he heard as he was leaving was a crystal snifter exploding into a thousand pieces.

GABRIEL’S PHONE rang ten seconds later.

“You cut it very close, Ulrich.”

“Mr. Landesmann has agreed to see you.”

“A wise move on his part.”

“Now, listen carefully—”

“No, Ulrich. You listen. I’ll be in the parking lot above the Promenade in Gstaad in ninety minutes. Have your men meet me. And no bullshit. If my people don’t hear from me by ten a.m. at the latest, that e-mail you just read goes to every intelligence service, law enforcement agency, justice ministry, and newspaper in the Western world. Are we clear, Ulrich?”

“The Promenade in Gstaad, ninety minutes.”