No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.)<\/em> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n\n\n The streetcar stops so abruptly that it knocks Josefa Rehmer against \nthe bar on the seat in front of her and then sideways, her briefcase \ndropping to the floor. The rapid-fire ringing of the streetcar\u2019s shrill \nbell sounds in her ears as she tries to grab something to hold onto. Her\n left temple hits a hard object covered in rough cloth. Leaning against \nthe person next to her, who is hanging onto the straps and swinging back\n and forth like a gymnast on rings, she feels a piercing pain in her \ntemple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The gymnast pulls himself up to his full height and smoothes out his \nblack suit under his unbuttoned sheepskin coat. Josefa senses his eyes \non her. But when she smiles an apology at him, he quickly looks away. \nThe young man is apparently as embarrassed by their unintentional body \ncontact as she is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The streetcar had been gaining speed after leaving its last stop when\n something on the tracks forced it to brake sharply. The lead car is now\n stopped on Zurich\u2019s tony Bahnhofstrasse, having sustained some sort of \ndamage. The automatic doors open and dazed passengers push their way \nout. Josefa grabs the briefcase she\u2019s dropped and steps onto the \nsidewalk. The icy January air stings her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A group of curious spectators on the other side of the street is \nsurrounding a Mercedes coupe, its fender crushed like an Easter egg. A \nstylishly dressed man, hands on hips, stands helplessly beside it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But Josefa doesn\u2019t have a moment to spare. She rushes ahead, \nimpatiently forcing her way through the crowd, her breastbone suddenly \nthrobbing. It must have hit the bar harder than she thought. She quickly\n touches her forehead, which feels wet, and notices a red stain on her \nfingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still on the run, she takes a little mirror out of her purse, flips \nit open, and stops for a second to hold it up at an angle. Nothing. She \nmust have dabbed the blood off with her finger. But she can see \nsomething behind her. The man in the sheepskin coat is standing before a\n shop window, only a few steps away. Once again she feels that throbbing\n pain in her head. That guy must have had something damn hard in his pocket, <\/em>she thinks to herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa stuffs the mirror away and hurries on. Time\u2019s running out. \nEven before the collision, the streetcar was late, abnormal in a city \nlegendary for its punctuality. If Josefa\u2019s fast enough, she can still \nmake it to Paradeplatz in time. But after this unpleasant incident \nshe\u2019ll get there distraught and sweaty in spite of the cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bahnhofstrasse suddenly seems to her to go on forever, with far too \nmany people in front of the palatial banks and upscale stores. An \nalphorn blower has set himself up on Paradeplatz, an earthy character \nwith a full beard and an Edelweiss wreath on his green felt hat. Rushing\n past, she can decipher just two words painted on his cardboard sign: \n\u201cSilence\u201d and \u201cReflect.\u201d The alphorn drowns out the squeals of the \nstreetcars and other traffic noise from nearby streets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A cyclist attempts to cross the tracks, skids, and falls. What a crazy day!<\/em>\n Josefa thinks, glancing back to see if he\u2019s hurt, before catching a \nglimpse of the man in the sheepskin coat disappearing behind a pillar in\n the doorway to a private bank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa finally spots the hotel but before entering takes the \nprecaution of wiping her temple with a tissue; it\u2019s streaked pink. Just \nacross the street she notices a poster on a department store wall \nsummoning all Swiss soldiers to the annual obligatory weapons drill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa pushes through the revolving door to the elegant hotel lobby \nwith its blue-and-gold carpet. The concierge gives her a casual \nonce-over before turning his attention back to his phone call. Josefa \nglances quickly at her watch: already five minutes late. Never good for a first meeting<\/em>. A young woman finally appears behind the counter and turns toward her with the tight-assed charm of a German newscaster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe Dessag Corporation must have left a message for me,\u201d Josefa says. The receptionist raises a quizzical eyebrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat company, please?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDessag. D-E-S-S-A-G,\u201d Josefa repeats. This will be the first meeting\n in this hotel as the Hotel Baur au Lac is closed for renovations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDessag? And a message for whom, please?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa\u2019s getting edgy. Hasn\u2019t the staff been informed? Or maybe the people I\u2019m supposed to meet are at the wrong hotel?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDessag,\u201d repeats the concierge who has hung up the phone. \u201cYes, we \ndo indeed have a message from them. You are requested to go to room \n398.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa hesitates. \u201cThree ninety-eight? Isn\u2019t that just a normal hotel room?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Meetings do not usually take place in hotel rooms. Josefa looks at \nthe concierge with a twinge of embarrassment, recalling tales of \nhigh-class prostitutes who see well-heeled clients in grand hotels. For a\n brief moment she imagines the person he may be thinking she is: a slim \nwoman, mid-thirties, in a bright blue mohair coat with a matching Fabric\n Frontline silk scarf, a briefcase in her hand. Her graying hair is \nupswept (she had a few gray strands by the tender age of twenty\u2014her \nmother\u2019s legacy). Apart from pale lipstick and very thin eyeliner, she \nhas no makeup on. Fortunately, she also inherited her Italian mother\u2019s \ndark eyes and heavy eyelashes. Her finely toned skin doesn\u2019t need any \ncosmetic enhancement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa sucks in her breath. \u201cI have been told a small conference room was reserved,\u201d she says in a firm voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The concierge nods an excuse. \u201cAll our conference rooms are taken, \nI\u2019m afraid. But room 398 is a large suite with all necessary office \ninfrastructure, rest assured.\u201d He picks up a thick document and hits the\n stapler with a sweeping gesture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s a bang in Josefa\u2019s ears. She winces. And it\u2019s then she realizes: It was a gun<\/em> that rammed her temple! A revolver or a pistol. That must\u2019ve been it. She goes weak in the knees. Is she still being followed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWould there be anything else?\u201d the concierge asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe elevator, please,\u201d Josefa says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOver there and immediately on your left.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa waits impatiently for the elevator. A cluster of tourists is \nstanding next to her, loaded down with bags of loot from the expensive \ndesigner shops between Paradeplatz and Storchenplatz. Josefa, pull yourself together. Everything\u2019s going to be okay. <\/em>How\n easily she\u2019s frightened! She\u2019s all nerves. Probably the fault of the \nposter advertising the military drill. That must\u2019ve stimulated her \nimagination. The world is still perfectly normal<\/em>, she tells herself, trying to calm down, take this hotel, for example, or these tourists now floating up with me in the elevator<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The fourth-floor corridor is deserted. An inviting, illuminated \nbutton at room 398 says, \u201cPLEASE PRESS.\u201d But Josefa knocks instead, \nseveral times, hard. She waits. Gleaming letters appear, \u201cPLEASE ENTER.\u201d\n She pushes down on the door handle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The vestibule is dark, but there is light in the adjoining suite. \nEven standing some distance away, she can see that the curtains are \ndrawn. Should something have tipped her off? Should she have been more \ncautious after the past few months? She\u2019s shifting her briefcase from \none hand to the other in indecision when a figure appears in the \ndoorway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Josefa freezes. \u201cYou?\u201d she gasps. She has no desire to see the man who\u2019s now raising his hand a little. Not now and not ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve been wanting us to have a little chat for a long time,\u201d she hears him say in a slurred, hoarse voice. At that moment a noise makes her spin around. A man has pushed open the door to the room. He\u2019s wearing a sheepskin coat over a black suit. And in his pocket is a sharp-edged metal object.<\/p>\n\n\n\n (All rights reserved. Copyright @AmazonCrossing. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.) 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