It was a jet-black Alfa-Romeo convertible. If the weather had cooperated, he’d have driven with the top down all the way to Lake Constance. But the weather had turned, and the sky was spitting at him as he headed east, skirting the edge of the Zurichsee.

There was only one way to find out if anyone was on to him. Move the money. Or try to. If the wire transfer went through, he was still a step ahead of them. If it didn’t… he wasn’t.

Either way, there were problems. If the Cadogan Bank dragged its heels or raised objections, it meant that someone was on to him. And he’d have to run.

If, on the other hand, the bank made no objection to a wire transfer, he still had a problem: What was he going to do with $3.6 million in cash? He’d done the math, and even if it was all in hundred-dollar bills, that much cash would fill a couple of suitcases, at least. And it would weigh a ton. How was he supposed to get the money into the States? Just walk it through Customs? That would be like playing Russian roulette with a derringer. And even if he got the money through Customs, then what? He couldn’t just put it in a bank. The DEA would be all over him.

And there was another problem, as well. Even if the wire transfer went through and he found a way to get the money into the States, there were people who would be looking for him. Not just the FBI and the CIA, but Hakim’s partners in the Lebanese Ministry of Defense. They’d fronted the hash, and they’d expect to be paid for it. This had been Hakim’s responsibility, but now that Hakim was missing, it was up to Wilson.

Of course, the Lebanese didn’t know his name. But they almost certainly knew about Belov (not to mention Zero and Khalid). It wouldn’t take long for the Lebanese to find out that the deal had gone through in Bafwasende, and that Wilson’s bodyguards were killed in Bunia soon afterward. They might even learn that he’d fenced the diamonds through Big Ping. And they would no doubt suspect that he’d decided to keep both his share and theirs.

Not that there was anything they could do about it. Not unless they found him.

Wilson mused about each of these problems as he drove through the rolling Swiss countryside on the way to tiny Liechtenstein. At three o’clock in the afternoon, he crossed the unmanned border that separates the two countries. Immediately, the road began to climb, cutting back and forth across the mountainside, straightening out when the Alfa rolled into Vaduz, Liechtenstein’s manicured capital. He parked on the street in front of the Banque Privée de Stern, and went inside.

The manager, Herr Eggli, had the look of a young Einstein, with a nimbus of blond hair exploding in every direction. Everything else about him was orderly and precise. His skin was as clear and smooth as a sheet of paper, colorless but for the blush of health in his cheeks. He wore a dark suit and gold-rimmed granny glasses, and spoke English with a British accent. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out upon the snowcapped mountains that defined the Rhine Valley, even as they hulked above it.

Wilson took the leather wing chair that was offered, crossed his legs, and explained that he wanted to arrange a wire transfer.

“I’m afraid that facility is only available to our clients,” Herr Eggli explained.

“I understand that,” Wilson said. “I was hoping to become one.”

Eggli’s face dissolved in regret. “We don’t actually do much retail banking.”

“Of course not, but, well, it’s quite a bit of money that’s involved,” Wilson said.

Eggli gave him a curious look. “Oh? May I ask how much?”

“About three million euros,” Wilson told him.

The banker paused, then nodded thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “I don’t see any obstacles, really. We can open an account straight away, if you’d like.”

“I would.”

“There’s very little paperwork. I’ll just need to see your passport. And then, of course, I’ll need the banking codes for the wire.”

Wilson slid the d’Anconia passport across the polished wooden desk.

“I’ve always thought it’s a bit like checking into a hotel,” Eggli joked. “Except, of course, the guests are money.”

Wilson chuckled politely.

“If you’d like, I can arrange the wire transfer this afternoon.”

“Terrific.”

The banker pinched a couple of forms from the top drawer of his desk, and began to fill them in, relying on Wilson’s open passport and asking a couple of questions about the Cadogan account. After a moment, he looked up with a smile. “Your English is very good.”

Wilson smiled. “I grew up in the States.”

“I thought as much.” The banker completed the paperwork, then handed it to his new client. “If you’ll just sign at the bottom…”

Wilson signed d’Anconia’s name, and gave Eggli his account number and password at the Cadogan Bank.

The banker got to his feet, and crossed the room to the door. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Wilson made a gesture, as if to suggest that he had all the time in the world. In reality, he felt as if he were about to implode. It had just occurred to him that the feds might not be as stupid as he’d supposed. If they were on to him, if they were watching the Cadogan Bank, they might very well let the wire transfer go through – after alerting the authorities in Vaduz.

A minute later, the door swept open, and Eggli swept in. “No worries.” He resumed his seat behind the desk. “The wire should clear overnight, so the money will be available in the morning. Ten-ish, I’d guess.”

“That’s great. You’re very efficient.”

“We try. Even if, technically speaking, we’re not Swiss, we try. And now, is there anything else I can do?”

“There is,” Wilson said. “If you could recommend a hotel-”

“Of course!” Eggli exclaimed.

“And a stock.”

“Excuse me?” The banker seemed befuddled.

“The bank invests its client’s monies, does it not?”

“Absolutely,” Eggli said.

“Well, then, I’d like you to invest mine.”

Herr Eggli was delighted. “Yes, well, we have quite an array of instruments. Bonds, shares, mutual funds. May I ask your objective?” He sat with pen poised above a clean sheet of paper.

“My objective,” Wilson told him, “is to walk out of here with three and a half million dollars in stock.”

The banker chuckled nervously. When he saw that his client wasn’t laughing, he said, “You’re speaking figuratively, of course.”

Wilson shook his head, slowly. “Not at all. I want you to buy shares in… whatever. Nestlé. Roche. I don’t care, really, as long as they’re publicly traded. When you’ve made the trades, I’d like the shares couriered, on an expedited basis, to my hotel.”

Eggli winced through the explanation. “Typically,” he said, “we act as a repository for our clients’ shares. It’s safer that way. We’re a bank, after all. And we have a vault. If you’d like to see it-”

“I’m sure it’s sturdy, but… can I be candid?”

The banker looked surprised, but said, “Of course.”

“I’m in the midst of a very unpleasant divorce-”

“I’m sorry.”

Wilson shrugged. “It happens. And when it does, I can promise you it’s a lot better to be liquid than not. So I’d feel more comfortable if I held the shares directly.”

Eggli nodded understandingly, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Let me ask you a question,” Wilson said.

“Of course.” Eggli put the pen down, and folded his hands on the desk.

“How much is the bank’s commission?”

The banker blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your commission! For executing trades. How much do you charge?”

Eggli pursed his lips. “Three-fourths of one percent.”

Wilson did the math. “So that’s… twenty-seven grand.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your commission on the trade will be twenty-seven thousand U.S. dollars.”

Eggli’s expression never changed. He sat where he was, as he was. And then, with a shrug of surrender, he got to his feet and shook hands. “I think you mentioned Nestlé, Roche?”