Rules of Deception

He pulled to a halt in the shadows at the back of the parking lot.

“We’ve got to split up,” he said. “They’re looking for a couple.”

“You’re overreacting. You can’t be sure that they know about me.”

“Simone.” He sighed, and lowered his voice. “I can’t do what I need to if you’re with me.”

She looked into her lap. “What can you hope to gain from our splitting up?” When he didn’t answer, she raised her head and stared at him. “At least take my advice and get out of the country while you can. Find yourself a lawyer. Then come back, if you must.”

He took her hand. “Tell Paul I send my best. I’ll catch up with you both when I get back to Geneva.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Say a prayer.”

“I don’t know if that will be enough.”

“Then wish me luck.”

“Fool.” Simone shook her head in exasperation, then leaned closer and wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Take this. It will keep you safe.” From around her neck, she took a medallion hanging from a leather lanyard and pressed it into his hand. “Saint Christopher. The patron saint of travelers.”

“But he’s not a saint anymore.”

“That makes two of us,” said Simone.

Jonathan looked at the medallion, then put it around his neck. “Goodbye.”

“Adieu.”

He watched her make her way across the parking lot. When she reached the station, he thought he saw her raise a hand to her face and wipe away a tear.

38

Simone Noiret tugged her purse onto her shoulder and walked into the train station. Strewn from one end of the platform to the other, a dozen people stood waiting for the train. A shrill wind whistled through the rafters, chilling her to the bone. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she made her way to the monitors a

She’d tried, she told herself. She had done everything humanly possible to warn him. Regardless, she’d failed to sway him from his course. He was a good man. He didn’t merit the consequences of his wife’s behavior. Simone wondered if her husband would do as much for her. She doubted it. Paul was not a good man. That was why she had married him.

With a gust, the 8:06 pulled into the station. It was a Regional Express with two engines and twenty-odd cars en route from Locarno to Regensburg on the border of Germany. Brakes squealed as the train ground to a halt. Passengers alighted. Simone looked up and down the platform as her fellow travelers climbed aboard. Finally, she stepped onto the train. The smoking compartment was half full. She chose, however, to continue through the partition into the non-smoking car. Again, there were plenty of free seats. She ignored them. Her eyes were on the platform. She saw no sign of Jonathan. Reaching the end of the car, she passed into the causeway, threw open the outside door, and hopped onto the platform.

Alone, she watched the train exit the station.

When the taillights had faded into the darkness, she strode down the platform to the buffet. Decorated in brasserie style, the restaurant was doing a lively trade, mostly businessmen enjoying a beer or ristretto on their way home from work. She took a table by the window and lit a cigarette.

The waiter arrived and she ordered a whiskey. Uno doppelte, per favore. The drink came shortly and she drank it in a single gulp. She called her husband and chatted with him about the goings-on at the World Economic Forum, then informed him that she would arrive in Davos sometime after one a.m. “Jonathan’s fine,” she added. “Very upset, naturally, the poor lamb, and keeping it all inside. Just like him. No, he hasn’t scheduled a date for the service.”

Just then, the table rattled and a pale, compact man sat down across from her. Simone looked up sharply. “I’m afraid this table’s reserved,” she said, lowering the phone. “There are plenty of other places free.”

“I enjoy sitting by the window.”

She bit back the comment on the tip of her tongue.

“Paul, I have to go. Train’s here. Bye, love.” Simone dropped the phone into her purse. For the first time, she looked directly at the man seated across the table. He had sad eyes and skin so pale as to be translucent. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. “Yes, the view can be nice,” she responded. “But I prefer it in summer.”

“I’m in Zurich during the summer.”

Simone slipped a piece of paper across the table. “He’s in a black Mercedes,” she said. “Temporary plates. He’s headed to Goppenstein. The car ferry through the mountain. He told me that he’s trying to make the 10:21 to Kandersteg.”

The Ghost studied the paper for a moment, then tore it in half and dropped it in the ashtray. “And from there?”

“To Zug. You should have no problem following him. He’s wearing a tracking device around his neck.”

“That will make things easier.” The Ghost lit a match and set fire to the scraps of paper.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He didn’t answer and she felt foolish and angry for having betrayed her concern.

“He has a briefcase with him,” Simone continued, in a harder voice. “Get it. And make sure you find the flash drive. It’s concealed in a wristband he’s wearing on his right hand. And watch the tailgating,” she added. “I had you the whole way from Blitz’s house.”

“It wasn’t me. I was waiting in the parking lot.”

“You’re sure?”

The black eyes met her own. “I followed your instructions,” he said, his voice quieter.

“Good.” Simone nodded. “Oh, and one more thing…he’s armed.”

The Ghost rose from his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

Simone slid lower into her chair and lit another cigarette. She stared out the window into the darkness.

39

Leaving Ascona, Jonathan did not follow the signs north, toward Lugano, Airolo, and the St. Gotthard Tu

Blitz’s briefcase sat on the floor next to him. He thought of the memorandum to Eva Kruger concerning the termination of Project Thor. The memo was i

It was a question Jonathan wanted to ask for himself. It was the subterfuge that gnawed at him worst. The pla

He turned on the heater. Warm air swirled inside the car, bringing with it a familiar scent. Vanilla and sandalwood. Reflexively, he looked to the passenger seat. Expectation crowded every corner of his being. It was empty, of course, but for a second, he had been certain of Emma’s presence. He had smelled her hair.

“I have a confession to make,” says Emma. “I’ve been reading your mail.”