The flight to Geneva took nine hours.
Adam didn't sleep. He sat by the window, watching the darkness give way to dawn over the Atlantic, his mind churning through scenarios. Sandra was beside him, her head on his shoulder, dozing. She had insisted on coming. He had stopped arguing.
Nina was three rows back, pretending to read a magazine. Leo was in Chicago, patched into their phones, tracking Victor Markov's movements through satellite imagery and financial records.
Miller had tried to stop them. "You're not trained for this. You're not equipped. You're going to get yourselves killed."
Adam had replied, "Then send someone who is."
Miller couldn't. The extradition request was tied up in courts. The Swiss were slow, cautious, protective of their wealthy residents. Victor Markov had been
