The address was a warehouse on the wrong side of the Limmat River.
We drove through Zurich in the dark, the city's medieval spires and modern glass towers giving way to industrial decay as we crossed the water. The streets narrowed. The streetlights grew sparse. Dante's hands were steady on the wheel, but I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from an engine.
"He told us to come alone," I said, checking my weapon for the third time. "That means he's watching the approaches."
"Then we give him something to watch." Dante pulled the car into an alley half a kilometer from the warehouse and killed the engine. "The building is surrounded by empty lots and old shipping containers. Plenty of places to hide a sniper."
"I'm not asking you to come with me."
"I know." He turned to
