The silence in the grand foyer was so heavy you could hear the soft, frantic ticking of Vanessa’s diamond-encrusted wristwatch. I didn’t put my coat back on.

We landed at a private airfield in Cointrin under diplomatic clearance arranged by Victoria’s department. By midnight, we were stationed inside an armored surveillance van parked two miles from the entrance of The Citadel of St. Moritz.

The facility was a masterpiece of cold, modern security. Built into a sheer granite cliffside overlooking Lake Geneva, it was accessible by only two routes: a single private bridge guarded by automated heavy caliber turrets, and a subterranean train tunnel used exclusively for high-security asset transfers.

"Security is handled by Black-Shield International," Marcus reported, pointing to the surveillance monitors inside the van. "Fifty heavily armed guards on active patrol. Thermal imaging along the entire perimeter. Motion sensors in the surrounding woods. A direct assault is suicide."

"We aren't conducting a direct assault," I replied, putting on a custom-tailored Italian tuxedo provided by Victoria. "Vane wants Daniel Whitfield at his auction. I'm going to walk through the front door and give him exactly what he asked for."

Victoria looked at me like I had lost my mind. "If you walk in there willingly, Whitfield, they’ll lock you in a bio-containment cell before you can say a word."

"Not if I enter as a bidder," I smiled, a dark, dangerous expression that felt like pulling on an old, discarded coat of armor. "Vane’s auction rules require every participant to post a fifty-million-dollar earnest deposit to enter the floor. Marcus, did you access my father’s secondary account in Liechtenstein?"

"It’s loaded, Boss," Marcus grinned grimly. "Fifty million clean dollars wired directly to the Krupp-Bauer escrow account ten minutes ago under the name of Jonathan Cross."

"Good," I straightened my cufflinks. "Victoria, you and Marcus handle the subterranean train line. Once I'm inside the main hall, Vane’s focus will be entirely on me. That’s when you cut the power to Vault 108."

"And if Vane recognizes you before the power goes out?" Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Then the auction gets loud," I said, slipping a micro-suppressed sleeve-derringer into my right cuff.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black Maybach dropped me at the foot of the Citadel bridge. Two guards in immaculate gray uniforms and tactical armor approached with biometric scanners.

"Name and clearance code," the lead guard demanded in accented English.

"Jonathan Cross," I said smoothly, stepping out of the vehicle and placing my right thumb onto the glass scanner. "Checking in for the 0200 private session."

The scanner chimed green. The earnest deposit had cleared.

The heavy steel gates opened with a deep pneumatic hiss. I walked across the bridge into the lion’s den, the cold wind blowing off Lake Geneva whipping against my face. As I stepped through the grand marble entryway of the Citadel, I caught my reflection in the polished glass walls.