To Elizebeth’s amazement, a limousine was waiting for her at Geneva Station—not the one she’d ridden in an hour ago in Chicago but a second limousine with a second chauffeur. She climbed in with Fabyan and was carried south along a local road known as the Lincoln Highway for a bit more than a mile, until a long, high stone wall appeared to the left. Then a gate. The limousine slowed. It pulled off the highway, to the right, across from
