Daniel Silva - The Rembrandt Affair

"Because they think it will reduce American power in the Persian Gulf?"

"Precisely," said Carter. "And since the Chinese hold several hundred billion dollars' worth of American debt, we're in no position to call them on it. We've gone to them on numerous occasions to complain about restricted goods and weapons flowing from their ports to Iran, and the response is always the same. They promise to look into it. But nothing changes."

"We're not suggesting going to the Chinese," Navot said. "Or the Swiss, or the Germans, or the Austrians, or any other country linked to the supply chain. We already know it's a waste of time and effort. National interest and pure greed are powerful trump cards. Besides, the last thing we want is to confess to the Swiss that we're spying on their most prominent businessman."

"How many centrifuges do you think Martin has sold them?"

"We don't know."

"When was the first shipment?"

"We don't know."

"How about the last?"

"We don't know."

Carter waved a clear patch in the cloud of smoke in front of him. "All right, then. Why don't you tell us what you do know."

"We know the relationship has been lucrative and that it is ongoing. But more important we also know that in the near future a large shipment is scheduled to go from China to Dubai to Iran."

"How do you know that?"

"The information was contained in a temporary file we exhumed from Martin's hard drive. It was an encrypted e-mail sent to him by someone named Ulrich Muller."

Carter chewed silently on the tip of his pipe. "Muller?" he asked finally. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Navot said. "Why?"

"Because we first came across Herr Muller during our investigation into Zentrum Security. Muller is former DAP, the Swiss security service, and a first-class shit. Martin and Muller go way back. Muller does Martin's dirty work."

"Like managing a nuclear-smuggling network that stretches from Western Europe to southern China and back to Iran?"

"It would make sense for someone like Muller to act as Martin's front man in all this. Martin wouldn't want the Iran portfolio anywhere near GVI. Better to let someone like Muller handle the details."

Carter lapsed into silence, his gaze moving between Navot and Shamron. Gabriel was still prowling the perimeter of the room.

"Rimona's final remarks indicate that you gentlemen have an idea of how to proceed next," Carter said. "As your partners in this endeavor, Graham and I would like to know what you're thinking."

Navot glanced at Gabriel, who finally ceased pacing. "The material we gathered from Martin's laptop was helpful but limited. There's still a great deal we don't know. The number of units involved. The delivery dates. The method of payment. The shipping companies."

"I assume you have an idea where you might be able to find this information."

"On a computer located on the western shore of Lake Geneva," said Gabriel. "Twelve hundred thirty-eight feet above sea level."

"Villa Elma?"

Gabriel nodded.

"A break-in?" Carter asked incredulously. "Is that what you're suggesting? A second-story job at one of the most highly guarded private residences in Switzerland, a country notorious for the unusual vigilance of its citizenry?"

Greeted by silence, Carter's gaze moved from Gabriel to Shamron.

"I don't have to remind you of the pitfalls of operating in Switzerland, do I, Ari? In fact, I seem to recall an incident about ten years ago when an entire Office team was arrested while trying to tap the phone line of a suspected terrorist."

"No one is talking about breaking into Villa Elma, Adrian."

"So what do you have in mind?"

It was Gabriel who answered. "In four days, Martin Landesmann is throwing a lavish fund-raiser for three hundred of his closest and richest friends. We plan to attend."

"Really? And how do you plan on getting in? Are you going to pose as waiters and sneak in with canapes and caviar or just go for a good old-fashioned gate crash?"

"We're going as guests, Adrian."

"And how do you plan to get an invitation?"

Gabriel smiled. "We already have one."

"Zoe?" asked Graham Seymour.

Gabriel nodded.

"Do you happen to recall the words limited in scope and short in duration?"

"I was there, Graham."

"Good," said Seymour. "Then you might also recall we made a promise. We asked Zoe to perform one simple task. And that upon completion of that task she would go on her merry way with the expectation we would never darken her door again."

"The situation has changed."

"So you want her to break into a well-guarded office in the middle of a lavish party? An assignment like that would be extremely difficult and dangerous for a seasoned agent. For a novice recruit with no experience...impossible."

"I'm not asking Zoe to break into Martin's office, Graham. All she has to do is show up at the party." Gabriel paused, then added, "With a date on her arm, of course."

"A date you intend to provide for her?"

Gabriel nodded.

"Any candidates?" asked Adrian Carter.

"Just one."

"Since I assume you're not planning to fix her up with Ari or Eli Lavon, that leaves Mikhail."

"He looks excellent in a tux."

"I'm sure he does. But he also went through hell in Russia. Is he ready for something like this?"

Gabriel nodded. "He's ready."

Carter's pipe had gone dead. He immediately reloaded it and struck a match. "May I point out that right now we are seeing everything Martin does on his phone and laptop computer? If your proposed operation in Geneva goes bad, we stand to lose everything."

"And what if Martin decides to switch phones, or his security does a sweep of his laptop and discovers software that's not supposed to be there?"

"Your point?"

"Our window into Martin's world could close in the blink of an eye," Gabriel said, snapping his fingers to illustrate the point. "We have a chance to get into Villa Elma cleanly. Given what we know about how close the Iranians might be to a weapon, it seems to me we have no choice but to take it."

"You make a compelling case. But this discussion is moot unless Zoe agrees to go back in." Carter glanced at Seymour. "Will she do it?"

"I suspect she might be talked into it. But the prime minister will have to personally approve the operation. And no doubt my rivals from across the river will demand a role for themselves."

"They can't have one," Gabriel said. "This is our operation, Graham, not theirs."

"I'll be sure to give them the message," Seymour said, gesturing with his eyes toward the MI6 man in the dining room. "But there's just one thing we haven't covered."

"What's that?"

"What do you propose to do if we actually manage to find the shipment of centrifuges?"

"If we can find those centrifuges..." Gabriel's voice trailed off. "Let's just say the possibilities are endless."

Gerald Malone, chairman and CEO of Latham International Media, brought down the ax at three p.m. the following afternoon. It came in the form of an e-mail to all Journal employees, written in Malone's usual arid prose. It seemed that recent efforts to control costs had proven insufficient to keep the paper viable in its present form. Therefore, Latham management had no choice but to impose drastic and immediate staff reductions. The cuts would be both deep and wide, with the editorial division suffering the highest casualty rate by far. One newsroom unit, the special investigative team led by Zoe Reed, conspicuously managed to avoid any redundancies. As it turned out, the reprieve was a parting gift from Jason Turnbury, who would soon be joining the same management group that had just turned the Journal into a smoking ruin.