Daniel Silva - The Rembrandt Affair

"Without question," Gabriel said. "And they're getting closer every day. But to be an effective nuclear power, they need a steady supply of highly enriched uranium. And for that, they need centrifuges. Good ones. Centrifuges that don't break down. Centrifuges that spin at a reliable speed. Centrifuges that aren't contaminated."

" Martin 's centrifuges," Zoe said softly.

Gabriel was silent. Zoe glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

"Unless you intend to help me get dressed, I think I'll have to ask you to leave now."

"In a minute." Gabriel sat. "Remember, Zoe, when Mikhail makes his move, it's important you not appear to be alone or in any way unattached. Latch onto someone. Strike up a conversation. The worst thing you can do is be quiet or look nervous. Be the opposite of nervous. Be the life of the party. Do you understand?"

"I think I can manage that."

Gabriel smiled briefly, then his expression turned serious. "Now tell me again what happens if Mikhail gets caught."

"I'm to disown him. I'm to say he deceived me into bringing him. And then I'm to leave the party as quickly as possible."

"Even if it means leaving Mikhail behind."

She was silent for a moment. "Please don't make me say it."

"Say it, Zoe."

"Even if it means leaving Mikhail behind."

"Don't hesitate, Zoe. And don't look back. If one of Martin's guards tries to grab you, make a scene so everyone in the party knows there's a problem. Martin will have no choice but to let you leave." Gabriel paused, then asked, "Do you understand, Zoe?"

She nodded.

"Say it."

"I'll make a bloody scene. And I'll leave Mikhail behind."

"Very good. Any questions?"

Zoe shook her head. Gabriel rose and gave her the phone.

"Turn it on when I leave. And keep it close tonight."

Gabriel started toward the door.

"Actually, I do have one question, Mr. Allon."

He stopped and turned.

"What happened in that field outside London?"

"There is no field outside London. And there is no safe house in Highgate, either. The mind is like a basin, Zoe. Pull the plug, and the memory drains away."

Gabriel slipped out the door without another word. Zoe switched on her mobile and began to dress.

AMONG THE MANY logistical challenges faced by the team had been the acquisition of a suitable car to ferry Zoe and Mikhail to the party. An attempt was made to rent a vehicle in Geneva, but that proved impossible because Martin's other guests had already snatched up every luxury sedan in the canton. That left a hasty purchase as the only option. Gabriel handled the chore himself, choosing a black fully loaded S-Class Mercedes, which he paid for in full with a certified check from one of Navot's operational accounts in Zurich. When news of the procurement reached Highgate, Shamron flew into a seething rage. Not only had the Office just spent one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a car but a German car at that.

It eased gracefully into the Kempinski's circular drive at 6:15 that evening with Yaakov behind the wheel, looking as though he were guiding an oil tanker through treacherous seas. After successful completion of the maneuver, he informed the doorman that he was there to collect Mr. Danilov. The doorman called Mr. Danilov, who in turn called Ms. Reed and Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers. Mr. Albright immediately dispatched a secure message to his superiors in London that read DEPARTURE IMMINENT. Then he looked at his computer screen. A red light was blinking in the southeast corner of Villa Elma, 1,238 feet above sea level.

The message from Geneva flashed on the screens of the CIA ops center beneath Grosvenor Square. Seated in their usual places in the back row were Graham Seymour, Adrian Carter, and Ari Shamron. In a significant break with tradition, they were joined that evening by two additional members of the Masterpiece team. One was Uzi Navot, the other was Chiara Allon. All five were staring at the message screens like stranded airline passengers waiting for a long-delayed flight. Shamron was already nervously turning over his old Zippo lighter in his fingertips. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left...

"Does anyone know the definition of the word imminent ?"

"Ready to take place," offered Graham Seymour.

"Hanging threateningly over one's head," added Adrian Carter.

Shamron frowned heavily and looked at Chiara, who responded by typing a few characters into her laptop computer. A moment later, a new message appeared on the display screens at the front of the room.

DEPARTURE IN PROGRESS...

"What was the problem?" Shamron asked.

"Zoe's zipper was stuck."

"Who fixed it?"

"Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers."

Shamron smiled. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left ...

MIKHAIL STOOD outside the elevators on the sixth floor of the Grand Hotel Kempinski and examined his appearance in the decorative smoked-glass mirror. His clothing was simple but elegant: a Brioni tuxedo, a plain-fronted formal shirt, a traditional bow tie. The jacket had been specially fitted to accommodate the two pieces of technical equipment he was carrying at the small of his back. The crisp knot of his bow tie had been a collaborative effort involving three agents of Israeli intelligence and no small amount of preoperational hysteria.

He leaned closer to the mirror, made an adjustment to his blond forelock, and examined his face. Hard to believe he was the same boy from the derelict apartment blocks of Moscow. A boy who had been beaten and spat upon by Russian brethren every day merely for having been cursed with the name of the patriarch. The boy had moved to Israel with his dissident parents and had learned to fight. But tonight he would fight in a different way, against a man who was supplying the mullahs of Iran with the power to fulfill their wildest fantasies. Tonight he was no longer Mikhail Abramov. Tonight he was a real Russian with a proper Russian name and a great deal of money in his Russian pockets.

He heard the sound of a door closing just down the corridor. Zoe appeared a few seconds later, looking radiant in her Dior dress. Mikhail kissed her formally on both cheeks for the benefit of the hotel cameras, then stepped back to admire her.

"Something tells me you're going to be the center of attention tonight."

"Better me than you."

Mikhail laughed as he led Zoe into the elevator. In the lobby, Yossi and Rimona were drinking coffee near the gas fire while Dina and Mordecai were talking to the concierge about restaurants. Mikhail offered Zoe his arm and led her toward the entrance. A doorman intercepted them, a concerned look on his face.

"I'm afraid we have a slight problem, Mr. Danilov."

"What's that?"

"An overabundance of cars."

"Can you be a bit more clear?" Mikhail asked, adopting the impatient tone that comes naturally to the rich, Russian or otherwise. "I'm afraid we're running late for an important engagement."

The doorman turned and pointed through the revolving door toward the S-Class Mercedes. Yaakov was standing at the rear driver's-side door, hand on the latch, face a blank mask.

"That's your car, Mr. Danilov."

"So what's the problem?"

The doorman pointed to a second Mercedes, a Maybach 62S. Two well-dressed men in dark overcoats were standing near the trunk, hands in their pockets. Mikhail recognized the older of the two from surveillance photographs. It was Jonas Brunner.

"And that car," said the doorman, "is for Ms. Reed."

"Who sent it?"

"Mr. Martin Landesmann."

"Do me a favor then. Tell those gentlemen that Ms. Reed and I will be traveling to the party together in my car."