Daniel Silva - The Rembrandt Affair

"Do you suppose Mikhail and Zoe are on that bird?"

"They could be," Gabriel conceded. "But if I had to guess, I'd say that's Martin and Monique."

"Where do you think they're going?"

"At this hour...I can think of only one place."

AS IT turned out, it took just fifteen minutes for Graham Seymour to get the two Office computer technicians from the safe house in Highgate to Grosvenor Square. They were quickly joined by four cybersleuths from MI5, along with a team of Iran analysts from the CIA and MI6. Indeed, by midnight London time, more than a dozen officers from four intelligence services were huddled around the computer in the fishbowl, watched over intently by Chiara. As for the four most senior members of Operation Masterpiece, they remained at their posts, staring glumly at the messages streaming across the status boards.

"Looks as if our boy has decided to flee the scene of the crime," Seymour said, face buried in his hands. "Do you think there's any way Mikhail and Zoe are still inside that mansion?"

"I suppose there's always a chance," said Adrian Carter, "but Martin doesn't strike me as the sort to leave a mess lying around. Which means the clock is now definitely ticking."

"That's true," said Shamron. "But we have several things working in our favor."

"Really?" asked Seymour incredulously, gesturing toward the status boards. "Because from where I sit, it looks as though Zoe and Mikhail are about to disappear without a trace."

"No one's going to disappear." Shamron paused, then added gloomily, "At least, not right away." He laboriously lit a cigarette. "Martin isn't stupid, Graham. He'll want to know exactly who Mikhail and Zoe are working for. And he'll want to know how much damage has been done. Getting information like that takes time, especially when a man like Mikhail Abramov is involved. Mikhail will make them work for it. That's what he's trained to do."

"And what if they decide to take a shortcut?" asked Seymour. "How long do you expect Zoe to be able to hold up?"

"I'm afraid I have to side with Graham," said Carter. "The only way we're going to get them back is to make a deal."

"With whom?" asked Navot.

"At this point, our options are rather limited. Either we call Swiss security or we deal directly with Martin."

"Have you ever stopped to consider they might be the same thing? After all, this is Switzerland we're talking about. The DAP exists not only to protect the interests of the Swiss Confederation but of its financial oligarchy as well. And not necessarily in that order."

"And don't forget," Shamron said, "Landesmann owns Zentrum Security, which is filled with former officers of the DAP. That means we can't go to Martin on bended knee. If we do, he'll be able to rally the Swiss government to his defense. And we could lose everything we've worked for."

"The centrifuges?" Seymour drew a heavy breath and stared at the row of digital clocks at the front of the ops center. "Let me make something very clear, gentlemen. Her Majesty's Government has no intention of allowing harm to come to a prominent British subject tonight. Therefore, Her Majesty's Government will go to the Swiss authorities independently, if necessary, to secure a deal for Zoe's release."

"A separate peace? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you my patience has limits."

"May I remind you, Graham, that you're not the only one with a citizen at risk? And may I also remind you that by going to the DAP you will be exposing our entire operation against Martin?"

"I'm aware of that, Ari. But I'm afraid my girl trumps your agent. And your operation."

"I didn't realize we were the only ones involved in this," Navot said acidly.

Seymour made no response.

"How long will you give us, Graham?"

"Six a.m. London time, seven a.m. Geneva."

"That's not long."

"I understand," Seymour said. "But it's all the time you have."

Shamron turned to Navot.

"I'm afraid the Geneva team has outlived its usefulness. In fact, at this point they're our biggest liability."

"Withdrawal?"

"Immediate."

"They're not going to like it."

"They don't have a choice." Shamron pointed at the technicians and analysts crowded around the computers in the fishbowl. "For the moment, our fate is in their hands."

"And if they can't find anything by six o'clock?"

"We'll make a deal." Shamron crushed out his cigarette. "That's what we do. That's what we always do."

IN THE finest tradition of Office field commands, the message that arrived on Gabriel's computer twenty seconds later was brief and entirely lacking in ambiguity. It came as no surprise—in fact, Gabriel had already instructed the team to prepare for such an eventuality—but none of that made the decision any easier.

"They want us out."

"How far out?" asked Eli Lavon.

"France."

"What are we supposed to do in France? Light candles? Keep our fingers crossed?"

"We're supposed to not get arrested by the Swiss police."

"Well, I'm not leaving here without Zoe and Mikhail," Lavon said. "And I don't think any of the others will agree to leave, either."

"They don't have a choice. London has spoken."

"Since when have you ever listened to Uzi?"

"The order didn't come from Uzi."

"Shamron?"

Gabriel nodded.

"I assume the order applies to you as well."

"Of course."

"And is it your intention to disregard it?"

"Absolutely."

"I thought that would be your answer."

"I recruited her, Eli. I trained her and I sent her in there. And there's no way I'm going to let her end up like Rafael Bloch."

Lavon could see there was no use arguing the point. "You know, Gabriel, none of this would have happened if I'd stopped you from going to Argentina. You'd be watching the sunset in Cornwall tonight with your pretty young wife instead of presiding over another deathwatch in yet another godforsaken hotel room."

"If I hadn't gone to Argentina, we would have never discovered that Saint Martin Landesmann built his empire upon the looted wealth of the Holocaust. And we would have never discovered that Martin was compounding his sins by doing business with a regime that talks openly about carrying out a second Holocaust."

"All the more reason you should have an old friend watching your back tonight."

"My old friend has been ordered to evacuate. Besides, I've given him enough gray hairs for two lifetimes."

Lavon managed a fleeting smile. "Just do me a favor, Gabriel. Martin may have managed to beat us tonight. But whatever you do, don't give him an opportunity to run up the score. I'd hate to lose my only brother over a shipload of centrifuges."

Gabriel said nothing. Lavon placed his hands on either side of Gabriel's head and closed his eyes. Then he kissed Gabriel's cheek and slipped silently out the door.

THE MERCEDES-BENZ S-Class sedan with a sticker price far in excess of a hundred thousand dollars slid gracefully to the curb outside the Hotel Metropole. It had been purchased in order to ferry a striking young couple to a glamorous party. Now it was being used as a lifeboat, certainly one of the most expensive in the long and storied history of the Israeli intelligence services. It paused long enough to collect Lavon, then swung an illegal U-turn and headed across the Pont du Mont-Blanc, the first leg of its journey toward the French border.

Gabriel watched the taillights melt into the darkness, then sat down at his computer and reread the last encrypted dispatch from the ops center. Six a.m. London time, seven a.m. Geneva time ...After that, Graham Seymour was planning to press the panic button and bring the Swiss into the picture. That left Gabriel, Navot, and Shamron just two and a half hours to strike a deal on better terms. Terms that didn't include exposing the operation. Terms that wouldn't allow Martin and his centrifuges to wriggle off Gabriel's hook.