Daniel Silva - Moscow Rules

“What’s the password?”

“He uses the numeric version of Stalin’s birthday: December 21, 1879. But the password alone is useless. You need my thumb as well. And don’t think about trying to create something that will fool the scanner. The guard will never open the door to someone he doesn’t recognize. I’m the only one who can get inside that apartment, and I’m the only one who can get inside the vault.”

Gabriel stood and walked to the low stone parapet at the edge of the terrace. “There’s no way for you to take those disks without Ivan’s finding out. And if he does, he’ll kill you-just the way he killed Aleksandr Lubin and Boris Ostrovsky.”

“He won’t be able to kill me if he can’t find me. And he won’t be able to find me if you and your friends do a good job of hiding me away.” She paused for a moment to allow her words to have their full impact. “And the children, of course. You would have to think of some way to get my children away from Ivan.”

Gabriel turned slowly around. “Do you understand what you’re saying?”

“I believe that during the Cold War we referred to such operations as defections.”

“Your life as you know it will be over, Elena. You’ll lose the houses. You’ll lose the money. You’ll lose your Cassatts. No more winters in Courchevel. No more summers in Saint-Tropez. No more endless shopping excursions in Knightsbridge. You’ll never be able to set foot in Russia again. And you’ll spend the rest of your life hiding from Ivan. Think carefully, Elena. Are you really willing to give up everything in order to help us?”’

“What am I giving up, exactly? I’m married to a man who has sold a cache of missiles to al-Qaeda and has killed two journalists in order to keep it a secret. A man who holds me in such contempt that he thinks nothing of bringing his mistress into my home. My life is a lie. All I have are my children. I’ll get you those disks and defect to the West. All you have to do is get my children away from Ivan. Just promise me that nothing will happen to them.”

She reached out and took hold of his wrist. His skin was ablaze, as though he were suffering from a fever.

“Surely a man who can forge a painting by Mary Cassatt, or arrange a meeting like this, can think of some way of getting my children away from their father.”

“You were able to see through my forgery.”

“That’s because I’m good.”

“You’ll have to be more than good to fool Ivan. You’ll have to be perfect. And if you’re not, you could end up dead.”

“I’m a Leningrad girl. I grew up in a Party family. I know how to beat them at their own game. I know the rules.” She squeezed his wrist and looked directly into his eyes. “You just have to think of some way to get me back to Moscow that won’t make Ivan suspicious.”

“And then we have to get you out again. And get the children.”

“That, too.”

He added more wine to her glass and sat down next to her.

“I hear your mother hasn’t been well.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Because we’ve been listening to your telephone conversations. All of them.”

“She had a dizzy spell last week. She’s been begging me to come to see her.”

“Perhaps you should. After all, it seems to me a woman in your position might actually want to spend some time with your mother, given everything your husband has put you through.”

“Yes, I think I might.”

“Can your mother be trusted?”

“She absolutely loathes Ivan. Nothing would make her happier than for me to leave him.”

“She’s in Moscow now?”

Elena nodded. “We brought her there after my father died. Ivan bought her a lovely apartment in a new building on the Kutuzovsky Prospekt, which she resents terribly.”

Gabriel placed a hand thoughtfully against his chin and tilted his head slightly to one side.

“I’m going to need a letter. It will have to be in your own hand. It will also have to contain enough personal information about you and your family to let your mother know for certain that you wrote it.”

“And then?”

“Mikhail is going to take you home to your husband. And you’re going to do your best to forget this conversation ever happened.”

At that same moment, in a darkened operations room at King Saul Boulevard in Tel Aviv, Ari Shamron removed a pair of headphones and cast a lethal glance at Uzi Navot.

“Tell me something, Uzi. When did I authorize a defection?”

“I’m not sure you ever did, boss.”

“Send the lad a message. Tell him to be in Paris by tomorrow night. Tell him I’d like a word.”

What did you think of him?"”

The voice had spoken to her in Russian. Elena turned around quickly and saw Mikhail standing in the open French doors, hands in his pockets, sunglasses propped on his forehead.

“He’s remarkable,” she said. “Where did he go?”

Mikhail acted as though he had not heard the question.

“You can trust him, Elena. You can trust him with your life. And with the lives of your children.” He held out his hand. “I need to show you a few things before we leave.”

Elena followed him back into the villa. In her absence, the rustic wooden table had been laid with a lovers’ banquet. Mikhail’s voice, when he spoke, had a bedroom intimacy.

“We had lunch, Elena. It was waiting on the table just like this when we arrived. Remember it, Elena. Remember exactly how it looked.”

“When did we eat? Before or after?”

“Before,” he said with a slight smile of admiration. “You were nervous at first. You weren’t sure you wanted to go through with it. We relaxed. We ate some good food. We drank some good wine. The rosé did the trick.” He lifted the bottle from the ice bucket. “It’s from Bandol. Very cold. Just the way you like it.” He poured a glass and held it out to her. “Drink a bit more, Elena. It’s important you have wine on your breath when you go home.”

She accepted the glass and raised it to her lips.

“There’s something else you need to see,” Mikhail said. “Come with me, please.”

He led her into the larger of the villa’s two bedrooms and instructed her to sit on the unmade bed. At his command, she took a mental photograph of the room’s contents. The chipped dresser. The wicker rocking chair. The threadbare curtains over the single window. The pair of faded Monet prints tacked up on either side of the bathroom door.

“I was a perfect gentleman. I was everything you could have hoped for and more. I was unselfish. I saw to your every need. We made love twice. I wanted to make love a third time, but it was getting late and you were tired.”

“I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

“On the contrary.”

He stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light, then motioned for her. There was scarcely enough room for the two of them. Their shoulders brushed as he spoke.

“You showered when we were done. That’s why you don’t smell like you’ve been making love. Please do it now, Elena. We need to get you home to your husband.”

“Do what now?”

“Take a shower, of course.”

“A real shower?”

“Yes.”

“But we haven’t really made love.”

“Of course we have. Two times, in fact. I wanted to do it a third time, but it was getting late. Get in the shower, Elena. Wet your hair a little. Smudge your makeup. Scrub your face hard so you look like you’ve been kissed. And use soap. It’s important you go home smelling of strange soap.”

Mikhail opened the taps and slipped silently out of the room. Elena removed her clothing and stepped naked into the water.