When the aircraft doors opened, Irina was once more in motion, headed toward passport control at a parade-ground clip, her chin at a defiant angle. Like most Russians, she dreaded encounters with men in uniform and presented her travel documents as if braced for combat. After being admitted to Italy without delay, she made her way toward the arrivals hall, where Chiara was holding a sign that read: NITA WELCOMES IRINA BULGANOVA, GALAXY TRAVEL. Lior and Motti, Chiara’s ever-present bodyguards, were loitering at a nearby information kiosk, eyes fixed on their quarry.
No one seemed to take notice of Dina as she headed outside to the passenger pickup area where Gabriel was standing at the door of a rented luxury minibus, dressed in the black suit of a chauffeur and wearing wraparound sunglasses. Two cars back, Yaakov was seated behind the wheel of a Lancia sedan, pretending to read the sports pages of Corriere della Sera. Dina climbed into the front passenger seat and watched as Irina boarded the minibus. Gabriel, after quickly scanning her bags for tracking beacons, loaded them into the luggage hold.
The drive was ninety minutes in length. They had rehearsed it several times and by that morning could have done it in their sleep. From the airport, they headed northeast through a series of small towns and villages to the city of Como. Had the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni been their true destination, they would have split the inverted Y of the lake and headed straight to Bellagio. Instead, they followed the westernmost shoreline to Tremezzo and stopped at a private dock. A boat waited, Lior at the wheel, Motti at the stern. It bore Chiara and Irina slowly across the flat waters of the inlet to the large tawny-orange villa standing at the end of its own peninsula. In the grand entrance foyer was a man with eyes the color of glacial ice and a fine-boned, bloodless face. “Welcome to Italy,” he said to Irina in perfect Russian. “May I see your passport, please?”
25
THERE IS an audio recording of what transpired next. It is one minute and twelve seconds in length and resides to this day in the archives of King Saul Boulevard, where it is considered required listening for its lessons in tradecraft and, in no small measure, for its pure entertainment value. Gabriel had warned them about Irina’s temper, but nothing could have prepared them for the ferocity of her response. Eli Lavon, the biblical archaeologist, would later describe it as one of the epic battles in the history of the Jewish people.
Gabriel was not present for it. At that moment he was coming across the inlet by boat and listening to the proceedings over a miniature earpiece. Hearing a sound he took to be the shattering of a crystal vase, he hurried into the villa and poked his head into the dining room. By then, the skirmish was over, and a temporary cessation of hostilities had been declared. Irina was seated along one side of the rectangular table, breathing heavily from exertion, with Yaakov and Rimona each holding one arm. Yossi was standing to one side, with his shirt torn and four parallel scratch marks along the back of one hand. Dina stood next to him, her left cheek aflame, as if it had been recently slapped, which it had. Mikhail was positioned directly across from Irina, his face expressionless. Lavon was at his side, a better angel, staring down at his tiny hands as though he had found the whole sorry spectacle deeply embarrassing.
Gabriel slipped quietly into the library where Olga Sukhova, former crusading journalist, now a member in good standing of the team, was seated before a video monitor, headphones over her ears. Gabriel sat next to her and slipped on a second pair of headphones, then looked at the video screen. Mikhail was now slowly turning through the pages of Irina’s passport with a bureaucratic insolence. He placed the passport on the table and stared at Irina for a moment before finally speaking again in Russian. Gabriel uncovered one ear and listened to Olga’s translation as the interrogation commenced.
“You are Irina Iosifovna Bulganova, born in Moscow in December 1965?”
“That is correct.”
“Irina Iosifovna Bulganova, former wife of the defector Grigori Nikolaevich Bulganov, of the Russian Federal Security Service?”
“That is correct.”
“Irina Iosifovna Bulganova, traitor and spy for enemies of the Russian Federation?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I believe you do. I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Olga lifted her gaze from the monitor. “Maybe he shouldn’t be so rough with her. The poor woman is frightened to death.”
Gabriel made no response. Eventually, Mikhail might be able to release the pressure. But not now. They needed answers to a few questions first. Was she Ivan’s pawn or Ivan’s victim? Had she been sent by heaven or did they have an agent of the devil in their midst?
26
WHO ARE YOU?” she asked.
“If you wish to call me a name, you may refer to me as Yevgeny.”
“Whom do you work for?”
“That is not important.”
“You are Russian?”
“Again, that is not important. What is important is your passport. As a citizen of the Russian Federation, you are not allowed to enter the United Kingdom without obtaining a visa in advance of your arrival. Please tell me how you were able to enter the country without such a visa in your passport.”
“I’ve never been to Britain in my life.”
“You’re lying, Irina Iosifovna.”
“I’m telling you the truth. You said it yourself. Russians need a visa to visit the United Kingdom. My passport contains no visa. Therefore, it is obvious I have never been there.”
“But you went to London earlier this month to assist in the abduction of your former husband, Colonel Grigori Nikolaevich Bulganov of the Russian Federal Security Service.”
“That is completely ridiculous.”
“You were in contact with your former husband after his defection to the United Kingdom?”
She hesitated, then answered truthfully. “I was.”
“You were discussing the possibility of rekindling your romance. Of reuniting. Of remarrying, perhaps.”
“This is none of your business.”
“Everything is my business. Now, answer my question. Grigori wanted you to come to London?”
“I never agreed to anything.”
“But you talked about it.”
“I listened only.”
“Your husband is a defector, Irina Iosifovna. Having contact with him is an act of state treason.”
“Grigori contacted me. I did nothing wrong.”
She was resisting. Gabriel had prepared for this scenario. Gabriel had prepared for everything. Give her a crack of the whip, he thought. Let her know you mean business.
Mikhail placed three sheets of paper on the table.
“Where were you on January tenth and eleventh?”
“I was in Moscow.”
“Let me ask you one more time. Think carefully before you answer. Where were you on January tenth and eleventh?”
Irina was silent. Mikhail pointed to the first sheet of paper.
“Your computer calendar contains no entries on any of those dates. No meetings. No luncheons. No scheduled phone calls with clients. Nothing at all.”