“A great deal of cash, actually.”
“Has Wolfe collected it?”
“Not yet.”
Gabriel’s heart gave a sideways lurch.
“How long does he usually wait after Chernov fills the box?”
“I would expect him today. Tomorrow at the latest. He’s not the kind of man to leave money sitting around.”
“I’d like to see the vault room.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Konrad, please. We don’t have much time.”
THE OUTER door was stainless steel and had a circular latch the size of a captain’s wheel. Inside was a second door, also stainless steel, with a small window of reinforced glass. The outer door was closed only at night, explained Becker, while the interior door was used during business hours.
“Tell me the procedures when a customer wants access to a box.”
“After being admitted through the front door on the Talstrasse, the client checks in with the receptionist. The receptionist then sends the client to my secretary. I’m the only one who deals with numbered accounts. The client must provide two pieces of information.”
“The number and corresponding password?”
Becker nodded his bald head. “In most cases, it’s a formality, since I know virtually all our clients on sight. I make an entry in the logbook, then escort the client into the vault room. It takes two keys to open the box, mine and the client’s. Generally, I remove the box and place it on the table. At which point I depart.”
“Closing the door behind you?”
“Of course.”
“And locking it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you and the client enter the vault alone?”
“Never. I’m always accompanied by our security guard.”
“Does the guard leave the room, too?”
“Yes.”
“What happens when the client is ready to depart?”
“He summons the guard by pressing the buzzer.”
“Is there any other way out of the bank besides the Talstrasse?”
“There’s a service door leading to a back alleyway and parking spaces. We share them with the other tenants in the building. They’re all assigned.”
Gabriel looked around at the gleaming stainless steel boxes, then at Becker. The tinted lenses of his spectacles shone with the reflection of the bright fluorescent lights, rendering his small dark eyes invisible.
“I’m going to need a favor from you, Konrad. A very big favor.”
“Since I would like to keep my bank, Herr Allon, how can I help?”
“Call your security guard and your secretary. Tell them to take the next couple of days off.”
“I assume you’re going to replace them?”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch, Konrad.”
“Anyone I know?”
“The secretary will be new to you. But you may recall the security guard from another life.”
“Herr Lange, I take it?”
“You do have a good memory, Konrad.”
“That’s true. But then a man like Oskar Lange is not so easy to forget.”
51
GABRIEL LEFT the bank shortly after eight and walked to a busy café on the Bahnhofstrasse. Seated at a cramped table in the back, surrounded by depressed-looking Swiss moneymen, were Sarah and Uzi Navot. Sarah was drinking coffee; Navot was working his way through a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. The smell of the food turned Gabriel’s stomach as he lowered himself into an empty chair. It was going to be a long time before he felt like eating again.
“The maids arrived an hour after we left,” Navot murmured in Hebrew. “The bodies have been removed, and they’re giving the entire house a good scrubbing.”
“Tell them to make sure those bodies never turn up. I don’t want Ivan to know Chernov has been taken out of circulation.”
“Ivan won’t know a thing. And neither will Petrov.” Navot put a forkful of eggs on his toast and switched from Hebrew to German, which he spoke with a slight Viennese accent. “How’s my old friend Herr Becker?”
“He sends his best.”
“Is he willing to help?”
“Willing might be too strong a word, but we’re in.”
In rapid German, Gabriel described the procedures for client access to safe-deposit boxes at Becker & Puhl. The briefing complete, he signaled the waiter and asked for coffee. Then he requested that Navot’s dishes be removed. Navot snatched a last morsel of toast as the plate floated away.
“Which girl gets the secretary job?”
“She has to speak English, German, and French. That leaves only one candidate.”
Navot looked briefly at Sarah. “I’d feel better about getting Langley’s approval before sending her in there.”
“Carter gave me the authority to use her in whatever capacity I needed. Besides, I used her in an operational role last night in Geneva.”
“And all she had to do was play the jilted lover for a few seconds. Now you’re talking about placing her in close proximity to a former KGB assassin.”
Sarah spoke for the first time. “I can handle it, Uzi.”
“You’re forgetting that Ivan has pictures of you from his house in Saint-Tropez last summer. And it’s possible he’s shown those pictures to his friend Petrov.”
“I packed a dark wig and fake glasses. When I put them on, I barely recognize myself. And no one else will, either, especially if they’ve never met me in person.”
Navot was still skeptical. “There is one other thing to consider, Gabriel.”
“What’s that?”
“Her weapons training. More to the point, her lack of weapons training.”
“I trained her. So did the Agency.”
“No, you gave her very basic training. And the Agency prepared her for a desk job in the Counterterrorism Center. There’s not a lot of gunfire on a typical day at Langley.”
Sarah spoke up in her own defense. “I can handle a gun, Uzi.”
“Not like Dina and Rimona. They both served in the army. And if something goes wrong in there…”
“They won’t hesitate?”
Navot made no response.
“I won’t hesitate either, Uzi.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
The waiter delivered Gabriel’s coffee. Navot handed him a packet of sugar.
“I suppose the secretary job is now filled.”
“It is.”
“Who do you have in mind for the security guard?”
“The language requirements are the same: English, French, and German. He also needs a bit of muscle.”
“That narrows the field considerably: you and me. And since there’s no doubt whatsoever that Petrov knows your face, it means you can’t go anywhere near that bank.”
“If you don’t-”
“I’ll do it,” Navot said quickly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re the strongest person I know, Uzi.”
“Not strong enough to stop Russian poison.”
“Just don’t shake hands with him. And remember, you won’t be alone. The instant you let Petrov into the vault, Sarah will signal us and we’ll enter the bank. When you open the door again to let Petrov out, he’ll be confronted by several men.”
“Where do we take him?”
“Out the back door and into the van. We’ll hit him with a little something to keep him comfortable during the drive.”
Navot made a show of examining his clothing. Like Gabriel, he was wearing a sweater and a leather coat.
“I need something a little more presentable.” He ran his hand over his chin. “I could also use a shave.”
“You can go shopping here on the Bahnhofstrasse. But hurry, Uzi. I wouldn’t want you to be late for your first day of work.”
THE OLD hands like to say that the life of an Office field agent is one of constant travel and mind-numbing boredom, broken by interludes of sheer terror. And then there is the waiting. Waiting for a plane or a train. Waiting for a source. Waiting for the sun to rise after a night of killing. And waiting for a Russian assassin to collect five million dollars from a safe-deposit box in Zurich. For Gabriel, the waiting was made worse by the images that flashed through his thoughts like paintings in a gallery. The images robbed him of his natural patience. They made him restless. They made him terrified. And they stripped him of the emotional coldness that Shamron had found so appealing when Gabriel was a boy of twenty-two. Don’t hate them, Shamron had said of the Black September terrorists. Just kill them, so they can’t kill again. Gabriel had obeyed. He tried to obey now but could not. He hated Ivan. He hated Ivan as he had never hated before.