"We couldn't contact you openly, Ms. Reed. You see, it's quite possible someone is watching you and listening to your phones."
"Who on earth would be watching me?"
"Martin Landesmann."
Seymour had tried to drop the name as casually as possible. Even so, its impact was instantly visible on Zoe's face. Her cheeks flushed slightly, then quickly regained their normal complexion. And though she did not realize it, Zoe Reed had just answered two of Gabriel's most pressing questions. She was embarrassed by her relationship with Martin Landesmann. And she had the ability to handle pressure.
"Is this some kind of a joke?" she asked, her tone even.
"I'm the deputy director of MI5, Ms. Reed. I don't have time for much of anything, let alone jokes. You should know from the outset that Martin Landesmann is the target of an investigation being conducted by the United Kingdom and two of our allies. You should also be assured that you are not a target in any way."
"What a relief," she said. "So why am I here?"
Seymour advanced cautiously and according to his script. "It's come to our attention that you and Mr. Landesmann have a close relationship. We would like to borrow your access to Mr. Landesmann to assist us in our investigation."
"I interviewed Martin Landesmann once. I hardly think that falls into the category of—"
Seymour raised his hand, interrupting her. He had been prepared for this. In fact, he had expected nothing less. But the last thing he wanted was to place Zoe in a position where she felt compelled to lie.
"Obviously, this is not a court of law, Ms. Reed. You are under no legal obligation to talk to us, and I'm certainly not here to pass judgment on anyone. Heaven knows, we've all made mistakes, myself included. But having said that, we need to be honest with each other. And I'm afraid we don't have much time."
Zoe appeared to give his words careful deliberation. "Why don't you go first, Mr. Seymour? Be honest with me."
She was testing him—Seymour could see that. He seized the opportunity without hesitation, though his tone remained one of clinical detachment.
"We know that approximately eighteen months ago you obtained an exclusive interview with Mr. Landesmann, the first and only such interview he has ever granted. We know that you are now romantically involved with him. We also know that you spend time together on a regular basis, most recently at his apartment on the Ile Saint-Louis in Paris." Seymour paused. "But none of that is important."
This time Zoe made no attempt to deny the facts. Instead, she displayed a flash of her famous temper.
"Not important?" she snapped. "How long have you been following me?"
"We've never followed you."
"So much for honesty."
"I am being honest, Ms. Reed. We found out about you by accident. Martin Landesmann was under surveillance when you visited his apartment. Unfortunately, you were swept up in the wash."
"Is that a legal term?"
"It is what it is, Ms. Reed."
Zoe dispensed with denials and resorted to righteous indignation, the trusted friend of journalists the world over. "Even if this came into your possession in the manner you claim, you had no right to act upon it or even handle it."
"In point of fact, we did. I can show you the Home Secretary's signature if you like. But that said, we are not interested in your personal life. We asked you here because we have some sensitive information—information we will share with you if you help us."
Seymour's offer of classified intelligence did nothing to mollify Zoe's anger. "Actually," she said pointedly, "I think it's time I had a word with my barrister."
"That's not necessary, Ms. Reed."
"How about my publisher?"
"Latham? I doubt they would react well to being dragged into this."
"Really? And how do you think the British public would react to an expose on how MI5 is spying on reporters?"
After years of being hounded by the press, Seymour was tempted to point out that the British public was more likely to enjoy reading about her affair with Martin Landesmann than yet another dreary scandal involving MI5. Instead, he lifted his gaze reflectively toward the ceiling and allowed the anger of the exchange to dissipate. In the quiet of the upstairs study, the two men seated before the video monitors had conflicting reactions to the verbal sparring. Nigel Whitcombe feared Zoe was a lost cause, but Gabriel saw her defiance as a positive sign. As Ari Shamron always said, a recruit who agreed too quickly was a recruit who couldn't be trusted.
"Unfortunately," Seymour resumed, "Martin Landesmann is not the man you think he is. That shiny image is nothing but a carefully constructed cover. And you're not the first to be fooled. He's involved in money laundering, tax evasion, corporate espionage, and much worse." Seymour gave Zoe a moment to absorb his words. "Martin Landesmann is dangerous, Ms. Reed. Extremely dangerous. And, present company excepted, he doesn't care for reporters—not because of some false modesty, but because he doesn't like people digging into his affairs. One of your fellow journalists discovered that not long ago when he made the mistake of asking Martin the wrong question. That man is now dead."
"Martin Landesmann? A murderer? Are you completely mad? Martin Landesmann is one of the most respected and admired businessmen in the world. My God, he's practically—"
"A saint?" Seymour shook his head. "I read all about Saint Martin's good works in your article. But if I were you, I'd hold off on Martin's canonization until you hear all the evidence. This may be hard to accept at the moment, but he's deceived you. I'm offering you a chance to hear the truth."
Zoe appeared to wrestle for a moment over the word truth. Gazing at her face in the video monitors, Gabriel thought he detected the first signs of doubt in her eyes.
"You're not offering me anything," she shot back. "You're trying to blackmail me. Do you not see anything remotely unethical about that?"
"I've spent my entire professional life working for the Security Service, Ms. Reed. I'm conditioned to deal not in black-and-white but shades of gray. I see the world not as I would like it to be but as it is. And, for the record, we are not blackmailing you or pressuring you in any way. Quite simply, you have a choice."
"What sort of choice?"
"Option one, you can agree to help us. Your work will be extremely limited in scope and short in duration. No one will ever know a thing—unless you choose to violate the Official Secrets Act, which, obviously, we strongly discourage."
"And the second option?"
"I'll take you home, and we'll pretend this never happened."
She appeared incredulous. "And what happens to all the dirt you and your allies have accumulated? I tell you what will happen to it. It will find its way into a nice little file that will remain within easy reach of powerful fingers. And if I ever step out of line, or do anything to irritate Her Majesty's Government, the contents of that file will be used against me."
"If that were the case, Ms. Reed, we would have used it to prevent you from going to print with the Empire Aerospace scandal. But that's not the way it works in the real world, only in bad television dramas. The Security Service exists to protect the British people, not oppress them. We aren't bloody Russians, for God's sake. And you have my word that the material you refer to will be destroyed the moment you leave here."
She hesitated. "And if I stay?"
"You will be told an extremely compelling story by a very interesting man." Seymour leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined. "You have a reputation as a consummate professional, Ms. Reed. I'm counting on that reputation to help us get past any uncomfortable feelings this conversation might have provoked. Everything you think you know about Martin Landesmann is a lie. This is a chance for you to bring down a corrupt and dangerous businessman from the inside. It's also an opportunity for you to help make us all a bit safer."