Gabriel slipped out the door without another word. Zoe switched on her mobile and began to dress.
AMONG THE MANY logistical challenges faced by the team had been the acquisition of a suitable car to ferry Zoe and Mikhail to the party. An attempt was made to rent a vehicle in Geneva, but that proved impossible because Martin's other guests had already snatched up every luxury sedan in the canton. That left a hasty purchase as the only option. Gabriel handled the chore himself, choosing a black fully loaded S-Class Mercedes, which he paid for in full with a certified check from one of Navot's operational accounts in Zurich. When news of the procurement reached Highgate, Shamron flew into a seething rage. Not only had the Office just spent one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a car but a German car at that.
It eased gracefully into the Kempinski's circular drive at 6:15 that evening with Yaakov behind the wheel, looking as though he were guiding an oil tanker through treacherous seas. After successful completion of the maneuver, he informed the doorman that he was there to collect Mr. Danilov. The doorman called Mr. Danilov, who in turn called Ms. Reed and Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers. Mr. Albright immediately dispatched a secure message to his superiors in London that read DEPARTURE IMMINENT. Then he looked at his computer screen. A red light was blinking in the southeast corner of Villa Elma, 1,238 feet above sea level.
61
MAYFAIR, LONDON
The message from Geneva flashed on the screens of the CIA ops center beneath Grosvenor Square. Seated in their usual places in the back row were Graham Seymour, Adrian Carter, and Ari Shamron. In a significant break with tradition, they were joined that evening by two additional members of the Masterpiece team. One was Uzi Navot, the other was Chiara Allon. All five were staring at the message screens like stranded airline passengers waiting for a long-delayed flight. Shamron was already nervously turning over his old Zippo lighter in his fingertips. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left...
"Does anyone know the definition of the word imminent?"
"Ready to take place," offered Graham Seymour.
"Hanging threateningly over one's head," added Adrian Carter.
Shamron frowned heavily and looked at Chiara, who responded by typing a few characters into her laptop computer. A moment later, a new message appeared on the display screens at the front of the room.
DEPARTURE IN PROGRESS...
"What was the problem?" Shamron asked.
"Zoe's zipper was stuck."
"Who fixed it?"
"Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers."
Shamron smiled. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left...
MIKHAIL STOOD outside the elevators on the sixth floor of the Grand Hotel Kempinski and examined his appearance in the decorative smoked-glass mirror. His clothing was simple but elegant: a Brioni tuxedo, a plain-fronted formal shirt, a traditional bow tie. The jacket had been specially fitted to accommodate the two pieces of technical equipment he was carrying at the small of his back. The crisp knot of his bow tie had been a collaborative effort involving three agents of Israeli intelligence and no small amount of preoperational hysteria.
He leaned closer to the mirror, made an adjustment to his blond forelock, and examined his face. Hard to believe he was the same boy from the derelict apartment blocks of Moscow. A boy who had been beaten and spat upon by Russian brethren every day merely for having been cursed with the name of the patriarch. The boy had moved to Israel with his dissident parents and had learned to fight. But tonight he would fight in a different way, against a man who was supplying the mullahs of Iran with the power to fulfill their wildest fantasies. Tonight he was no longer Mikhail Abramov. Tonight he was a real Russian with a proper Russian name and a great deal of money in his Russian pockets.
He heard the sound of a door closing just down the corridor. Zoe appeared a few seconds later, looking radiant in her Dior dress. Mikhail kissed her formally on both cheeks for the benefit of the hotel cameras, then stepped back to admire her.
"Something tells me you're going to be the center of attention tonight."
"Better me than you."
Mikhail laughed as he led Zoe into the elevator. In the lobby, Yossi and Rimona were drinking coffee near the gas fire while Dina and Mordecai were talking to the concierge about restaurants. Mikhail offered Zoe his arm and led her toward the entrance. A doorman intercepted them, a concerned look on his face.
"I'm afraid we have a slight problem, Mr. Danilov."
"What's that?"
"An overabundance of cars."
"Can you be a bit more clear?" Mikhail asked, adopting the impatient tone that comes naturally to the rich, Russian or otherwise. "I'm afraid we're running late for an important engagement."
The doorman turned and pointed through the revolving door toward the S-Class Mercedes. Yaakov was standing at the rear driver's-side door, hand on the latch, face a blank mask.
"That's your car, Mr. Danilov."
"So what's the problem?"
The doorman pointed to a second Mercedes, a Maybach 62S. Two well-dressed men in dark overcoats were standing near the trunk, hands in their pockets. Mikhail recognized the older of the two from surveillance photographs. It was Jonas Brunner.
"And that car," said the doorman, "is for Ms. Reed."
"Who sent it?"
"Mr. Martin Landesmann."
"Do me a favor then. Tell those gentlemen that Ms. Reed and I will be traveling to the party together in my car."
"They were quite insistent Ms. Reed ride with them."
Mikhail instructed Zoe to wait in the lobby, then stepped outside. Jonas Brunner immediately walked over and introduced himself.
"Do you mind telling me what this is all about?" Mikhail asked.
"Mr. Landesmann has made arrangements for your travel to Villa Elma. Forgive us for not telling you sooner. It was an oversight on our part."
"Us?"
"I work for Mr. Landesmann."
"In what capacity?" Mikhail asked needlessly.
"I'm a personal aide, of sorts," Brunner said evasively.
"I see. Well, please convey to Mr. Landesmann our thanks for his very generous offer, but we'll be taking our own car."
"I'm afraid Mr. Landesmann would be deeply offended to hear that." Brunner held out his hand toward the Maybach. "Please, Mr. Danilov, I'm sure you and Ms. Reed will find this one very comfortable."
Mikhail turned and looked at Zoe, who was watching him through the glass as though she found the entire spectacle faintly amusing. It was not, of course. In fact, it presented Mikhail with his first decision of the evening, far sooner than he had anticipated. To refuse the offer would look suspicious. But to accept meant they would be under Martin's control from the outset. Mikhail Abramov wanted to insist on taking his own car. But Mikhail Danilov knew he had no choice but to accept. Otherwise, the evening was going to get off to a very tense start. He looked at Brunner and managed a slight smile.
"We'll be delighted to ride in your car. Shall I dismiss my driver or will we need him to get back to the hotel?"
"We'll bring you back at the end of the party, Mr. Danilov."
Mikhail turned and gestured for Zoe to come outside. Brunner opened the rear door of the Maybach and smiled.
"Good evening, Ms. Reed."
"Good evening, Jonas."
"You look lovely this evening."
"Thank you, Jonas."
YAAKOV WATCHED the Maybach turn into the darkened Quai de Mont-Blanc, then lifted his wrist mic to his lips.
"Did you hear that?"