"What are you talking about?"
"Let's just say there's pressure on the chief to order a full investigation."
"Can you stop it?"
"I'm trying."
"Try harder, Karl. This firm pays you exceedingly well to make sure things like this don't happen to our clients, let alone the boss."
Huber frowned. "Why don't you say that a little louder? I'm not sure the Onyx ground station in the Valais was able to hear you."
Muller made no reply.
"You do have one thing working in your favor," Huber said. "The DAP and the Federal Police are going to be extremely reluctant to open a potentially embarrassing probe at a time like this, especially one involving a man as beloved as your owner. Martin is the patron saint of Switzerland. And you can be sure that his friends in the government will think twice about doing anything that tarnishes his reputation. Martin is good for the country."
"But?"
"There's always the potential it will leak to the press the way the Egyptian fax did. If that happens..." Huber paused. "As you know, these things have a way of taking on a life of their own."
"Zentrum will be most grateful if you can keep this matter out of the press, Karl."
"How grateful?"
"The money will be transferred first thing Monday morning."
Huber closed the laptop. "There's one other thing to keep in mind. Whoever did this is extremely good. And they had help."
"What kind of help?"
"Someone on the inside. Someone with access to Martin's phone and computer. If I were you, I'd start putting together a list of possible suspects. And then I'd handcuff each one to a radiator and find out who's responsible."
"Thank you for the advice, Karl, but we prefer subtler methods."
Huber gave a sardonic smile. "Try telling that to Rafael Bloch."
ULRICH MULLER headed back to the center of Zurich at considerable speed, turning over the implications of what he had just been told. Someone on the inside...Someone with access to Martin's phone and computer...While it was possible Martin had been betrayed by an employee, Muller considered it highly unlikely since all GVI staff were subjected to rigorous background checks and regular security reviews. Muller suspected the traitor was someone much closer to Martin. Someone who was sharing Martin's bed on a regular basis.
He parked in the Kasernenstrasse and headed upstairs. A Kellergruppe operative tried to give Muller an update on the Berlin and Mexico City operations; Muller brushed past without a word and entered his office. His computer was powered on. He hesitated for a few seconds, then called up the guest list for that evening's One World fund-raiser at Villa Elma. The overt side of Zentrum had done a cursory security check on all three hundred of the invitees. Near the bottom of the list, Muller found the name he was looking for. He snatched up his phone and started to dial the number for Martin's mobile. Realizing his mistake, he hung up and dialed Jonas Brunner instead. Brunner answered after three rings, his voice a whisper.
"Where are you?" Muller asked.
"In the ballroom."
"What's that noise?"
"Mr. Landesmann's movie."
Muller swore softly. "Can you see the British reporter?"
Brunner was silent for a few seconds. "She's at the back of the room."
"Is her date with her?"
Another silence, then, "Actually, I can't see him."
"Shit!"
"What's the problem?"
Muller didn't answer directly. Instead, he gave the bodyguard a set of precise instructions, then asked, "How many men do you have there tonight?"
"Forty."
Muller hung up the phone and quickly dialed Zentrum's travel desk.
"I need a helicopter."
"What's your destination?"
"I'll know when I'm airborne."
"How soon do you need it?"
"Now."
65
GENEVA
For a big man, Jonas Brunner was surprisingly quiet on his feet. Not a single head turned as he made his way to Martin's shoulder. Not a single eyebrow rose as he murmured a few words into Martin's ear. Martin appeared momentarily startled by the news, then quickly regained his usual composure and slipped a pale hand into his breast pocket. The Nokia telephone appeared; its screen flared briefly and went dark as the power was extinguished. Martin immediately surrendered it to Brunner, then rose to his feet and followed the security man from the ballroom. By now several of the guests were watching him intently, including the famous British reporter seated next to a Saudi prince of untold wealth. When Martin disappeared from view, she turned back to the film and tried desperately not to show the fear rising inside her. He's probably just bored silly, she told herself, but not with much conviction. Zoe could always tell when Martin was bored. Martin wasn't bored. Martin was furious.
GABRIEL REMOVED his headphones, checked the connection, checked the transmission status, jabbed at his keyboard. Then he looked at Lavon in frustration.
"Are you still hearing audio from Zoe's phone?"
"Loud and clear. Why?"
"Because Martin's just went down."
"Any GPS data?"
"Nothing."
"He probably just switched off his phone."
"Why would he do that?"
"Good question."
"What do we do?"
Gabriel typed four words into his computer and hit SEND. Then he keyed into Mikhail's earpiece.
"It's possible we have a problem."
"What's that?"
Gabriel explained.
"Any advice?"
"Sit tight."
"And if several men come through the door?"
"Pull the USB immediately."
"And do what with it?"
Gabriel clipped out.
GABRIEL'S MESSAGE appeared instantly on the status screens of the London ops center: MARTIN'S PHONE DOWN...ADVISE... Adrian Carter swore softly. Uzi Navot closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
"People shut off their phones all the time," Graham Seymour suggested.
"That's true," Navot said. "But not Martin. Martin never shuts his phone down."
"It's your man in there, Uzi. That means it's your call."
"How much time left on the feed from Martin's computer?"
"Twenty-one and change."
"What are the chances we have what we need?"
"I'm not an expert, but I'd say they're fifty-fifty."
Navot looked at Shamron. Shamron looked stoically back, as if to say that these are the moments careers are made.
"I want better odds than fifty-fifty," Navot said.
"So we wait?"
Navot nodded. "We wait."
MIKHAIL MOVED quietly to the window, parted the curtain a fraction of an inch, and peered into Martin's garden. It was twenty feet down with a guard patrolling the perimeter. But that didn't matter. The office windows were bulletproof and didn't open. Mikhail returned to the desk and checked the status box on Martin's computer screen: 18:26...18:25...18:24...
Sitting tight, he thought. But what about Zoe?
JONAS BRUNNER and his security staff worked from an office on the ground floor of the mansion not far from the service kitchen. He led Martin Landesmann inside and dialed Ulrich Muller's number in Zurich.
"Why did you tell me to turn off my phone?"
"Because it's compromised."
"Compromised?"
"Your mobile is broadcasting your life to the world, Martin. So is your computer."
Landesmann's already pale face drained of color. "Who did this?"
"I'm not sure yet. But I think they may have come to your party tonight for a second helping."
"What are you talking about?"
Muller relayed his suspicions. Landesmann listened in silence, then slammed down the phone.