Though not blindfolded, Zoe could see nothing. The place where they had taken her was black as pitch. They lifted her again, carried her a short distance, and placed her in a chair with no arms. Again they bound her with duct tape, this time to the back of the chair. Then lights came on, and Zoe screamed.
71
CANTON BERN, SWITZERLAND
Mikhail's position was a mirror image of Zoe's—hands and feet bound, torso secured to a straight-backed chair, duct tape over his mouth. He was fully conscious now and, judging from the blood flowing from his mouth, he had recently been struck. His tuxedo jacket had been removed; his shirt was torn in several places and soaked with blood. The contents of his wallet lay scattered on the cement floor at his feet, along with the USB flash drive and the ultraviolet light. Zoe tried not to look at the items. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on the tall, middle-aged man standing halfway between her and Mikhail. He was wearing a dark blue banker's suit and a woolen overcoat. The hair was Germanic blond going to gray, the expression on his face one of mild distaste. In one hand was a gun, in the other Mikhail's miniature radio. The gun had blood on it. Mikhail's blood, she thought. But that made sense. The man in the dark blue suit didn't look like the sort who liked to use his fists. He also looked vaguely familiar. Zoe was certain she had seen him somewhere before in close proximity to Martin. But in her current state she couldn't recall where it had been.
She glanced quickly around. They were in a commercial storage facility of some sort. It was cheaply made of corrugated metal and stank of dirty motor oil and rust. The overhead lights buzzed. For a moment, Zoe allowed herself to wonder whether Rafael Bloch had spent time in this same place before his body was taken across the border and dumped in the French Alps. Then she forced the thought from her mind. Rafael Bloch? Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. She looked at Mikhail. He was staring directly at her as if trying to communicate something. Zoe held his gaze for as long as she could bear it, then looked down at her hands. This movement seemed to prompt the well-dressed man into action. He came over and ripped the duct tape from her mouth. Zoe gave an involuntary scream of pain and immediately regretted it.
"Who are you?" she snapped. "And why in God's name am I here?"
"You know why you're here, Zoe. In fact, thanks to your associate, Mr. Danilov, we all know why you're here."
He spoke English with only the faintest accent and with the precision of a timepiece.
"Are you crazy? I'm here because Martin—"
"No, Zoe. You're here because you're a spy. And you came to Geneva to steal private documents and correspondence from Mr. Landesmann's computer, a very serious crime here in Switzerland."
"I presume kidnapping and assault are as well."
The man in the suit smiled. "Ah, the famous Zoe Reed wit. It's good to know that at least something about you isn't a lie."
"I'm a reporter, you idiot. And when I get out of here, I'm going to find out who you are and destroy you."
"But you're not really a reporter at all, are you, Zoe? Your job at the Financial Journal is nothing but a cover. Two years ago, you were ordered by your superiors at British intelligence to form a sexual relationship with Mr. Landesmann in order to spy on his business operations. You made contact with Mr. Landesmann by expressing interest in interviewing him. Then, twenty-two months ago, you made contact with him in Davos."
"That's madness. Martin tried to seduce me in Davos. He invited me to his suite for dinner."
"That's not the way Jonas Brunner and the rest of Mr. Landesmann's security detail remember the evening, Zoe. They recall that you were very flirtatious and aggressive. And that's what they'll tell the Swiss police." He paused, then added, "But it doesn't have to come to that, Zoe. The sooner you confess, the sooner we can resolve this unpleasant affair."
"I have nothing to confess other than foolishness. Obviously, I was a fool ever to believe Martin's lies."
"What lies are those, Zoe?"
"Saint Martin," she said, her voice dripping with contempt.
The man was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke again, he did so not to Zoe but to the gun in his hand.
"Say the words, Zoe. Confess your sins. Tell me the truth. Tell me that you're not a real reporter. Tell me that you were ordered by your superiors in London to seduce Mr. Landesmann and steal his private documents."
"I won't say it because it's not true. I loved Martin."
"Did you?" He looked up from the gun as if genuinely surprised, then at Mikhail. "And what about your friend, Mr. Danilov? Are you in love with him, too?"
"I hardly know him."
"That's not what he says. According to Mr. Danilov, you two are working together on the Landesmann case."
"I'm not working with anyone. And I don't know anything about a Landesmann case. I don't know why there would even be a Landesmann case."
"That's not what Mr. Danilov says."
Zoe looked directly at Mikhail for the first time since the interrogation had begun. He held her gaze for a few seconds, then almost imperceptibly shook his head. Zoe's inquisitor noticed. He walked slowly over to Mikhail and struck him hard across the face with the butt of the gun, opening another gash high on his cheek. Then the man took a fistful of Mikhail's hair and pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple. A guard standing on the opposite side took a hasty step backward. The man holding the gun screwed the barrel into Mikhail's skin, then turned his head and looked at Zoe.
"You have one chance to tell the truth, Zoe. Otherwise, Mr. Danilov is going to die. And if he dies, you die. Because we can't have witnesses lying around, can we? Confess your sins, Zoe. Tell me the truth."
Mikhail was wincing with pain. But this time he didn't try to hide his message to Zoe. He was shaking his head violently from side to side, shouting something into the duct tape covering his mouth. This earned him two more blows with the butt of the gun. Zoe closed her eyes.
"Last chance, Zoe."
"Put the gun down."
"Only if you tell me the truth."
"Put the gun down." She opened her eyes. "Put it down, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."
"Tell me now."
"Stop, damn it. You're hurting him."
"I'm going to do much worse if you don't start talking. Tell me the truth, Zoe. Tell me you're a spy."
"I'm not a spy."
"So why did you help them?"
"Because they asked me to."
"Who did?"
"British intelligence."
"Who else?"
"Israeli intelligence."
"Who's in charge of the operation?"
"I don't know."
"Who's in charge, Zoe?"
"I don't know his real name."
"You're lying, Zoe. Tell me his name."
"His name is Gabriel."
"Gabriel Allon?"
"Yes, Gabriel Allon."
"Was he in Geneva tonight?"
"I don't know."
"Answer me, Zoe. Was he in Geneva tonight?"
"Yes."
"Were there others?"
"Yes."
"Tell me their names, Zoe. All of them."