Moscow Rules

You’ll never be able to set foot in Russia again. And you’ll spend the rest of your life hiding from Ivan. Think carefully, Elena. Are you really willing to give up everything in order to help us?”’
     
     
    “What am I giving up, exactly? I’m married to a man who has sold a cache of missiles to al-Qaeda and has killed two journalists in order to keep it a secret. A man who holds me in such contempt that he thinks nothing of bringing his mistress into my home. My life is a lie. All I have are my children. I’ll get you those disks and defect to the West. All you have to do is get my children away from Ivan. Just promise me that nothing will happen to them.”
     
     
    She reached out and took hold of his wrist. His skin was ablaze, as though he were suffering from a fever.
     
     
    “Surely a man who can forge a painting by Mary Cassatt, or arrange a meeting like this, can think of some way of getting my children away from their father.”
     
     
    “You were able to see through my forgery.”
     
     
    “That’s because I’m good.”
     
     
    “You’ll have to be more than good to fool Ivan. You’ll have to be perfect. And if you’re not, you could end up dead.”
     
     
    “I’m a Leningrad girl. I grew up in a Party family. I know how to beat them at their own game. I know the rules.” She squeezed his wrist and looked directly into his eyes. “You just have to think of some way to get me back to Moscow that won’t make Ivan suspicious.”
     
     
    “And then we have to get you out again. And get the children.”
     
     
    “That, too.”
     
     
    He added more wine to her glass and sat down next to her.
     
     
    “I hear your mother hasn’t been well.”
     
     
    “How did you hear that?”
     
     
    “Because we’ve been listening to your telephone conversations. All of them.”
     
     
    “She had a dizzy spell last week. She’s been begging me to come to see her.”
     
     
    “Perhaps you should. After all, it seems to me a woman in your position might actually want to spend some time with your mother, given everything your husband has put you through.”
     
     
    “Yes, I think I might.”
     
     
    “Can your mother be trusted?”
     
     
    “She absolutely loathes Ivan. Nothing would make her happier than for me to leave him.”
     
     
    “She’s in Moscow now?”
     
     
    Elena nodded. “We brought her there after my father died. Ivan bought her a lovely apartment in a new building on the Kutuzovsky Prospekt, which she resents terribly.”
     
     
    Gabriel placed a hand thoughtfully against his chin and tilted his head slightly to one side.
     
     
    “I’m going to need a letter. It will have to be in your own hand. It will also have to contain enough personal information about you and your family to let your mother know for certain that you wrote it.”
     
     
    “And then?”
     
     
    “Mikhail is going to take you home to your husband. And you’re going to do your best to forget this conversation ever happened.”
     
     
    At that same moment, in a darkened operations room at King Saul Boulevard in Tel Aviv, Ari Shamron removed a pair of headphones and cast a lethal glance at Uzi Navot.
     
     
    “Tell me something, Uzi. When did I authorize a defection?”
     
     
    “I’m not sure you ever did, boss.”
     
     
    “Send the lad a message. Tell him to be in Paris by tomorrow night. Tell him I’d like a word.”
     

 
    46
     
     
    THE MASSIF DES MAURES, FRANCE
     
     
    What did you think of him?"”
     
     
    The voice had spoken to her in Russian. Elena turned around quickly and saw Mikhail standing in the open French doors, hands in his pockets, sunglasses propped on his forehead.
     
     
    “He’s remarkable,” she said. “Where did he go?”
     
     
    Mikhail acted as though he had not heard the question.
     
     
    “You can trust him, Elena. You can trust him with your life. And with the lives of your children.” He held out his hand. “I need to show you a few things before we leave.”
     
     
    Elena followed him back into the villa. In her absence, the rustic wooden table had been laid with a lovers’ banquet. Mikhail’s voice, when he spoke, had a bedroom intimacy.
     
     
    “We had lunch, Elena. It was waiting on the table just like this when we arrived. Remember it, Elena. Remember exactly how it looked.”
     
     
    “When did we eat? Before or after?”
     
     
    “Before,” he said with a slight smile of admiration. “You were nervous