Moscow Rules

and smiled. “Is it my imagination or do you seem a little disappointed?”
     
     
    “No, Sarah, I’m not disappointed.”
     
     
    “Of course you are. The question is, do you really want me tagging along on another operation?”
     
     
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
     
     
    “Because your lovely new Italian bride might not approve.” She adjusted the thin straps of her sundress. It clung to her breasts in a way that could cause even the most faithful eye to wander. “You know, for a man of your many gifts, your knowledge of women is shockingly deficient.”
     
     
    “I make up for it in other ways.”
     
     
    “With your unfailingly pleasant demeanor?”
     
     
    “For starters.”
     
     
    She gazed at him for a moment as though he were a dull student. “The last person Chiara wants to see in the field again is me .”
     
     
    “You were a guest at our wedding.”
     
     
    “One of the worst days of my life. And that’s saying something, because I’ve had some pretty terrible days.”
     
     
    “But you’re over me now?”
     
     
    “Not even a flicker of interest.”
     
     
    A pair of Japanese tourists approached and, in a combination of broken English and halting gestures, asked Sarah to take their photograph. She agreed, much to Gabriel’s displeasure.
     
     
    “Are you out of your mind?”
     
     
    “What have I done now?”
     
     
    “What if there had been a bomb in that camera?”
     
     
    “Who would put a bomb in a camera?”
     
     
    “ We would.”
     
     
    “If it was so dangerous, then why did you let me do it?”
     
     
    “Because they were obviously harmless Japanese tourists.”
     
     
    “How did you know that?”
     
     
    “I can tell.”
     
     
    “Just by looking at them?”
     
     
    “Yes, I can tell just by looking at them.”
     
     
    She laughed. “You’d better be careful, Gabriel. Otherwise, you might make me fall in love with you again.”
     
     
    “And we can’t have that.”
     
     
    “No, we can’t.”
     
     
    Gabriel gazed across the gardens and asked how much Carter had told her.
     
     
    “Only that you’re going after Ivan Kharkov.”
     
     
    “Know much about him?”
     
     
    “He’s not formally under the purview of the CTC, but he probably should be. We went to war in Iraq, in part, because we feared that Sad-dam might be willing to supply the terrorists with sophisticated weaponry or even weapons of mass destruction. But the terrorists don’t have to go to a state like Iraq to get their weapons. They can go to a nonstate actor like Ivan instead. For the right amount of money, he’ll sell them whatever they want and route it to them through one of his customers in Africa or Latin America.”
     
     
    “You’ve obviously learned your craft well.”
     
     
    “I was well trained.” She crossed one leg over the other and smoothed the wrinkles from her sundress. “What do you need me to do this time?”
     
     
    “Memorize the CIA’s files on Ivan and his network, and read everything you can about Mary Cassatt. Adrian will tell you the rest.”
     
     
    “Kharkov and Cassatt? Only a Gabriel Allon operation could feature a combination like that.” She lowered her sunglasses. “Should I assume you’ll need me to go undercover again?”
     
     
    “Yes, you should.” A silence fell between them, heavy as the midday heat. “If you don’t want to do it, Sarah, just tell me. God knows, you’ve done more than enough already.”
     
     
    She looked at him and smiled. It was a brave smile, thought Gabriel. The kind that didn’t quite extend to the rest of the face. “And miss all the fun?” She fanned herself dramatically with her book. “Besides, I’d do just about anything to get out of here for a few days. I can’t stand Washington in the summer.”
     

 
    27
     
     
    LONDON
     
     
    Number 7 Mornington Terrace was a sooty postwar apartment block overlooking the rail tracks of Euston Station. When Gabriel rang the bell of Apartment 5C, the door opened a few inches and a pair of gray eyes regarded him coolly over the chain. They didn’t look pleased to see him. They rarely did.
     
     
    Free of the chain, the door swung open a more hospitable distance. Gabriel stepped inside and took stock of his surroundings: a dreary little bed-sit, with a cracked linoleum floor and flea market furnishings. The man waiting inside looked as though he had wandered into the flat by mistake. He wore a pin-striped suit, a Burberry