The Defector

the other side of the square and sat on an empty bench, opposite the North Tower of Westminster Abbey. It was the same bench where he had once waited for the daughter of the American ambassador to be delivered to the abbey by two jihadist suicide bombers. He wondered whether Graham Seymour had chosen the spot intentionally or if the unpleasantness of that morning had simply slipped his mind.
    A chauffeured Jaguar limousine eased to the edge of the square shortly after three. Seymour emerged from the back, wearing a chesterfield coat. He waited until the car had sped off down Victoria Street before walking over to the bench. This time, it was Seymour who was late.
    “Sorry, Gabriel, my meeting with the prime minister went longer than expected.”
    “How is he?”
    “Given the fact he’s the most unpopular British leader in a generation, he put on a rather good show. And for a change we were actually able to bring him a bit of good news.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Nice try.”
    “Come on, Graham.” Gabriel glanced toward the façade of the abbey. “We have a history, you and I.”
    Seymour said nothing for a moment. “Bloody awful day, wasn’t it? I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get that image out of my mind, the image of you—”
    “I remember it, Graham. I was there.”
    Seymour tucked the ends of his woolen scarf under the lapel of his overcoat. “As we speak, officers of the Metropolitan Police are conducting raids across East London.”
    “East London? I guess they’re not arresting Russians.”
    “It’s an al-Qaeda cell we’ve been watching for some time. They’re the real thing. They were in the final stages of a plan to attack several financial and tourist targets. The loss of life would have been significant.”
    “When are you going to announce the arrests?”
    “The prime minister plans to issue a public statement later this evening, just in time for the News at Ten . His handlers are hoping for a much-needed bump in the opinion polls.” Seymour stood. “I need to get back to Thames House. Walk with me.”
    The two men rose in unison and headed across the square toward the Houses of Parliament. They were an incongruous pair, Gabriel in his jeans and leather jacket, Seymour in his tailored suit and overcoat.
    “Honor is due, Gabriel. At your suggestion, we dug a little deeper and pulled up some new CCTV images from the surrounding streets. The couple who crossed Westbourne Terrace Road Bridge at three minutes past six climbed into a waiting car in a quiet side street. It brought them to Edgware Road, where the woman emerged alone. She’d changed her coat along the way.” Seymour cast an admiring glance toward Gabriel. “May I ask what made you suspicious of her?”
    “Her umbrella.”
    “But she didn’t have one.”
    “Precisely. There was a light rain falling, but the woman wasn’t carrying an umbrella. She needed her hands free.” Gabriel gave Seymour a sideways glance. “People like me don’t carry umbrellas, Graham.”
    “Assassins, you mean?”
    Gabriel didn’t respond directly. “If Grigori hadn’t climbed into that car on his own, the woman would have probably killed him on the spot. I suppose he decided it was better to take his chances. Better to be a missing defector than a dead one.”
    “What else did you notice about her?”
    “She never bothered to change her shoes. I suppose there wasn’t time.”
    “What I wouldn’t do for your eye.”
    “It’s a professional affliction.”
    “Which profession?”
    Gabriel only smiled. They had reached the southern end of the Houses of Parliament and were walking now along the Victoria Tower Gardens. Ahead of them loomed the heavy gray façade of Thames House. Seymour suddenly appeared in no hurry to get back to the office.
    “Your discovery presents me with an obvious dilemma. If I bring this to the attention of my director-general, it will ignite a battle royal within the Security Service. I’ll be branded a heretic. And you know what we do with heretics.”
    “I don’t want you to say a thing, Graham.” Gabriel paused, then added, “Not until I’ve had a chance to talk to Olga.”
    “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. My DG would have my head on a stick if he knew how much access I’ve already given you. Your involvement in this affair is now over. In fact, if you hurry, you can pack your bags and catch the last Eurostar to Paris. It leaves at 7:39 on the dot.”
    “I need to talk to