The Defector

hard before you get involved with a man who kills people for a living. Mikhail’s done a lot of terrible things for the sake of his country.” Gabriel paused, then added, “Things that might make him difficult to be around sometimes.”
    “Sounds like someone I know.”
    “This isn’t a joke, Sarah. This is your life. Besides, Israeli men are notoriously unreliable. Just ask your average Israeli woman.”
    “The Israeli men I know are quite wonderful, actually.”
    “That’s because we’re the best of the best.”
    “Mikhail included?”
    “He wouldn’t be on my team if he wasn’t. How much time have you spent with him?”
    “He’s come here a few times, and we met in Paris once.”
    “It’s not safe for you to be in Paris alone.”
    “I’m not alone. I’m with Mikhail.” A silence, then, “It’s almost like being with you.”
    Her words hung between them for a moment. “Is that what this is about, Sarah?”
    “Gabriel, please.”
    “Because I’d feel bad if Mikhail got hurt in any way.”
    “I’m sure I’m the only one who’ll get hurt.”
    “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
    She smiled for the first time since Mikhail’s name had come up. “I was going to tell you tonight. We were just waiting until we knew it was . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    “Until it was what ?”
    “Real.”
    “And is it?”
    She held his hand. “Don’t be upset, Gabriel. I was hoping this could be a celebration.”
    “I’m not upset.”
    She looked at his champagne glass. He hadn’t touched it.
    “Do you want something else?”
    “Nail polish remover. On the rocks, with a twist.”

    SINCE GABRIEL had come to Washington with the full knowledge of the CIA, Housekeeping had assigned him a not-so-safe flat on Tunlaw Road north of Georgetown. In a somewhat curious twist of fate, the apartment overlooked the rear entrance of the Russian Embassy. As Gabriel was crossing the lobby, his secure mobile vibrated in his coat pocket. It was Adrian Carter.
    “Where are you?”
    Gabriel told him.
    “I have something you need to see right away. We’ll pick you up.”
    The connection went dead. Fifteen minutes later, Gabriel was climbing into the back of Carter’s black sedan on New Mexico Avenue. Carter handed him a single sheet of paper: a transcript of a National Security Agency communications intercept, dated the previous evening Moscow time. The target was Ivan Kharkov. He had been speaking to someone inside FSB Headquarters at Lubyanka Square. Though most of the conversation was conducted in coded colloquial Russian, it was clear Ivan had given something to the FSB and now he wanted it back. That something was Grigori Bulganov.
    “You were right, Gabriel. Ivan handed Grigori over to the FSB so they could settle accounts, too. Apparently, the FSB interrogation is going too slowly for Ivan’s taste. He spent a great deal of money getting his hands on Grigori, and he’s tired of waiting. But the good news is Grigori’s alive.”
    “Is there any way you can prevail upon the FSB to keep him that way?”
    “Not a chance. Our relations with the Russian services are getting worse by the day. There’s no way they would tolerate our meddling in a strictly internal matter. And, frankly, if the roles were reversed, neither would we. From their point of view, Grigori is a defector and a traitor. You can be sure they want to kill him just as much as Ivan does.”
    “Does the CIC have anything for me?”
    “Not yet. Who knows? Maybe your friend Anatoly is a ghost.”
    “I don’t believe in ghosts, Adrian. If there’s one thing we know about Ivan, he wouldn’t have entrusted Grigori’s kidnapping to someone he didn’t know.”
    “That’s Ivan’s way. Everything is personal.”
    “So it’s possible someone who’s spent a considerable amount of time around Ivan might have encountered this man at some point.” Gabriel paused. “Who knows, Adrian? She might even know his real name.”
    Carter told the driver to head back to the safe flat, then looked at Gabriel.
    “A car will pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow morning. I’m afraid we’ll have to play this one rather close to the vest. You won’t know where you’re going until you’re airborne.”
    “How should I dress?”
    Carter smiled.
    “Warmly. Very warmly.”

32
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