The Defector

Among them was a fleet of transport ships and aircraft, which he converted into one of the largest freight-forwarding companies in the world. Before long, Ivan’s boats and planes were bound for destinations in Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America, laden with one of the few products the Russians made well: weapons.
    Ivan liked to boast he could lay his hands on anything and ship it anywhere, in some cases overnight. He cared nothing about morality, only money. He would sell to anyone, as long as they could pay. And if they couldn’t, he offered to arrange financing through his banking arm. He sold his weapons to dictators and he sold them to rebels. He sold to freedom fighters with legitimate grievances and to genocidal maniacs who slaughtered women and children. He specialized in providing weapons to regimes so beyond the pale they were unable to obtain arms from legal sources. He perfected the practice of selling weapons to both sides of a conflict, judiciously moderating the flow of arms in order to prolong the killing and maximize his profits. He destroyed countries. He destroyed peoples. And he became filthy rich in the process. For years, he had managed to keep his network of death carefully concealed. To the rest of the world, Ivan Kharkov was the very symbol of the New Russia—a shrewd investor and businessman who easily straddled East and West, collecting expensive homes, luxury yachts, and beautiful mistresses. Elena would later admit to Gabriel that she had been an enabler of Ivan’s grand deception. She had turned a blind eye to his romantic dalliances, just as she had shrouded herself in a willful ignorance when it came to the true source of his immense wealth.
    But lives are sometimes upended in an instant. Gabriel’s had changed one evening in Vienna, in the time it took a detonator to ignite a charge of plastic explosive placed beneath his car. For Elena Kharkov, it was the night she overhead a telephone conversation between her husband and his chief of security, Arkady Medvedev. Confronted with the possibility that thousands of innocent people might die because of her husband’s greed, she chose to betray him rather than remain silent. Her actions led her to an isolated villa in the hills above Saint-Tropez, where she offered to help Gabriel steal Ivan’s secrets. The operation that followed had nearly ended both of their lives. One image would hang forever in Gabriel’s terrible gallery of memory: the image of Elena Kharkov, tied to a chair in her husband’s warehouse, with Arkady Medvedev’s pistol pressed to the side of her head. Arkady wanted Gabriel to reveal the location of Anna and Nikolai. Elena was prepared to die rather than answer.
    You’d better pull the trigger, Arkady. Because Ivan is never getting those children .
    Now, seated before a fire in the great room of the Adirondack lodge, Gabriel broke the news that Ivan had succeeded in kidnapping Grigori Bulganov, the man who had saved their lives that night. And that Olga Sukhova, Elena’s old friend from Leningrad State, had been the target of an assassination attempt in Oxford. Elena took the news calmly, as though she had been informed of a long-expected death. Then she accepted a photograph: a man standing in the arrivals hall of Heathrow Airport. The sudden darkening of her expression instantly told Gabriel his journey had not been in vain.
    “You’ve seen him before?”
    Elena nodded. “In Moscow, a long time ago. He was a regular visitor to our house in Zhukovka.”
    “Did he come alone?”
    She shook her head. “Only with Arkady.”
    “Were you ever told his name?”
    “I was never told their names.”
    “And you never happened to overhear one?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    Gabriel tried to conceal his disappointment and asked whether Elena could recall anything else. She looked down at the photograph, as if trying to wipe the dust from her memory.
    “I remember that Arkady was always quite deferential in his presence. I found it rather odd because Arkady was deferential in front of no one.” She looked up at Gabriel. “Too bad you killed him. He could have told you the name.”
    “The world is a much better place without the likes of Arkady Medvedev.”
    “That’s true. Sometimes I actually wish I’d killed him myself.” She turned her head and stared across the room toward the painting. “The question is, has Ivan hired this same man to take my children from me?”
    Gabriel took hold of