The Defector

shoulder.
    “Be careful in there, Gabriel. If you’re not, you might lose more than another wife.”
    Lavon climbed behind the wheel of the car without another word and headed down the valley. Gabriel watched the red tail-lights disappear behind a veil of snow, then turned and headed into the house.

    THEY STRIPPED them to their underwear and secured them to a trio of metal outdoor chairs. Gabriel gave each of the three men a shot of stimulant, small doses for the bodyguard and driver, a larger one for Vladimir Chernov. His head rose slowly from his chest, and, blinking rapidly, he surveyed his surroundings. His two men were seated directly in front of him, eyes wide with terror. Standing in a line behind them were Yaakov, Mikhail, Navot, and Gabriel. In Gabriel’s left hand was a .45 caliber Glock with a suppressor screwed onto the end of the barrel. In his right was a photograph: a man standing in the arrivals hall of Heathrow Airport. Gabriel glanced at Yaakov, who tore away the packing tape wrapped around the lower portion of Chernov’s head. Now missing a good deal of hair, Chernov screamed in pain. Gabriel hit him hard across the brow with the Glock and told him to shut his mouth. Chernov, blood streaming into his left eye, obeyed.
    “Do you know who I am, Vladimir?”
    “I’ve never seen you before in my life. Please, whoever you are, this is all some sort—”
    “It’s no mistake, Vladimir. Take a good look at my face. You’ve seen it before, I’m sure.”
    “No, never.”
    “We’re getting off to a bad start, you and I. You’re lying to me. And if you continue to lie to me, you’ll never leave this place. Tell me the truth, Vladimir, and you and your men will be allowed to live.”
    “I am telling you the truth! I’ve never seen your face before!”
    “Not even in photographs? Surely they must have given you a photo of me.”
    “Who?”
    “The men who came to you when they wanted to hire Comrade Zhirlov to find me.”
    “I’ve never heard of this man. I am a legitimate security consultant. I demand you release me and my men at once. Otherwise—”
    “Otherwise what, Vladimir?”
    Chernov fell silent.
    “You have a narrow window of opportunity, Vladimir. A very narrow window. I am going to ask you a question, and you are going to tell me the truth.” Gabriel held the photograph in front of Chernov’s face. “Tell me where I can find this man.”
    “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
    “Are you sure that’s the answer you want to give me, Vladimir?”
    “It is the truth!”
    Gabriel shook his head sadly and walked behind Chernov’s driver. Gabriel had been told his name. He had already forgotten it. His name didn’t matter. He didn’t need a name where he was going. Chernov, judging by his insolent expression, clearly thought Gabriel was bluffing. Obviously, the Russian had never heard of Ari Shamron’s twelfth commandment: We do not wave our guns around like gangsters and make idle threats. We draw our weapons in the field for one reason and one reason only . Gabriel placed the gun to the back of the man’s head and tilted the angle slightly downward. Then, with his eyes boring into Chernov’s face, he squeezed the trigger.

46
    HAUTE-SAVOIE, FRANCE
    THERE IS a popular misconception about suppressors. They do not actually silence a weapon, especially when that weapon is a .45 caliber Glock. The hollow-tipped round entered the driver’s skull with a rather loud thump and exited through his mouth, taking much of his jaw and chin with it. Had the gun been level at the time of firing, the projectile might have continued into Vladimir Chernov. Instead, it slammed harmlessly into the floor. Chernov didn’t escape completely unscathed, though. His muscular torso was now splattered with blood, brain tissue, and bone fragments. A few seconds later came the contents of his own stomach: the fine meal he had shared with Ludmila Akulova a few hours earlier at Les Armures. It was a good sign. Chernov may have trafficked in death and violence, but the sight of a little blood made him sick. With luck, he might break soon. Gabriel held the photograph in front of his face again and posed the same question: “Who is this man, and where can I find him?” Unfortunately, Chernov’s response was the same.
    “I’m sure you’ve heard of waterboarding, Vladimir. We have a different technique we use when we need information quickly.” Gabriel gazed into the fire for a moment.