The Defector

Gabriel found himself paired with Mikhail in a café overlooking the Paradeplatz. Mikhail ordered Gabriel something to eat. “And don’t try to say no. You look like hell. Besides, you’re going to need your strength when we take down Petrov.”
    “I’m starting to think he’s not going to come.”
    “And leave five million euros on the table? He’ll come, Gabriel. Eventually, he’ll come.”
    “What makes you so sure?”
    “Chernov came at the end of the day, and Petrov will come at the end of the day. These Russian thugs don’t do anything when it’s light out. They prefer the night. Trust me, Gabriel, I know them better than you. I grew up with these bastards.”
    They were seated side by side along a high counter in the window. Outside, streetlamps were coming on in the busy square, and the trams were snaking up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Mikhail was drumming his fingers nervously.
    “You’re giving me a headache, Mikhail.”
    “Sorry, boss.” The fingers went still.
    “Something bothering you?”
    “Other than the fact we’re waiting for a Russian killer to collect the proceeds for kidnapping your wife? No, Gabriel, nothing’s bothering me at all.”
    “Do you disagree with my decision to send Sarah into that bank?”
    “Of course not. She’s perfect for the job.”
    “Because if you disagreed with one of my decisions, you would tell me, wouldn’t you, Mikhail? That’s always been the way the team works. We talk about everything.”
    “I would have said something if I’d disagreed.”
    “Good, Mikhail, because I would hate to think something has changed because you’re involved with Sarah.”
    Mikhail sipped his coffee, a play for time.
    “Listen, Gabriel, I was going to say something, but—”
    “But what?”
    “I thought you’d be angry.”
    “Why?”
    “Come on, Gabriel, don’t make me say this now. It’s not the time.”
    “It’s the perfect time.”
    Mikhail placed his coffee on the counter. “It was obvious to all of us from the minute we recruited Sarah for the al-Bakari operation that she had feelings for you. And frankly—”
    “Frankly what?”
    “We thought you might have felt the same way.”
    “That’s not true. It’s never been true.”
    “Okay, Gabriel, whatever you say.”
    A waitress placed a sandwich in front of Gabriel. He immediately pushed it aside.
    “Eat it, Gabriel. You have to eat.”
    Gabriel tore a corner from the sandwich. “Are you in love with her, Mikhail?”
    “What answer do you want to hear?”
    “The truth would be nice.”
    “Yes, Gabriel. I love her very much. Too much.”
    “There’s no such thing. Just do me a favor, Mikhail. Take good care of her. Go live in America. Get out of this business as soon as you can. Get out before . . .”
    He left the thought unfinished. Mikhail began drumming his fingers again.
    “Do you think he’ll come?”
    “He’ll come.”
    “Two days of waiting. I can’t stand the waiting anymore.”
    “You won’t have to wait much longer, Mikhail.”
    “How can you be so certain?”
    “Because Anton Petrov just walked past us.”

52
    ZURICH
    HE WORE a dark toggle coat, a gray scarf, large wire-framed glasses, and a flat cap pulled low. Oddly enough, the crude disguise threw the advantage over to Gabriel. He had spent countless hours staring at the surveillance photographs from Heathrow Airport, the fragmentary glimpses of a sturdy-jawed man wearing glasses and a fedora. It was this man who walked past the café overlooking the Paradeplatz, carrying a pair of mismatched attaché cases. And it was this man who was now rounding the corner into the Talstrasse. Gabriel raised his wrist mic carefully to his lips and informed Sarah and Navot that Petrov was headed their way. By the time the transmission was complete, Mikhail was on his feet, moving toward the door. Gabriel left a wad of money on the table and followed after him. “You forgot to pay the bill,” he said. “The Swiss get very angry when you run out on a check.”

    PETROV WALKED past the bank twice before finally presenting himself at the entrance just three minutes before closing. Pressing the buzzer, he identified himself as Herr Otto Wolfe and was admitted without delay. The receptionist immediately telephoned Miss Irene Moore, Herr Becker’s temporary secretary, and was instructed to send the client back straightaway. Outside, on the Talstrasse, two pairs of men moved quietly into place: Yaakov and Oded at one end,