The Defector

wife.”
    Carter nodded in agreement. “I suppose that leaves option two: going into Russia and bringing them out yourself. Frankly, the president and I anticipated that would be your choice. And he’s prepared to offer a substantial amount of help.”
    Shamron spoke two words: “ Kachol v’lavan .”
    Carter gave a faint smile. “Forgive me, Ari. I speak nearly as many languages as you, but I’m afraid Hebrew isn’t one of them.”
    “ Kachol v’lavan ,” Gabriel repeated. “It means ‘blue and white,’ the colors of the Israeli flag. But for dinosaurs like Ari, it means much more. It means we do things for ourselves, and we don’t rely on others to help us with problems of our own making.”
    “But this problem really isn’t of your own making. You went after Ivan because we asked you to. The president feels we bear some responsibility for what’s happened. And the president believes in taking care of his friends.”
    “What kind of help is the president offering?”
    “For understandable reasons, we won’t be able to help you execute the actual rescue. Since the United States and Russia still have several thousand nuclear missiles pointed at each other, it might not be wise for us to be shooting at each other on Russian soil. But we can help in other ways. For starters, we can get you into the country in a way that doesn’t land you back in the cellars of Lubyanka.”
    “And?”
    “We can get you out again. Along with the hostages, of course.”
    “How?”
    Carter dealt an American passport onto the table. It was burgandy colored rather than blue and stamped with the word OFFICIAL.
    “It’s one step below a diplomatic passport. You won’t have complete immunity, but it will definitely make the Russians think twice before laying a finger on you.”
    Gabriel opened the cover. For now, the information page contained no photograph, only a name: AARON DAVIS.
    “What does Mr. Davis do?”
    “He works for the White House Office of Presidential Advance. As you probably know, the president will be in Moscow on Thursday and Friday for the emergency G-8 summit. Most of the White House advance team is already on the ground. I’ve arranged for a late addition to the team.”
    “Aaron Davis?”
    Carter nodded.
    “How’s he going in?”
    “The car plane.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “It’s the unofficial name of the C-17 Globemaster that brings the presidential limousine. It also carries a large detail of Secret Service agents. Aaron Davis will board the plane during a refueling stop in Shannon, Ireland. Six hours after that, he’ll land at Sheremetyevo Airport. A U.S. Embassy vehicle will then take him to the Hotel Metropol.”
    “And the escape hatch?”
    “Same route, opposite direction. On Friday evening, after the final session of the summit, the Russian president will be hosting a gala dinner. The president is scheduled to return to Washington at the conclusion, along with the rest of his delegation and the traveling White House press corps. The buses depart the Metropol at 10 p.m. sharp. They’ll go straight onto the tarmac at Sheremetyevo and board the planes. We’ll have false passports for Chiara and Grigori just in case. But in reality, the Russians probably won’t be checking passports.”
    “When will I arrive in Moscow?”
    “The car plane is due to land at Sheremetyevo a few minutes after 4 a.m. Thursday. By my calculation, that leaves you forty-two hours on the ground in Russia. All you have to do is find some way of getting Chiara and Grigori out of that dacha and back to the Metropol by 10 p.m. Friday.”
    “Without being arrested or killed by Ivan’s army of thugs.”
    “I’m afraid I can’t help with that. You also have a more immediate problem. Ivan’s emissary is expecting a reply to his demands tomorrow afternoon in Paris. Unless you can convince him to push back the deadline by several days . . .”
    Carter didn’t have the nerve to finish the thought. Gabriel did it for him.
    “This entire conversation is academic.”
    “I’m afraid that’s correct.”
    Gabriel stared at the satellite photo of the dacha in the trees. Then at the time zone clocks arrayed along the wall. Then he closed his eyes. And he saw it all.

    IT APPEARED to him as a cycle of vast paintings, oil on canvas, rendered by the hand of Tintoretto. The paintings lined the nave of a small church in Venice and were darkened by yellowed varnish. Gabriel, in his thoughts, drifted slowly