The English Girl: A Novel

professionalism. He had already proven himself to be a worthy opponent with the false flag kidnapping of Madeline Hart. Plucking him from the streets of Moscow, said Gabriel, would require an operation of matching skill.
    “With two important differences,” Eli Lavon pointed out. “Moscow isn’t Corsica. And Pavel Zhirov won’t be riding a motorbike on an isolated road, wearing only a sundress.”
    “Then I suppose we’ll have to figure out a way to get Mikhail into Zhirov’s car,” replied Gabriel. “With a loaded gun in his back pocket, of course.”
    “How do you intend to do that?”
    “Like this.”
    Gabriel sat down at one of the computers and with a few quick keystrokes retrieved the recording of Gennady Lazarev’s final words to Mikhail in Denmark.
    “We’ll bring you to Moscow for a few days so you can meet the rest of the team. If we both like what we see, we’ll take the next step. If not, you’ll stay with Viktor and pretend this never happened.”
    “Why Moscow?”
    “Are you afraid to come to Moscow, Nicolai?”
    “Of course not.”
    “You shouldn’t be. Pavel will take very good care of you.”
    Gabriel clicked the STOP icon and looked at Lavon. “I could be wrong,” he said, “but I suspect Nicholas Avedon’s Russian homecoming isn’t going to be without problems.”
    “What kind of problems?”
    “The kind only Pavel can solve.”
    “And when Mikhail is in the car?”
    “He’s going to give Pavel a simple choice.”
    “A choice between coming quietly or having his brains splattered over the inside of his nice Mercedes?”
    “Something like that.”
    “What about Shamron’s golden rule?”
    “Which one?”
    “The one about waving guns around in public.”
    “There’s a little-known exception when it comes to sticking a gun in the ribs of a hood like Pavel.”
    Lavon made a show of thought. “We’ll have to take the driver, too,” he said finally. “Otherwise, every FSB officer and militiaman in Russia will be looking for us.”
    “Yes, Eli, I realize that.”
    “Where do you intend to conduct the interrogation?”
    “Here,” said Gabriel, tapping the keyboard again.
    “Lovely,” said Lavon, looking at the screen. “Who does it belong to?”
    “A Russian businessman who couldn’t stand living in Russia anymore.”
    “Where does he live now?”
    “Just down the road from Shamron.”
    With a click of the mouse, Gabriel removed the image from the screen.
    “That leaves just one last thing,” Lavon said.
    “Getting Mikhail out of Russia.”
    Lavon nodded. “He’ll have to leave as someone other than Nicholas Avedon.”
    “Preferably with as few Russian hurdles to clear as possible,” added Gabriel.
    “So how do we do it?”
    “The same way Shamron got Eichmann out of Argentina.”
    “El Al?”
    Gabriel nodded.
    “Naughty boy,” said Lavon.
    “Yes,” replied Gabriel, smiling. “And I’m just getting started.”
    N avot approved Gabriel’s plan immediately, which left the team five days until Mikhail was to give Gennady Lazarev an answer as to whether he was coming to Moscow. Five days to see to a thousand details large and small—or, as Lavon put it, five days to determine whether Mikhail’s visit to Russia would turn out better than his last. Passports, visas, identities, travel arrangements, lodgings: everything had to be procured on a crash basis. And then there were the bolt-holes, the backup plans, and the backup plans for the backup plans. Their task was made even more difficult by the fact that Gabriel could not tell them where or when the snatch of Zhirov would take place. They were going to have to improvise in a city that, throughout its long and bloody history, had never been particularly kind to freethinkers.
    Gabriel drove his team hard during those long days and nights; and when his back was turned, Navot drove them even harder. There was no visible tension between the two men, no evidence that one was in ascendance and the other was headed toward the exits. Indeed, several members of the team wondered if they might be witnessing the formation of a partnership that could survive long after Gabriel assumed his rightful place as chief of the Office. Yaakov, the most fatalistic of the lot, scoffed at the notion. “It would be like the new wife deciding to let the first wife keep her old room. It will never happen.” But Eli Lavon wasn’t so sure. If there was anyone who was confident enough to allow his predecessor to