The English Girl: A Novel

silent.
    “I gave up a company worth sixteen billion dollars in order to get you and your wife out of Russia,” Orlov said. “I believe that entitles me to an answer. How did they do it?”
    “By kidnapping Lancaster’s mistress from the island of Corsica.”
    Orlov didn’t bat an eye. “Well,” he said again. “I’m glad someone finally noticed.”
    T hey talked until the windows in Viktor Orlov’s magnificent office turned to black, and then they talked a little longer. By the end of their conversation, Gabriel felt confident he understood how the game on the hillside had been played, but precisely how the players had sided themselves remained just beyond his grasp. He was certain of one thing, though; it was time to have a quiet word with Graham Seymour. He called him from a public phone in Sloane Square and confessed that he had once again entered the country without first signing the guestbook. Then he requested a meeting. Seymour recited a time and a place and rang off without another word. Gabriel replaced the receiver and started walking, with Christopher Keller running countersurveillance a hundred yards behind.

38
    HAMPSTEAD HEATH, LONDON
    T hey walked to Hyde Park corner, boarded a Piccadilly Line train to Leicester Square, and then took the long slow ride on the Northern Line up to Hampstead. Keller entered a small café in the High Street and waited there while Gabriel made his way alone up South End Road. He entered the heath at the Pryors Field, skirted the banks of the Hampstead Ponds, and then climbed the gentle slope of Parliament Hill. In the distance, veiled by low cloud and mist, glowed the lights of the City of London. Graham Seymour was admiring the view from a wooden park bench. He was alone except for a pair of raincoated security men who stood with the stillness of chess pieces along the footpath at his back. They averted their eyes as Gabriel slipped wordlessly past them and sat down at Seymour’s side. The MI5 man gave no sign he was aware of Gabriel’s presence. Once again, he was smoking.
    “You’ve really got to stop that,” said Gabriel.
    “And you really should have told me you were coming back into the country,” replied Seymour. “I would have arranged a reception committee.”
    “I didn’t want a reception committee, Graham.”
    “Obviously.” Seymour was still contemplating the lights of central London. “How long have you been in town?”
    “I came in yesterday afternoon.”
    “Why?”
    “Unfinished business.”
    “Why?” asked Seymour again.
    “Madeline,” said Gabriel. “I’m here because of Madeline.”
    Seymour turned his head and looked at Gabriel for the first time. “Madeline is dead,” he said slowly.
    “Yes, Graham, I know that. I was there.”
    “I’m sorry,” Seymour said after a moment. “I shouldn’t have—”
    “Forget about it, Graham.”
    The two men lapsed into an uneasy silence. It was the nature of this unfortunate case, thought Gabriel. They had both gotten into the intelligence business to protect their countries and their fellow citizens, not their politicians.
    “You must have discovered something important,” Seymour said finally. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.”
    “You were always good, Graham.”
    “Not good enough to keep you from entering my country anytime you please.”
    Gabriel was silent.
    “What have you got?”
    “I believe I know who kidnapped Madeline Hart. More important,” Gabriel added, “I believe I know why she was kidnapped.”
    “Who was it?”
    “KGB Oil and Gas,” answered Gabriel.
    Seymour’s head turned sharply. “What are you talking about?”
    “It was the Volgatek deal, Graham. Madeline was kidnapped so the Russians could steal your oil.”
    T here is no worse feeling for a professional spy than to be told something by an officer from another service that he should have already known himself. Graham Seymour suffered this indignity with as much grace as possible, with his chin up and his head held high. Then, after carefully weighing the consequences, he asked for an explanation. Gabriel began by telling him everything he had learned about Jeremy Fallon. That Fallon had been in love with Madeline Hart. That Fallon had worn out his welcome at Downing Street and was due to be pushed out before the next election. That Fallon had accepted a secret payment of five million euros from one Gennady Lazarev and had then used his power to push through the deal over the