The Rembrandt Affair

think I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”
    “In a minute.” Gabriel sat. “Remember, Zoe, when Mikhail makes his move, it’s important you not appear to be alone or in any way unattached. Latch onto someone. Strike up a conversation. The worst thing you can do is be quiet or look nervous. Be the opposite of nervous. Be the life of the party. Do you understand?”
    “I think I can manage that.”
    Gabriel smiled briefly, then his expression turned serious. “Now tell me again what happens if Mikhail gets caught.”
    “I’m to disown him. I’m to say he deceived me into bringing him. And then I’m to leave the party as quickly as possible.”
    “Even if it means leaving Mikhail behind.”
    She was silent for a moment. “Please don’t make me say it.”
    “Say it, Zoe.”
    “Even if it means leaving Mikhail behind.”
    “Don’t hesitate, Zoe. And don’t look back. If one of Martin’s guards tries to grab you, make a scene so everyone in the party knows there’s a problem. Martin will have no choice but to let you leave.” Gabriel paused, then asked, “Do you understand, Zoe?”
    She nodded.
    “Say it.”
    “I’ll make a bloody scene. And I’ll leave Mikhail behind.”
    “Very good. Any questions?”
    Zoe shook her head. Gabriel rose and gave her the phone.
    “Turn it on when I leave. And keep it close tonight.”
    Gabriel started toward the door.
    “Actually, I do have one question, Mr. Allon.”
    He stopped and turned.
    “What happened in that field outside London?”
    “There is no field outside London. And there is no safe house in Highgate, either. The mind is like a basin, Zoe. Pull the plug, and the memory drains away.”
    Gabriel slipped out the door without another word. Zoe switched on her mobile and began to dress.

    A MONG THE MANY logistical challenges faced by the team had been the acquisition of a suitable car to ferry Zoe and Mikhail to the party. An attempt was made to rent a vehicle in Geneva, but that proved impossible because Martin’s other guests had already snatched up every luxury sedan in the canton. That left a hasty purchase as the only option. Gabriel handled the chore himself, choosing a black fully loaded S-Class Mercedes, which he paid for in full with a certified check from one of Navot’s operational accounts in Zurich. When news of the procurement reached Highgate, Shamron flew into a seething rage. Not only had the Office just spent one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a car but a German car at that.
    It eased gracefully into the Kempinski’s circular drive at 6:15 that evening with Yaakov behind the wheel, looking as though he were guiding an oil tanker through treacherous seas. After successful completion of the maneuver, he informed the doorman that he was there to collect Mr. Danilov. The doorman called Mr. Danilov, who in turn called Ms. Reed and Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers. Mr. Albright immediately dispatched a secure message to his superiors in London that read DEPARTURE IMMINENT . Then he looked at his computer screen. A red light was blinking in the southeast corner of Villa Elma, 1,238 feet above sea level.

61
    MAYFAIR, LONDON
    T he message from Geneva flashed on the screens of the CIA ops center beneath Grosvenor Square. Seated in their usual places in the back row were Graham Seymour, Adrian Carter, and Ari Shamron. In a significant break with tradition, they were joined that evening by two additional members of the Masterpiece team. One was Uzi Navot, the other was Chiara Allon. All five were staring at the message screens like stranded airline passengers waiting for a long-delayed flight. Shamron was already nervously turning over his old Zippo lighter in his fingertips. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left…
    “Does anyone know the definition of the word imminent ?”
    “Ready to take place,” offered Graham Seymour.
    “Hanging threateningly over one’s head,” added Adrian Carter.
    Shamron frowned heavily and looked at Chiara, who responded by typing a few characters into her laptop computer. A moment later, a new message appeared on the display screens at the front of the room.
    DEPARTURE IN PROGRESS…
    “What was the problem?” Shamron asked.
    “Zoe’s zipper was stuck.”
    “Who fixed it?”
    “Mr. Albright of Markham Capital Advisers.”
    Shamron smiled. Two turns to the right, two turns to the left …

    M IKHAIL STOOD outside the elevators on the sixth floor of the Grand Hotel