The Rembrandt Affair

Gabriel Allon.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden slowing of the car. The road was much rougher now. In fact, Zoe doubted whether it was a road at all. The car lost traction, regained it, then fishtailed wildly for several seconds before finally staggering to a stop. The engine went dead, and Zoe heard four doors open and close in rapid succession. Then the trunk popped open, and she felt herself rise into the frigid air. Again they carried her on their shoulders like pallbearers carrying a coffin. Her journey was shorter this time, a few seconds, no more. Zoe could hear them sawing away at the duct tape. Then they rolled her twice to free her from the blankets.
    Though not blindfolded, Zoe could see nothing. The place where they had taken her was black as pitch. They lifted her again, carried her a short distance, and placed her in a chair with no arms. Again they bound her with duct tape, this time to the back of the chair. Then lights came on, and Zoe screamed.

71
    CANTON BERN, SWITZERLAND
    M ikhail’s position was a mirror image of Zoe’s—hands and feet bound, torso secured to a straight-backed chair, duct tape over his mouth. He was fully conscious now and, judging from the blood flowing from his mouth, he had recently been struck. His tuxedo jacket had been removed; his shirt was torn in several places and soaked with blood. The contents of his wallet lay scattered on the cement floor at his feet, along with the USB flash drive and the ultraviolet light. Zoe tried not to look at the items. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on the tall, middle-aged man standing halfway between her and Mikhail. He was wearing a dark blue banker’s suit and a woolen overcoat. The hair was Germanic blond going to gray, the expression on his face one of mild distaste. In one hand was a gun, in the other Mikhail’s miniature radio. The gun had blood on it. Mikhail’s blood, she thought. But that made sense. The man in the dark blue suit didn’t look like the sort who liked to use his fists. He also looked vaguely familiar. Zoe was certain she had seen him somewhere before in close proximity to Martin. But in her current state she couldn’t recall where it had been.
    She glanced quickly around. They were in a commercial storage facility of some sort. It was cheaply made of corrugated metal and stank of dirty motor oil and rust. The overhead lights buzzed. For a moment, Zoe allowed herself to wonder whether Rafael Bloch had spent time in this same place before his body was taken across the border and dumped in the French Alps. Then she forced the thought from her mind. Rafael Bloch? Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. She looked at Mikhail. He was staring directly at her as if trying to communicate something. Zoe held his gaze for as long as she could bear it, then looked down at her hands. This movement seemed to prompt the well-dressed man into action. He came over and ripped the duct tape from her mouth. Zoe gave an involuntary scream of pain and immediately regretted it.
    “Who are you?” she snapped. “And why in God’s name am I here?”
    “You know why you’re here, Zoe. In fact, thanks to your associate, Mr. Danilov, we all know why you’re here.”
    He spoke English with only the faintest accent and with the precision of a timepiece.
    “Are you crazy? I’m here because Martin—”
    “No, Zoe. You’re here because you’re a spy. And you came to Geneva to steal private documents and correspondence from Mr. Landesmann’s computer, a very serious crime here in Switzerland.”
    “I presume kidnapping and assault are as well.”
    The man in the suit smiled. “Ah, the famous Zoe Reed wit. It’s good to know that at least something about you isn’t a lie.”
    “I’m a reporter, you idiot. And when I get out of here, I’m going to find out who you are and destroy you.”
    “But you’re not really a reporter at all, are you, Zoe? Your job at the Financial Journal is nothing but a cover. Two years ago, you were ordered by your superiors at British intelligence to form a sexual relationship with Mr. Landesmann in order to spy on his business operations. You made contact with Mr. Landesmann by expressing interest in interviewing him. Then, twenty-two months ago, you made contact with him in Davos.”
    “That’s madness. Martin tried to seduce me in Davos. He invited me to his suite for dinner.”
    “That’s not the way Jonas Brunner and the rest of Mr. Landesmann’s security detail remember the