The Secret Servant

rules.” He looked at Seymour and Carter. “No surveillance, British or American.”
    “You can’t go into this thing with no one watching your back,” said the chief of the Metropolitan Police.
    “I don’t intend to,” said Gabriel. “MI5 and the Anti-Terrorist Branch of Scotland Yard will give us all the intelligence and support we require, but this will be an Israeli operation from start to finish. I will bring whomever and whatever I need into the country to conduct it. Afterward, there will be no scrutiny and no inquiries. If anyone is killed or wounded during the recovery of Elizabeth, no one from my team will be questioned or prosecuted.”
    “Out of the question,” said Eleanor McKenzie.
    “Done,” said the prime minister.
    “How long will it take you to assemble the cash?”
    “Every major bank in the City is already involved,” the prime minister said. “The task should be complete by late tomorrow afternoon. Obviously it’s a large consignment and therefore it will be somewhat unwieldy. They think it will fit into two large rolling duffel bags.”
    Gabriel glanced from face to face. “Don’t even think about putting any tracking devices in the cash or the bags.”
    “Understood,” said the prime minister. “It occurs to me that tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Clearly it is not a coincidence.”
    “No, Prime Minister, I suspect they’ve been preparing for this for a long time.” Gabriel looked at his wristwatch. “Can someone give me a lift to the American embassy? There’s a telephone call coming there in a few minutes that I’d like to take.”
    “Graham will take you,” the prime minister said. “We’ll give you a police escort. The traffic in central London this time of day is really quite dreadful.”
     
     
     
    On the wall above John O’Donnell’s workstation was a large digital clock with red numerals set against a black background. Gabriel, however, had eyes only for the telephone. It was a modern device, with access to twenty lines, including extension 7512, which was available nowhere else in the building. Extension 7512 was O’Donnell’s private reserve. Now it belonged to Gabriel, along with O’Donnell’s warm chair and O’Donnell’s wrinkled legal pad.
    The clock rolled over to 17:59 and the seconds began their methodical march from :00 to :59. Gabriel kept his eyes on the phone—on the green light in the box marked 7512, and on the small crack in the receiver, inflicted by O’Donnell during a blind rage early in the crisis. A minute later, when the clock rolled over to 18:00:00, there was an audible gasp in the room. Then, at 18:01:25, Gabriel heard one of O’Donnell’s team members begin to weep. He did not share the pessimism of his audience. He knew the terrorists were cruel bastards who were just using the opportunity of the deadline to have a spot of fun at the expense of their American and Israeli opponents.
    At 18:02:17, the telephone finally rang. Gabriel, unwilling to cause his audience any additional stress, answered before it could ring a second time. He spoke in English, with his heavy Hebrew accent, so there would be no misunderstanding about who was on the line.
    “The answer is yes,” he said.
    “Be ready at ten o’clock tomorrow night. We’ll give you the instructions then.”
    Under normal circumstances, a professional negotiator like O’Donnell would have begun the delay tactics: trouble assembling the money, trouble getting the permission of local authorities for the handover, anything to keep the hostage alive and the kidnappers talking. But this was not a normal situation—the terrorists wanted Gabriel—and there was no point delaying the inevitable. The sooner it started, the sooner it would be over.
    “You’ll call on this number?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “I look forward to hearing from you.”
    Click .
     
     
     
    Gabriel stood, pulled on his leather jacket, and started toward the stairs.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” asked Carter.
    “I’m leaving.”
    “You can’t just leave. ”
    “I can’t stay here, Adrian. I have work to do.”
    “Let us give you a lift. We can’t have you wandering around London unprotected.”
    “I think I can look after myself, Adrian.”
    “At least let me rustle you up a gun.”
    “What are you boys carrying these days?”
    “Browning Hi-Power,” said Carter. “It doesn’t have the grace and beauty of your Berettas, but it’s quite lethal. Would you like one