“How did you know Lancaster was having an affair with her?”
“The London rezidentura had been hearing rumors for some time about a young woman from Party headquarters coming to Downing Street late at night. I asked them to press a little harder on the issue. It didn’t take them long to figure out who she was.”
“Did Fallon know that you were planning to kidnap her?”
Zhirov shook his head. “I waited until after delivering Madeline’s confession before telling Fallon that we were behind it. I told him to use the opportunity to get the deal done. Otherwise, I was going to burn him, too.”
“By leaking the fact that he took a five-million-euro bribe from a Kremlin-owned Russian oil company.”
Zhirov nodded.
“When were you in contact with him?”
“I traveled to London while you and your little friend from Corsica were tearing up France looking for her. Lancaster was so incapacitated by stress he told Fallon to do whatever he wanted. Fallon pushed through the deal despite the objections of the energy secretary. Then I initiated the endgame.”
“The ransom demand,” said Gabriel. “Ten million euros, or the girl dies. And Fallon knew all along that it was nothing more than a charade designed to cover up Volgatek’s role in Madeline’s disappearance.”
“And his role, too,” Zhirov added.
“How much did Lancaster know?”
“Nothing,” Zhirov responded. “He still believes he paid ten million euros to save his mistress and his political career.”
“Why did you insist that I be the one to deliver the money?”
“We wanted to have a little fun at your expense.”
“By killing Madeline in front of me?”
Zhirov was silent.
“Say it for the cameras, Pavel. Admit that you killed Madeline.”
“I killed Madeline Hart,” he recited.
“How?”
“By placing her in the back of a Citro?n with a gasoline bomb.”
“Why?” asked Gabriel. “Why did you kill her?”
“She had to die,” Zhirov said. “There was no way she could be allowed to return to England.”
“Why didn’t you kill me, too?”
“Trust me, Allon, nothing would have made us happier. But we thought you were more useful alive than dead. After all, who better to authenticate that Madeline had been killed as part of a garden-variety kidnap-for-ransom scheme than the great Gabriel Allon?”
“Where’s the ten million euros?”
“I gave it to the Russian president as a gift.”
“I’d like it back.”
“Good luck with that.”
Gabriel placed the photograph of the luncheon at Les Palmiers on the table again.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“I suppose you could call it the final stages of a romantic recruitment.”
Gabriel gave a skeptical frown. “Why would a beautiful young girl like Madeline be interested in a creep like you?”
“I’m good at my job, Allon. Just like you. Besides,” Zhirov added, “she was a lonely girl. She was easy.”
“Watch yourself, Pavel.” Gabriel made a show of scrutinizing the photograph more carefully. “It’s funny,” he said after a moment, “but the two of you look very comfortable together.”
“It was our third meeting.”
“Meeting?”
“Date,” Zhirov said, correcting himself.
“It doesn’t look to me as though you’re having a good time,” said Gabriel, still staring at the photo. “In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were quarreling.”
“We weren’t,” Zhirov said quickly.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
Gabriel wordlessly set aside the photograph.
“Any more questions?” asked Zhirov.
“Just one,” said Gabriel. “How did you know Madeline was having an affair with Jonathan Lancaster?”
“I’ve already answered that question.”
“I know,” said Gabriel. “But this time, I want you to tell me the truth.”
He offered up the same explanation—the one about rumors reaching the ears of the SVR rezident in London—but Gabriel was having none of it. He gave Zhirov one more chance; then, when told the same lie, he marched the Russian out to the end of the dock and pressed the barrel of a Makarov against the nape of his neck. And there, at the edge of the frozen lake with no name, the truth came spilling out. A part of Gabriel had suspected it all along. Even so, he could scarcely believe the story Zhirov told. But it had to be true, he thought. In fact, it was the only possible explanation for all that had happened.
Back inside the dacha, Zhirov recited the story again, this time for the video camera, before being returned, bound and gagged, to the fallout shelter. The operation was now almost complete. They had obtained proof that Volgatek had bribed and blackmailed its way into the lucrative North Sea oil market. All they had to do now was make their way to the airport and board their separate flights home. Or, suggested Gabriel, they could postpone their departure to conduct one last piece of business. It was not a decision he could make alone so, uncharacteristically, he put it to a vote. There were no dissenters.