hire also happened to be Russian by birth or ancestry, Volgatek central command
might look more kindly upon him, especially if he happened to be the sharpest
knife in the drawer. If that were the case, they might be tempted to give him
actual responsibilities. Who knows? They might even let him into the inner
sanctum in Moscow.”
“It’s brilliant, Eli.”
“Yes, it is,” Lavon conceded. “But it has one
serious problem.”
“What’s that?”
“How do we get Volgatek to take notice of him in
the first place?”
“That’s easy.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” said Gabriel, smiling. “Really.”
Gabriel
did not take part in the family meal that night. Instead, he drove to Cheyne
Walk in Chelsea, where he dined alone with Viktor Orlov. His nascent plan met no
resistance from the Russian; in fact, Orlov offered several key suggestions that
made it better. At the conclusion of the meal, Gabriel handed Orlov the
boilerplate document given to all non-Office individuals who participate in
Office operations. It barred Orlov from ever disclosing his role in the affair
and left him no legal recourse if he or his businesses were harmed in any way.
Orlov refused to sign it. Gabriel had expected nothing less.
After leaving Orlov’s mansion, Gabriel drove up to
Hampstead and then made his way on foot to Parliament Hill. Graham Seymour was
waiting on the bench, flanked by his two bodyguards. They moved out of earshot
as Gabriel spoke about the operation he was about to undertake and what he
required in the way of unofficial British assistance. Listening, Seymour
couldn’t help but smile. It was unorthodox, but then most Office operations
were, especially when conceived by Gabriel and his team.
“You know,” Seymour said, “it might actually
work.”
“It is going to work,
Graham. The question is,” he added, “do you want me to go forward with it?”
Seymour was silent for a moment. Then he rose to
his feet and turned his back on the lights of London. “Bring me proof the
Russians were behind Madeline’s kidnapping and murder,” he said calmly, “and
I’ll make sure those bastards in the Kremlin never see a drop of our oil.”
“Let me do it for you, Graham. That way, you
won’t—”
“This is something only I can do,” Seymour said.
“Besides, a very wise man once told me a career without scandal is not a proper
career at all.”
“Type my name into a Google box, and then tell me
whether you think I’m so wise.”
Seymour smiled. “You’re not having second thoughts,
are you?”
“None,” replied Gabriel.
“Good lad,” said Seymour. “But do keep one thing in
mind.”
“What’s that?”
“It might be easy for you to get Mikhail into Volgatek, but getting him out again might be
quite another thing entirely.”
With that, Seymour returned to the company of his
bodyguards and melted into the darkness. Gabriel remained on the bench for
another five minutes. Then he walked to his car and headed back to the house at
the edge of the Knobby Copse.
40
GRAYSWOOD, SURREY
The education of Mikhail Abramov, future employee of the state-owned Russian energy company known as Volgatek Oil & Gas, commenced at nine o’clock the following morning. His first tutor was none other than Viktor Orlov. Despite Gabriel’s objections, Orlov insisted on traveling to Surrey in his Mercedes Maybach limousine, trailed by a Land Rover filled with bodyguards. The small motorcade caused something of a commotion in Grayswood, and for much of the day a rumor floated about the village that the occupant of the car had been the prime minister himself. But Jonathan Lancaster was nowhere near Surrey; he was campaigning that morning in Sheffield. The latest polls gave him a commanding lead over the opposition candidate. Britain’s most famous political analyst was now predicting a landslide of historic proportions.