“Hard to miss, actually. He knew where the cameras were, and he made certain no one got a good shot of him.” Mikhail dropped the photos onto the coffee table. “Why do you suppose he did that?”
“The same reason you and I do it.”
“He works for the Office?”
“He’s a professional, Mikhail. The real thing. Maybe he’s retired SVR and does it out of habit. But it looks to me as though he’s still on active duty.”
“Where is he now?”
“The Hotel Imperial, along with the rest of them. Gennady is rather disappointed with his accommodations.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Mordecai and Oded paid a visit to his room an hour before the Volgatek plane landed, and they left a little something under the night table.”
“How did you know which room was Lazarev’s?”
“The Unit hacked into the Imperial’s reservation system.”
“And the door?”
“Mordecai has a new magic card key. The door practically opened itself.” Gabriel returned the photographs to the file folder and the folder to the briefcase. “You should know that Gennady has been talking about more than just the quality of his room,” he said after a moment. “He’s obviously looking forward to meeting you.”
“Any idea when he might make his move?”
“No,” said Gabriel, shaking his head. “But you should expect it to be subtle.”
“Do I know him?”
“You know his name,” said Gabriel, “but not his face.”
“And if he makes a pass at me?”
“I’ve always found it best to play hard to get.”
“And look where it’s gotten you.” Mikhail poured another inch of champagne into his glass but said nothing more.
“Is there something you wish to say to me, Mikhail?”
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“For what?”
“Come on, Gabriel. Don’t make me say it out loud.”
“Say what?”
“People talk, Gabriel, especially spies. And the talk around King Saul Boulevard is that you’re going to be the next chief.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“That’s not what I hear,” Mikhail said. “I hear it’s a done deal.”
“It’s not.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Gabriel exhaled heavily. “How much does Uzi know?”
“Uzi knew from the minute he took the job that he was everyone’s second choice.”
“It’s not something I sought.”
“I know. And I suspect Uzi knows it, too,” Mikhail added. “But that’s not going to make it any easier when the prime minister tells him he won’t be serving a second term as chief.”
Mikhail raised his glass to the light and watched the bubbles rising to the surface of his champagne.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Gabriel.
“The time we were in Zurich, at that little café near the Paradeplatz. It was when we were trying to get Chiara back from Ivan. Do you remember that place, Gabriel? Do you remember what you said to me that afternoon?”
“I believe I might have told you to marry Sarah Bancroft and leave the Office.”
“You have a good memory.”
“What’s your point?”
“I was just wondering whether you still thought I should leave the Office.”
Gabriel hesitated before answering. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said at last.
“Why not?”
“Because if I become the next chief, you have a bright future, Mikhail. Very bright.”
Mikhail rubbed his scalp. “I need to shave,” he said.
“Yes, you do.”
“Are you sure you won’t have some of this champagne?”
“It gives me a headache.”
“Me, too,” said Mikhail as he poured another glass.
Before leaving the hotel suite, Gabriel installed a piece of Office software on Mikhail’s mobile phone that turned it into a full-time transmitter and automatically forwarded all his calls, e-mails, and text messages to the team’s computers. Then he headed down to the lobby and spent a few minutes searching for familiar faces amid the crowd of well-lubricated oilmen. Outside the afternoon blizzard had ended, but a few thick flakes were falling lazily through the lamplight. Gabriel headed westward across the city, along a winding pedestrian shopping street known as the Str?get, until he came to the R?dhuspladsen. The bells in the clock tower were tolling six o’clock. He was tempted to pay a visit to the Hotel Imperial, which was located not far from the square, on the fringes of the Tivoli Gardens. Instead, he walked to a despondent-looking apartment building on a street with a name only a Dane could pronounce. As he entered the small flat on the second floor, he found Keller and Eli Lavon hunched over a notebook computer. From its speakers came the sound of three men conversing quietly in Russian.
“Have you been able to figure out who he is?” asked Gabriel.
Lavon shook his head. “It’s funny,” he said, “but these Volgatek boys aren’t big on names.”
“You don’t say.”
Lavon was about to reply but was stopped by the sound of one of the voices. He was speaking in a low murmur, as though he were standing over an open grave.
“That’s our boy,” Lavon said. “He always talks like that. Like he assumes someone is listening.”