“I believe so.”

“If you learn anything else, call me immediately.”

Marti hung up, then immediately dialed the number of the chief of the Federal Police across town. “Yes, Herr Direktor,” he began. “We have a grave problem. A man high in your organization has been identified as acting on behalf of a foreign power. The man we’re looking for is Marcus von Daniken. Yes, I was surprised, too. One never knows who one can trust.”

He lifted his eyes from the incriminating list and stared out the window. He was gazing east toward the mountains.

“How quickly can you get your men to Davos?”

67

“Who are you?”

Parvez Jinn sat stiff-backed in the passenger seat, his eyes appraising Jonathan.

“A friend of Eva’s.”

“You work together?”

“For eight years.”

“Ah,” said Jinn, trying to play down his discomfort at the unannounced change of plans. “So you know her well?”

“You might say that.” Jonathan could only offer so much without giving away his ignorance. Fifty meters farther on, a policeman stood in the center of the road, directing traffic.

“What happened to her? Why couldn’t she come?”

Jonathan shifted his gaze to Jinn. “She’s dead.”

The news hit the man like a sledgehammer. “Dead? When? How? I can’t believe it.”

“Monday. She was climbing with her husband. It was an accident.”

“Her husband? Of course. She was married. Frau Kruger.” He looked into his lap and Jonathan saw that he was pressing his lips tightly together.

“Are you alright?”

Jinn looked up sharply. “Of course. I don’t know why I should feel sad after what she did to me.”

The Iranian looked straight ahead. His lips moved for a moment, but no words came out. His hand had assumed a death grip on the armrest, his knuckles white as chalk. He was experiencing mild shock. Jonathan stared at the man, hating him. He had a strong urge to hit Jinn in the jaw and slam his shocked, undeserving face into the window. He had no right to mourn Emma.

Jonathan looked away, somehow gaining control over his emotions. It was crucial that he get Jinn’s mind off Eva Kruger-off Emma-before he suffered a breakdown. He called to mind the information he’d discovered on Intelink. Invoices. Packing statements. Customs declarations. “You’ve received the last shipments, haven’t you?” he asked.

Jinn nodded, but it took him a moment longer to find his voice. “The Chalus facility is up and running,” he said weakly. “Four hundred cascades. Fifty-five thousand centrifuges. We shut down all our other facilities and moved everything there to reach our goal.”

Cascades. Centrifuges. A fully operational facility. Jonathan’s suspicions had proven true. ZIAG had been illegally exporting equipment used to complete the uranium enrichment cycle. But why would the company do that? And on whose behalf? If he knew that, he would be much closer to discovering the identity of Emma’s employer. He recalled the articles he’d read over the last year about Iran’s desire to become a nuclear power. “What’s your output?” he asked.

“Four kilos a month enriched to ninety-six percent.”

“Are you satisfied with that? Can’t you get to one hundred percent?”

Jinn shot him a dismissive glance. “Ninety-six is already far above what’s necessary. I thought you’d be impressed.”

“I am…I mean…we are.” Jonathan felt as if he were walking through an unfamiliar house in the dark, always a half step from banging into a piece of furniture or knocking a vase onto the floor. He had to be more careful. If Jinn suspected that he wasn’t Eva Kruger’s colleague, there was no telling what he might do. “And the other part?”

“What other part?” Jinn was growing anxious. His eyes no longer held Jonathan in the same esteem.

Instinct told Jonathan that the purpose of the meeting wasn’t to review Iran’s current status. It had been arranged for another reason. He guessed that it was a payoff. The money and the car in exchange for “Gold.” And “Gold” had to be information. Jinn had nothing else to offer. “You know,” Jonathan said, with an edge.

“If you’re wondering whether I’ve got what you requested, you can rest easy. What choice did you give me?”

Jonathan shot him a sidelong glance. “We all have a job to do.”

Jinn laughed mirthlessly. “Did you know that they make ministers attend the executions of spies? The French call it pour encourager les autres. To encourage the others.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He’d settled into a rhythm and Jonathan was careful not to disturb it. “If you are caught, they begin with your family. They take the youngest first. It’s humane enough, if that’s how you’d describe the firing squad. Pasha is eight. Yasmin will come next. She turned thirteen last week. According to the new law, she must start wearing a chador whenever she is in public. The rage is black silk scarves from Hermès in Paris. Be sure to pass that along to your analysts in Virginia or London or Tel Aviv, or wherever the hell it is you’re from.”

He rubbed his eyes, a gesture of fatigue that conveyed a weary ease with his situation. “Where did you find her, anyway?” he asked. “Is she the product of some sick school you’ve set up to take advantage of men like me? Is that it?” It was another rhetorical question. Jinn knew all the answers already. He had worked out his situation in excruciating detail and he appeared relieved to be able to share them with another man. “You know the funny part,” he went on, with no smile in sight, “is that, to this day, part of me thinks she cares for me. In spite of it all. In spite of her threats. Do the photos count as blackmail or extortion? Or is it the banking records? All those bribes she insisted I take? Killed climbing, eh? I don’t think anything less could have done the trick.”

Jonathan had no response. He felt as if Jinn had been speaking for him. The light turned green and he continued along the town’s main artery, called the Promenade, passing a turnoff to the railway station. Jinn appeared to have gotten himself under control. He pulled himself upright in his seat and sat with the posture of the zealot he made himself out to be.

“To matters at hand,” he said. “The money, please, Mr. Kruger.”

Jonathan handed over the envelope. He’d replaced the money he’d spent with funds from his private account. “One hundred thousand Swiss francs.”

“Has the transfer been made to my account in Zurich?”

“Of course,” said Jonathan, though he had no idea what transfer Jinn was talking about.

“The full twenty million?”

“Yes.”

“It’s for my children, you know,” Jinn explained. “I can’t touch it unless I leave the country.”

The Iranian took a flash drive from his breast pocket and set it on the center console. “It’s all there. Location of our rockets. Weaponization plants. Production facilities. A blueprint of our nuclear efforts from A to Z. I know what you’re going to do with it. You made the mistake in Iraq. You won’t repeat it. You have your smoking gun. This time no one can say that you didn’t have a good reason.”

“Our smoking gun?”

“Yes, whoever you are. Americans, French, the British, Israelis, it doesn’t matter. You all want the same thing. War.”

Jonathan had read enough about Jinn in the papers to piece together an idea of how his recruitment must have unfolded. It had started during one of Jinn’s trips to the West. As a low-ranking official in the Ministry of Technology, it was his job to meet with businessmen eager to establish commercial relations with Iran. Had the first meeting been in Beirut or Geneva? Or somewhere else Jonathan had yet to learn about? It didn’t matter. It must have been just a hint at first. A discreet remark passed along during the course of an encounter. For a price, ZIAG could arrange for the export of certain “controlled technologies.” Of course, it was Eva who’d brought it up. The lure must have been irresistible to a man like Jinn. He would have seen the possibilities from the start. A chance to rise within the ranks. To become a patriot on the level of A.Q. Khan, the Pakistani engineer who had given his country the bomb. A national hero even. All combined with the attentions of a woman unlike any he’d ever met. He’d jumped at her offer.