She hesitated before removing her coat and handing it to Quinn. He searched the pockets and the lining but found nothing other than her cigarettes and her lighter. The lighter was large enough to contain a tracking beacon. He pocketed it for later disposal.

“Now the sweater and the jeans.”

Again Katerina hesitated. Then she pulled the sweater over her head and wriggled out of the jeans. Quinn searched both articles of clothing, then, with a nod, instructed her to keep going.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Quinn.”

“Very,” he agreed.

“What are you trying to accomplish?”

“It’s quite simple, really. I want my money. And you’re going to make certain I get it.”

Quinn traced a finger along the curve of her breast while staring directly into her eyes. Her nipple firmed instantly to his touch. Her face, however, remained defiant.

“What did you expect would happen if you agreed to work for the SVR?”

“I expected Alexei to live up to his word.”

“How naive of you.”

“We had a deal. Promises were made.”

“When dealing with Russians,” she said, “promises mean nothing.”

“I realize that now,” said Quinn with a glance toward the Makarov.

“And if you get your money? Where will you go?”

“I’ll find a place. I always do.”

“Not even the Iranians would have you now.”

“Then I’ll go back to Lebanon. Or Syria.” He paused, then added, “Or maybe I’ll go home.”

“To Ireland?” she asked. “Your war is over, Quinn. The SVR is all you have left.”

“Yes,” he said, slipping the strap of Katerina’s bra from her shoulder. “And the SVR ordered you to kill me.”

Katerina said nothing.

“You don’t deny it?”

She folded her arms over her breasts. “What now?”

“I’m going to propose a simple deal. Twenty million dollars in exchange for one of the SVR’s most valuable agents. I’m quite confident Alexei will pay.”

“And where do you intend to hold me while you conduct the negotiations?”

“Somewhere Alexei and his goons will never find you. And in case you’re wondering,” he added, “the arrangements for your travel and indefinite confinement have already been made.” He smiled. “Alexei seems to have forgotten that I’ve done this sort of thing a time or two.”

Quinn offered Katerina her sweater, but she refused to accept it. Instead, she reached behind her back, loosened the clasp on her bra, and allowed it to fall from her body. She was perfect, thought Quinn—perfect except for the scar on the underside of her right wrist. He removed the magazine from the Makarov and switched off the light.

50

VIENNA–HAMBURG

THE MESSAGE FROM ALEXEI ROZANOV could not have been more concise. A restaurant, a city, a time. The restaurant was Die Bank, a seafood brasserie in the Neustadt section of Hamburg. The time was nine p.m. on Thursday. It meant that Gabriel would have just forty-eight hours to plan the operation and move the necessary assets into place. He commenced work immediately after returning to the Vienna safe flat with Eli Lavon—and by midnight they had obtained the lodging, cars, weaponry, and secure communications equipment required for such an undertaking. They had also acquired additional personnel from Barak, Gabriel’s fabled team of field operatives. The only item that eluded them was a second reservation at the restaurant. It seemed the Russian had secured the last available table for Thursday evening. Keller suggested hacking into the restaurant’s computer and killing off a few tables—metaphorically, of course—but Gabriel overruled him. He knew Die Bank well. There was a large noisy bar where a pair of operatives could spend an hour or two without attracting notice.

The Office was not alone in its preparations. VEVAK, defenders of the Islamic revolution, archenemy of Israel and the West, was preparing, too. The service’s secret travel department booked Reza Nazari a seat on Austrian Airlines Flight 171, which departed Vienna at five thirty p.m. and arrived in Hamburg at seven. Gabriel would have preferred a slightly earlier flight, but Nazari’s late arrival meant there would be less time for Iranian or Russian mischief. VEVAK’s choice of a hotel—a discount dump near the airport—was a problem, however. Gabriel asked Nazari to switch to the Marriott in the Neustadt instead. It was a short distance from the restaurant, and several members of the Israeli team were already booked there. Nazari requested an upgrade, and Tehran readily complied—thus making it, said Gabriel, the first joint Office-VEVAK operation in history. Reza Nazari did not find the observation humorous. That evening, when he came to Yaakov’s room at the InterContinental for a final briefing, he was sweating with nerves. Gabriel began the session by presenting the Iranian with a gold pen.

“A token of your esteem?” asked Nazari.

“I thought about getting you a tie clip, but you Iranians don’t wear ties.”

“You Israelis aren’t terribly fond of them, either.” Nazari examined the pen carefully. “What’s the range?”

“None of your business.”

“Battery life?”

“Twenty-four hours, but don’t get greedy. Turn the cap to the right when it’s time to engage the power. If we lose transmission at any point during dinner, I’m going to assume that you switched it off intentionally. And that would be bad for your health.”

Nazari made no reply.

“Keep it in the breast pocket of your suit jacket,” Gabriel continued. “The microphone is sensitive, so sit naturally. If you suddenly try to sit in Alexei’s lap, he might get the wrong impression.”

Nazari placed the pen into his coat pocket. “What else?”

“We have to go over your script for the evening.”

“Script?”

“I have no wish to interrogate Alexei Rozanov. Therefore, I’ll need you to do it for me. Politely, of course.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Quinn,” said Gabriel.

Nazari was silent. Gabriel held up a single sheet of paper.

“Memorize the questions, make them your own. But be sure to use a light touch. If you sound like a prosecuting attorney, Alexei will be suspicious.”

Gabriel offered the questions to Nazari. “Touch a match to it when you’re finished tonight. We’ll give you a refresher during the flight to Hamburg if you need one.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m a professional, Allon. Like you.”

Nazari accepted the list.

“What language will you be speaking?” asked Gabriel.

“He made the reservation under the name Alexei Romanov, so I assume it will be Russian.”

“No winking or little hand signals,” said Gabriel. “And don’t try to slip him something under the table. We’ll have eyes on you the entire time. Don’t give me a reason to kill you. It won’t take much.”

“What happens after dinner?”

“That depends on how well you do your job.”

“You’re going to kill him, yes?”

“I’d worry about myself if I were you.”

“I am.” Nazari fell silent. “If you kill Alexei in Hamburg tomorrow night,” he said after a moment, “the Russians will suspect my involvement. And then they’ll kill me.”

“Then I suggest you lock yourself in a secure room in Tehran and never come out again.” Gabriel smiled. “Look on the bright side, Reza. You get to keep your family and your life, not to mention the two million in blood money the SVR stashed in Geneva for you. All in all, I’d say you made out quite well.”

Gabriel rose to his feet. Reza Nazari did the same and extended his hand, but Gabriel only stared at it in anger.

“Be a good boy and do your homework. Because if you blow your lines in Hamburg tomorrow night, I’m going to personally blow your brains out.” Gabriel wrapped his hand around Nazari’s and squeezed until he could feel the bones beginning to crack. “Welcome to the new world order, Reza.”