“Why didn’t you ever go after him?”

“We tried during the nineties. We noticed that much of the Third World was burning, and we started asking ourselves a single question: Who was pouring the gasoline on the flames? The Agency started tracking the movement of suspicious cargo planes around Africa and the Middle East. NSA started listening to telephone and radio conversations. Before long, we had a good idea where all the weapons were coming from.”

“Ivan Kharkov.”

Carter nodded. “We established a working group at NSC to come up with a strategy for dealing with the Kharkov network. Since he had violated no American laws, our options were extremely limited. We started looking for a country to issue an indictment but got no takers. By the end of the millennium, the situation was so bad we even considered using a novel concept known as extraordinary rendition to get Ivan’s operatives off the streets. It came to nothing, of course. When the administration left town, the Kharkov network was still in business. And when the new crowd settled into the White House, they barely had time to figure out where the bathrooms were before they were hit with 9/11. Suddenly, Ivan Kharkov didn’t seem so important anymore.”

“Because you needed Russia ’s help in the fight against al-Qaeda.”

“Exactly,” said Carter. “Ivan is former KGB. He has powerful benefactors. To be fair, even if we had pressed the Kremlin on the Kharkov issue, it probably wouldn’t have done any good. On paper, there are no legal or financial ties between Ivan Kharkov the legitimate oligarch and Ivan Kharkov the international arms trafficker. Ivan is a master of the corporate front and the offshore account. The network is completely quarantined.”

Carter fished a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from the flap pocket of his jacket. “There’s something else we need to keep in mind: Ivan has a long track record of selling his wares to unsavory elements in the Middle East. He sold weapons to Gadhafi. He smuggled arms to Sad-dam in violation of UN sanctions. He armed Islamic radicals in Somalia and Sudan. He even sold weapons to the Taliban.”

“Don’t forget Hezbollah,” said Gabriel.

“How could we forget our good friends at Hezbollah?” Carter methodically loaded tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. “In a perfect world, I suppose we would go to the Russian president and ask him for help. But this world is far from perfect, and the current president of Russia is anything but a trustworthy ally. He’s a dangerous man. He wants his empire back. He wants to be a superpower again. He wants to challenge American supremacy around the globe, especially in the Middle East. He’s sitting atop a sea of oil and natural gas, and he’s willing to use it as a weapon. And the last thing he’s going to do is intervene on our behalf against a protected oligarch by the name of Ivan Kharkov. I lived through the end of the first Cold War. We’re not there yet, but we’re definitely heading in that direction. I’m certain of one thing, though. If we’re going to track down those weapons, we’re going to have to do it without Russia ’s help.”

“I prefer it that way, Adrian. We Jews have a long history of dealing with Russians.”

“So how do you suggest we proceed?”

“I want to arrange a meeting with Elena Kharkov.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “I suggest you proceed carefully, Gabriel. Otherwise, you might get her killed.”

“Thank you, Adrian. That really hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Forgive me,” said Carter. “How can I help?”

“I need every scrap of intelligence you have on Ivan’s network. And I mean all of it, Adrian -especially NSA intercepts of Ivan’s telephone communications. And don’t just give me the transcripts. I need to get inside his head. And to get inside his head, I need to hear his voice.”

“You’re talking about a great deal of highly classified material. It can’t be turned over to an officer of a foreign intelligence service on a whim, even you. I have to run it through channels. It could take weeks to get approval, if at all.”

“Those weapons could be heading toward America ’s shores as we speak, Adrian.”

“I’ll see what I can do to expedite matters.”

“No, Adrian, you must expedite matters. Otherwise, I’m going to pick up that phone over there and call my friend at the White House. I still have that number you gave me in Copenhagen, the one that rings directly in the Oval Office.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“In a heartbeat.”

“I’ll get the material released to you within twenty-four hours. What else do you need?”

“A Russian speaker.”

“Believe it or not, we’ve still got a few of those.”

“Actually, I have one in mind. I need you to get him into the country right away.”

“Who is it?”

Gabriel told him the name.

“Done,” said Carter. “Where do you intend to set up shop? At your embassy?”

“I’ve never been fond of embassies.” Gabriel looked around the room. “This will do quite nicely. But do me a favor, Adrian. Ask your techs to come over here and remove all the cameras and microphones. I don’t want your bloodhounds watching me while I shower.”

24 GEORGETOWN

It took Adrian Carter the better part of the next morning to secure the authorization necessary to release the Kharkov files into Gabriel’s custody. Then several additional hours elapsed while they were gathered, sorted, and purged of anything remotely embarrassing to the Central Intelligence Agency or the government of the United States. Finally, at seven that evening, the material was delivered to the house on N Street by an unmarked Agency van. Carter stopped by to supervise the load in and to secure Gabriel’s signature on a draconian release form. Hastily drafted by a CIA lawyer, it threatened criminal prosecution and many other forms of punishment if Gabriel shared the documents or their contents with anyone else.

“This document is ridiculous, Adrian. How can I operate without sharing the intelligence?”

“Just sign it,” Carter said. “It doesn’t mean what it says. It’s just the lawyers being lawyers.”

Gabriel scribbled his name in Hebrew across the bottom of the form and handed it to Eli Lavon, who had just arrived from Tel Aviv. Lavon signed it without protest and gave it back to Adrian Carter.

“No one is allowed in or out of the house while this material is on the premises. And that includes you two. Don’t think about trying to sneak out, because I’ve got a team of watchers on N Street and another in the alley.”

When Carter departed, they divided up the files and retreated to separate quarters. Gabriel took several boxes of Agency cables, along with the data assembled by the now-defunct NSC task force, and settled into the library. Eli Lavon took everything from NSA-the transcripts and the original recordings-and set up shop in the drawing room.

For the remainder of the evening, and late into the night, they were treated to the sound of Ivan Kharkov’s voice. Ivan the banker and Ivan the builder. Ivan the real estate mogul and Ivan the international investor. Ivan the very emblem of a Russia resurgent. They listened while he negotiated with the mayor of Moscow over a prime piece of riverfront property where he wished to develop an American-style shopping mall. They listened while he coerced a fellow Russian businessman into surrendering his share of a lucrative Bentley dealership located near the Kremlin walls. They listened while he threatened to castrate the owner of a London moving company over damage to his mansion in Belgravia incurred during the delivery of a Bösendorfer piano. And they listened to a rather tense conversation with an underling called Valery who was having difficulty obtaining the clearance for a large shipment of medical equipment to Sierra Leone. The equipment must have been urgently needed, for, twenty minutes later, NSA intercepted a second call to Valery, during which Ivan said the papers were now in order and that the flight could proceed to Freetown without delay.