The Defector Read online

  “I was assured by Herr Shamron that there would be no further contact between us. I fulfilled my end of our agreement, and I expect you to honor your word.”

  “I need your help, Konrad.”

  “And what sort of help do you require from me, Herr Allon? Would you like me to assist in a raid against Hamas targets in the Gaza Strip? Or perhaps you would like me to help you destroy the nuclear facilities of Iran?”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.”

  “Who’s being melodramatic? I’m lucky to be alive.” Becker folded his tiny hands and placed them carefully on the desk. “I am a man of weak physical and emotional constitution, Herr Allon. I am not ashamed to admit it. Nor am I ashamed to say that I still have nightmares about our last little adventure together in Vienna.”

  For the first time since Chiara’s abduction, Gabriel was tempted to smile. Even he had trouble believing the little Swiss banker had played an operational role in one of the greatest coups the Office had ever engineered: the capture of Nazi war criminal Erich Radek. Technically, Becker’s actions had been a violation of Switzerland’s sacrosanct banking-secrecy laws. Indeed, if his role in Radek’s capture ever became public, he faced the distinct possibility of prosecution, or, even worse, financial ruin. All of which explained why Gabriel was confident that Becker, after a predictable protest, would agree to help. He had no choice.

  “It has come to our attention you are the holder of a numbered account that is of interest to us. A safe-deposit box associated with this account is linked to a matter of extreme urgency. It is not an exaggeration to say it is a matter of life and death.”

  “As you know, it would be a crime under Swiss banking law for me to reveal that information to you.”

  Gabriel sighed heavily. “It would be a shame, Konrad.”

  “What’s that, Herr Allon?”

  “If our past work together ever become public.”

  “You are a cheap extortionist, Herr Allon.”

  “An extortionist but not cheap.”

  “And the trouble with paying money to an extortionist is that he always comes back for more.”

  “Can I give you the account number, Konrad?”

  “If you must.”

  Gabriel recited it rapidly. Becker didn’t bother to write it down.

  “Password?” he asked.

  “Balzac.”

  “And the name associated with the account?”

  “Vladimir Chernov of Regency Security Services, Geneva. We’re not sure if he’s the primary account holder or merely a signatory.”

  The banker made no movement.

  “Don’t you need to go check your records, Konrad?”

  He didn’t. “Vladimir Chernov is the primary name on the account. One other person has access to the safe-deposit box.”

  Gabriel held up the photograph of Anton Petrov. “This man?”

  Becker nodded.

  “If he has access, I assume you have a name on file.”

  “I have a name. Whether it is accurate . . .”

  “May I have it, please?”

  “He calls himself Wolfe. Otto Wolfe.”

  “German speaker?”

  “Fluent.”

  “Accent?”

  “He doesn’t talk a great deal, but I’d say he came originally from the East.”

  “Do you have an address and telephone number on file?”

  “I do. But I don’t believe they’re accurate, either.”

  “But you give him access to a safe-deposit box anyway?”

  Becker made no response. Gabriel put away the photo.

  “It is my understanding Vladimir Chernov left something in the box two days ago.”

  “To be precise, Herr Chernov accessed the box two days ago. Whether he added something or removed something, I cannot say. Clients are given complete privacy when they’re in the vault room.”

  “Except when you’re watching them with your concealed cameras. He left cash in the box, didn’t he?”

  “A great deal of cash, actually.”

  “Has Wolfe collected it?”

  “Not yet.”

  Gabriel’s heart gave a sideways lurch.

  “How long does he usually wait after Chernov fills the box?”

  “I would expect him today. Tomorrow at the latest. He’s not the kind of man to leave money sitting around.”

  “I’d like to see the vault room.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “Konrad, please. We don’t have much time.”

  THE OUTER door was stainless steel and had a circular latch the size of a captain’s wheel. Inside was a second door, also stainless steel, with a small window of reinforced glass. The outer door was closed only at night, explained Becker, while the interior door was used during business hours.

  “Tell me the procedures when a customer wants access to a box.”

  “After being admitted through the front door on the Talstrasse, the client checks in with the receptionist. The receptionist then sends the client to my secretary. I’m the only one who deals with numbered accounts. The client must provide two pieces of information.”

  “The number and corresponding password?”

  Becker nodded his bald head. “In most cases, it’s a formality, since I know virtually all our clients on sight. I make an entry in the logbook, then escort the client into the vault room. It takes two keys to open the box, mine and the client’s. Generally, I remove the box and place it on the table. At which point I depart.”

  “Closing the door behind you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And locking it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Do you and the client enter the vault alone?”

  “Never. I’m always accompanied by our security guard.”

  “Does the guard leave the room, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens when the client is ready to depart?”

  “He summons the guard by pressing the buzzer.”

  “Is there any other way out of the bank besides the Talstrasse?”

  “There’s a service door leading to a back alleyway and parking spaces. We share them with the other tenants in the building. They’re all assigned.”

  Gabriel looked around at the gleaming stainless steel boxes, then at Becker. The tinted lenses of his spectacles shone with the reflection of the bright fluorescent lights, rendering his small dark eyes invisible.

  “I’m going to need a favor from you, Konrad. A very big favor.”

  “Since I would like to keep my bank, Herr Allon, how can I help?”

  “Call your security guard and your secretary. Tell them to take the next couple of days off.”

  “I assume you’re going to replace them?”

  “I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch, Konrad.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “The secretary will be new to you. But you may recall the security guard from another life.”

  “Herr Lange, I take it?”

  “You do have a good memory, Konrad.”

  “That’s true. But then a man like Oskar Lange is not so easy to forget.”

  51

  ZURICH

  GABRIEL LEFT the bank shortly after eight and walked to a busy café on the Bahnhofstrasse. Seated at a cramped table in the back, surrounded by depressed-looking Swiss moneymen, were Sarah and Uzi Navot. Sarah was drinking coffee; Navot was working his way through a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. The smell of the food turned Gabriel’s stomach as he lowered himself into an empty chair. It was going to be a long time before he felt like eating again.

  “The maids arrived an hour after we left,” Navot murmured in Hebrew. “The bodies have been removed, and they’re giving the entire house a good scrubbing.”

  “Tell them to make sure those bodies never turn up. I don’t want Ivan to know Chernov has been taken out of circulation.”

  “Ivan won’t know a thing. And neither will Petrov.” N
avot put a forkful of eggs on his toast and switched from Hebrew to German, which he spoke with a slight Viennese accent. “How’s my old friend Herr Becker?”

  “He sends his best.”

  “Is he willing to help?”

  “Willing might be too strong a word, but we’re in.”

  In rapid German, Gabriel described the procedures for client access to safe-deposit boxes at Becker & Puhl. The briefing complete, he signaled the waiter and asked for coffee. Then he requested that Navot’s dishes be removed. Navot snatched a last morsel of toast as the plate floated away.

  “Which girl gets the secretary job?”

  “She has to speak English, German, and French. That leaves only one candidate.”

  Navot looked briefly at Sarah. “I’d feel better about getting Langley’s approval before sending her in there.”

  “Carter gave me the authority to use her in whatever capacity I needed. Besides, I used her in an operational role last night in Geneva.”

  “And all she had to do was play the jilted lover for a few seconds. Now you’re talking about placing her in close proximity to a former KGB assassin.”

  Sarah spoke for the first time. “I can handle it, Uzi.”

  “You’re forgetting that Ivan has pictures of you from his house in Saint-Tropez last summer. And it’s possible he’s shown those pictures to his friend Petrov.”

  “I packed a dark wig and fake glasses. When I put them on, I barely recognize myself. And no one else will, either, especially if they’ve never met me in person.”

  Navot was still skeptical. “There is one other thing to consider, Gabriel.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Her weapons training. More to the point, her lack of weapons training.”

  “I trained her. So did the Agency.”

  “No, you gave her very basic training. And the Agency prepared her for a desk job in the Counterterrorism Center. There’s not a lot of gunfire on a typical day at Langley.”

  Sarah spoke up in her own defense. “I can handle a gun, Uzi.”

  “Not like Dina and Rimona. They both served in the army. And if something goes wrong in there . . .”

  “They won’t hesitate?”

  Navot made no response.

  “I won’t hesitate either, Uzi.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The waiter delivered Gabriel’s coffee. Navot handed him a packet of sugar.

  “I suppose the secretary job is now filled.”

  “It is.”

  “Who do you have in mind for the security guard?”

  “The language requirements are the same: English, French, and German. He also needs a bit of muscle.”

  “That narrows the field considerably: you and me. And since there’s no doubt whatsoever that Petrov knows your face, it means you can’t go anywhere near that bank.”

  “If you don’t—”

  “I’ll do it,” Navot said quickly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You’re the strongest person I know, Uzi.”

  “Not strong enough to stop Russian poison.”

  “Just don’t shake hands with him. And remember, you won’t be alone. The instant you let Petrov into the vault, Sarah will signal us and we’ll enter the bank. When you open the door again to let Petrov out, he’ll be confronted by several men.”

  “Where do we take him?”

  “Out the back door and into the van. We’ll hit him with a little something to keep him comfortable during the drive.”

  Navot made a show of examining his clothing. Like Gabriel, he was wearing a sweater and a leather coat.

  “I need something a little more presentable.” He ran his hand over his chin. “I could also use a shave.”

  “You can go shopping here on the Bahnhofstrasse. But hurry, Uzi. I wouldn’t want you to be late for your first day of work.”

  THE OLD hands like to say that the life of an Office field agent is one of constant travel and mind-numbing boredom, broken by interludes of sheer terror. And then there is the waiting. Waiting for a plane or a train. Waiting for a source. Waiting for the sun to rise after a night of killing. And waiting for a Russian assassin to collect five million dollars from a safe-deposit box in Zurich. For Gabriel, the waiting was made worse by the images that flashed through his thoughts like paintings in a gallery. The images robbed him of his natural patience. They made him restless. They made him terrified. And they stripped him of the emotional coldness that Shamron had found so appealing when Gabriel was a boy of twenty-two. Don’t hate them, Shamron had said of the Black September terrorists. Just kill them, so they can’t kill again. Gabriel had obeyed. He tried to obey now but could not. He hated Ivan. He hated Ivan as he had never hated before.

  The interminable day of watching was not without its lighter moments. They were supplied almost exclusively by the pair of transmitters Navot planted inside Becker & Puhl within minutes of his arrival. The team listened while Miss Irene Moore, an attractive young American sent by a Zurich temp agency, fetched Herr Becker’s coffee. And took Herr Becker’s dictation. And answered Herr Becker’s telephone. And accepted Herr Becker’s many compliments about her appearance. And deftly declined an invitation to dine with Herr Becker at a restaurant overlooking the Zürichsee. And they listened, too, while Herr Becker and Oskar Lange spent several uncomfortable moments getting reacquainted. And while Herr Becker instructed Herr Lange on the intricacies of opening and closing a vault. And, in late afternoon, they heard Herr Becker berating Herr Lange for failing to open the vault quickly enough when Mr. al-Hamdali of Jeddah wanted access to his safe-deposit box. Unwilling to let a good opportunity go to waste, they instructed Miss Moore to copy the contents of Mr. al-Hamdali’s file. Then, for good measure, they snapped several photographs of the same Mr. al-Hamdali as he exited the bank.

  Thirty minutes later, Becker & Puhl drew its shades and switched off its lights. The security guard and secretary bade Herr Becker good night and went their separate ways, Herr Lange heading left toward the Barengasse, Miss Moore right toward the Bleicherweg. Gabriel, who was with Lavon in a parked car, didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “We’ll come back tomorrow,” Lavon said, doing his best to console him. “And the day after if we have to.” But Lavon, like Gabriel, knew their time was limited. Ivan had given them just seventy-two hours. It was time enough for just one more day in Zurich.

  Gabriel instructed the team to return to their hotel rooms and rest. Though desperately in need of sleep himself, he neglected to heed his own advice and instead slipped quietly into the back of a surveillance van parked along the Talstrasse. There he spent the night alone, his gaze fixed on the entrance of Becker & Puhl, waiting for Ivan’s assassin. Ivan’s brother from the KGB. Ivan’s old friend from Moscow in the nineties, the bad old days when there was no law and nothing to prevent Ivan from killing his way to the top. A man like that might know where Ivan liked to do his blood work. Who knows? A man like that might have killed there himself.

  A few minutes before nine the next morning, Sarah and Navot arrived for work. Yossi relieved Gabriel in the van, and it all started again. The watching. The waiting. Always the waiting . . . Shortly after four that afternoon, Gabriel found himself paired with Mikhail in a café overlooking the Paradeplatz. Mikhail ordered Gabriel something to eat. “And don’t try to say no. You look like hell. Besides, you’re going to need your strength when we take down Petrov.”

  “I’m starting to think he’s not going to come.”

  “And leave five million euros on the table? He’ll come, Gabriel. Eventually, he’ll come.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Chernov came at the end of the day, and Petrov will come at the end of the day. These Russian thugs don’t do anything when it’s light out. They prefer the night. Trust me, Gabriel, I know them better than you. I grew up with these bastards.”

  They were seated side by side along a high counter in the window.
Outside, streetlamps were coming on in the busy square, and the trams were snaking up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Mikhail was drumming his fingers nervously.

  “You’re giving me a headache, Mikhail.”

  “Sorry, boss.” The fingers went still.

  “Something bothering you?”

  “Other than the fact we’re waiting for a Russian killer to collect the proceeds for kidnapping your wife? No, Gabriel, nothing’s bothering me at all.”

  “Do you disagree with my decision to send Sarah into that bank?”

  “Of course not. She’s perfect for the job.”

  “Because if you disagreed with one of my decisions, you would tell me, wouldn’t you, Mikhail? That’s always been the way the team works. We talk about everything.”

  “I would have said something if I’d disagreed.”

  “Good, Mikhail, because I would hate to think something has changed because you’re involved with Sarah.”

  Mikhail sipped his coffee, a play for time.

  “Listen, Gabriel, I was going to say something, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I thought you’d be angry.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, Gabriel, don’t make me say this now. It’s not the time.”

  “It’s the perfect time.”

  Mikhail placed his coffee on the counter. “It was obvious to all of us from the minute we recruited Sarah for the al-Bakari operation that she had feelings for you. And frankly—”

  “Frankly what?”

  “We thought you might have felt the same way.”

  “That’s not true. It’s never been true.”

  “Okay, Gabriel, whatever you say.”

  A waitress placed a sandwich in front of Gabriel. He immediately pushed it aside.

  “Eat it, Gabriel. You have to eat.”

  Gabriel tore a corner from the sandwich. “Are you in love with her, Mikhail?”

  “What answer do you want to hear?”

  “The truth would be nice.”

  “Yes, Gabriel. I love her very much. Too much.”

  “There’s no such thing. Just do me a favor, Mikhail. Take good care of her. Go live in America. Get out of this business as soon as you can. Get out before . . .”