The Rembrandt Affair

comfortable pattern of their relationship. She tried not to resist these feelings, just as she tried not to think about the mobile phone at Martin's elbow or the notebook computer resting on the island in the kitchen.

'How well do you know Viktor?'

'Well enough.' Martin jabbed at his food. 'He forced me to invite him to the fund-raiser at Villa Elma next week.'

'How did he manage that?'

'By writing a million-euro check to One World. I don't care for Viktor or the way he does business, but at least you'll have a chance to rub shoulders with your new owner.' He looked at her seriously. 'You are still planning to come, aren't you, Zoe?'

'I suppose that depends on whether I'll be safe there.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Your wife, Martin. I'm talking about Monique.'

'Monique lives her life, and I live mine.'

'But she might not enjoy seeing your life paraded in front of her wearing a Dior evening gown with the most scandalous neckline I've ever seen.'

'You got my gift?'

'Yes, Martin, I did. And you absolutely shouldn't have.'

'Of course I should have. And I expect you to be wearing it next week.'

'I'm sure my date will enjoy it very much.'

He looked down at his plate and casually asked who Zoe was planning to bring to the party.

'Jason was hoping to come again, but I haven't decided yet.'

'Maybe you could bring someone other than one of your old lovers.'

'Jason and I weren't lovers, Martin. We were a mistake.'

'But he obviously still cares for you a great deal.'

She gave him a playful look. 'Martin Landesmann, I do believe you're jealous.'

'No, Zoe, I'm not. But I don't want to be deceived, either.'

Her expression turned serious. 'If you're wondering whether there's another man in my life, there isn't, Martin. For better or worse, there's only you.'

'You're sure about that?'

'Very sure. And if you're interested, I'd be more than willing to prove it.'

'Finish your dinner, Zoe.'

Zoe smiled. 'I am finished.'

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, in the safe flat on the other side of the Seine, Gabriel sat hunched over his computer, fists to his temples, eyes closed, listening. Somewhere inside him, buried beneath a thousand lies and the scar tissue of countless wounds, there was an ordinary man who wanted desperately to lower the volume. Professionalism would not allow it. It was for her own good, he told himself. For her own protection. Sorry, Zoe. Had to be done.

To distract himself, Gabriel walked to the window, night-vision binoculars pressed to his eyes, and checked the disposition of his troops. Yaakov was in his Peugeot. Oded was in his Renault. Mordecai was in his Ford van. Mikhail and Yossi were drinking beer with a group of young toughs along the quay. Rimona and Dina were sitting astride a pair of motor scooters near the Hotel de Ville. He gave them each a tap on the shoulder by way of encrypted radio. They replied one by one, crisp and alert, Gabriel's soldiers of the night.

The last stop of Gabriel's battlefield tour was the entrance of the cream-colored apartment house at 21 Quai de Bourbon, where one of Martin's Zentrum bodyguards was pacing slowly in the lamplight. I know how you feel, thought Gabriel. The waiting can be hell.

52 ILE SAINT-LOUIS, PARIS

Moonlight shone through the uncurtained window and cast a rhombus of pale blue light across the tangled satin sheets of Martin Landesmann's enormous bed. Zoe lay very still, listening to the wet hiss of the early-morning traffic moving along the Seine. Somewhere two drunken lovers were having a noisy quarrel. Martin's breathing ceased momentarily, then resumed its normal rhythm. Zoe looked at the clock on the bedside table. It had not changed since the last time she checked it: 3:28...

She looked carefully at Martin. After completing the act of love for a second time, he had retreated with marital discretion to his usual side of the bed and fallen into a satisfied slumber. His pose had not changed in nearly an hour. Bare to the hips, he was lying prone, with his legs in something akin to a running position and one hand stretched longingly toward Zoe. In sleep, his face had assumed a peculiar childlike innocence. Zoe felt compelled to look away. In the street the lovers' quarrel had ended, replaced now by male voices murmuring in German. It was nothing, she assured herself. Just the 3:30 a.m. shift change at Zentrum Security.

Don't think about the bodyguards, Gabriel had reminded her on the final night in Highgate. We'll worry about the bodyguards. All you have to worry about is Martin. Martin is your responsibility...

Martin still hadn't moved. Neither had Zoe. Only the clock.

3:32...

Once you start, move quietly but quickly. Don't creep around like a cat burglar...

She closed her eyes and pictured the location of the four items she would need to complete her assignment. Two of the items—her mobile phone and the USB flash drive—were tucked into her handbag, which lay on the floor next to the bed. Martin's Nokia was still on the dining-room table; the Sony computer was still on the kitchen counter.

Visualize your actions before you take them. Once you get his phone and computer in a secure location, follow my instructions to the letter, and Martin will have no more secrets...

She reached into her bag, took hold of her phone and the flash drive, and slipped quietly from the bed. Her clothing lay scattered across the floor. Ignoring it, she padded quickly toward the door, her heart banging against her breastbone, and stepped into the hallway. Though Gabriel had advised against it, she couldn't help but take one final look at Martin. He appeared to still be sleeping soundly. She closed the door halfway and made her way silently through the apartment to the dining room. Their dishes were still on the table, as was Martin's telephone. She snatched it up and headed to the kitchen, dialing her own mobile as she moved. Gabriel answered after a single ring.

'Hang up. Count to sixty. Then go to work.'

The connection went dead as Zoe entered the kitchen. In the darkness, she could just make out the faint outline of the black Sony VAIO computer at the end of the island. Martin had left the computer on standby mode. Zoe immediately shut it down and inserted the flash drive into one of the USB ports. Then she picked up the Nokia again and stared at the screen, counting silently to herself.

Twenty-five...twenty-six...twenty-seven...twenty-eight...

AFTER SEVERING his connection to Zoe, Gabriel quickly informed the rest of the team via secure radio that the operation was now hot. Only Mordecai had a task to perform at that point, and it required merely throwing the power switch on the device resting on the passenger seat of the Ford van. Essentially, the apparatus was a cell tower in a suitcase, designed to deceive Martin's phone into thinking it was on his usual network when in reality it was on the Office's. Its signal, while tightly focused on the building at 21 Quai de Bourbon, would temporarily obliterate most cellular service on the Ile Saint-Louis. At that moment, any inconvenience to French telecom customers was the least of Gabriel's worries. He was standing in the window of the safe flat, gaze focused on the darkened windows of Martin Landesmann's bedroom, counting silently in his head.

Fifty-seven...fifty-eight...fifty-nine...sixty...

Now, Zoe. Now...

AS IF ON CUE, Zoe began punching a number into Martin's phone. It was a number she had dialed