The Rembrandt Affair

Seymour telephoned the Swiss police. Three and a half minutes for the team of computer technicians and specialists to find the bargaining chip Shamron needed to achieve peace with honor. With Chiara peering anxiously over their shoulders, their labors were growing more frantic. Shamron wished he could help in some way. But he barely knew how to turn on a computer, let alone find a document buried in a pile of cybermush. Only the young knew how to do such things, Shamron thought gloomily. Yet more proof he had finally outlived his usefulness.

Another glance at the clock: 05:58:41...Graham Seymour was now watching the time with an intensity matching Shamron's. At his right elbow was a telephone. An hour earlier, Seymour had taken the liberty of storing the DAP's emergency number in the phone's memory. One press of a button was all it would take.

The clock advanced: 05:59:57...05:59:58...05:59:59...06:00:00...

Seymour lifted the receiver and looked at Shamron. 'Sorry, Ari, but I'm afraid we've run out of time. I know it's not my call, but you might want to tell Gabriel to start heading for the border.'

Seymour jabbed at the speed dial button and lifted the receiver to his ear. Shamron closed his eyes and waited for the words he would no doubt hear for the rest of his life. Instead, he heard the heavy glass door of the fishbowl open with a bang, followed by the triumphant voice of Chiara.

'We've got him, Graham! He's ours now! Hang up the phone! We've got him!'

SEYMOUR KILLED the connection. The receiver, however, was still in his hand.

'What exactly do you have?'

'The next shipment of centrifuges is due to leave Shenzhen in six weeks, arriving in Dubai sometime in mid-March, final payment due upon delivery to Meissner Privatbank of Liechtenstein.'

'What's the source?'

'An encrypted temporary file that had once been attached to an e-mail.'

'Who were the parties to the e-mail?'

'Ulrich Muller and Martin Landesmann.'

'Let me see it.'

Chiara handed Seymour a printout of the documents. Seymour examined them, then replaced the receiver.

'You just bought yourself one more hour, Ari.'

Shamron turned to Chiara. 'Can you get those documents to Gabriel securely?'

'No problem.'

THE E-MAIL and supporting documentation were five pages in length. The computer technicians converted them to an encrypted PDF file and fired it to Gabriel over the secure link. It arrived on his computer at the Metropole at 7:05 local time, accompanied by the number for Ulrich Muller's mobile phone and his private e-mail address. Locating them had not been difficult. Both appeared hundreds of times in the memory of Martin's Nokia N900. Gabriel quickly prepared an e-mail to Muller with two PDF attachments and dialed his number. There was no answer. Gabriel killed the connection and dialed again.

ULRICH MULLER was driving past the floodlit Gstaad Palace Hotel when his mobile rang for the first time. Because he did not recognize the number, he did not answer. When the phone immediately rang a second time, he felt he had no choice. He tapped the CALL button and lifted the phone to his ear.

'Ja?'

'Good morning, Ulrich.'

'Who is this?'

'Don't you recognize my voice?'

Muller did. He'd heard it on the surveillance tapes from Amsterdam and Mendoza.

'How did you get this number?' he asked.

'Are you driving, Ulrich? It sounds to me as if you're behind the wheel of a car.'

'What do you want, Allon?'

'I want you to pull over, Ulrich. There's something you need to see.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm going to send you an e-mail, Ulrich. I want you to look at it carefully. Then I want you to call me back at this number.' A pause. 'Did your phone capture this number?'

'I have it.'

'Good. After you look at the e-mail, call me back. Right away. Otherwise, the next calls I make are to the Swiss Federal Police and the DAP.'

'Don't you need my e-mail address, Allon?'

'No, Ulrich, I already have it.'

The connection went dead. Muller pulled to the side of the road. Thirty seconds later, the e-mail came through.

Shit...

MULLER DIALED. Gabriel answered right away.

'Interesting stuff, don't you think, Ulrich?'

'I don't know what any of this means.'

'Nice try. But before we go any further, I want to know whether my people are alive.'

'Your people are fine.'

'Where are they?'

'That's none of your concern.'

'Everything is my concern, Ulrich.'

'They're in my custody.'

'Have they been mistreated?'

'They committed a serious crime in Martin Landesmann's home last night. They've been treated accordingly.'

'If they've been harmed in any way, I'm going to hold you personally responsible. And your boss.'

'Mr. Landesmann knows nothing about this.'

'That's very admirable of you to try to take the blame for your employer, but it's not going to work, Ulrich. Not today.'

'What do you want?'

'I want to talk to Martin.'

'That's impossible.'

'It's nonnegotiable.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

'You'd better, Ulrich. Or the next call I make is to the Swiss Federal Police.'

'I need thirty minutes.'

'You have five.'

ZOE AND MIKHAIL sat face-to-face in the storage facility, each bound to a chair, mouths covered with duct tape. The guards had fled for the warmth of their cars. Before leaving, they had switched off the lights. The darkness was absolute, as was the cold. Zoe wanted to apologize to Mikhail for betraying the operation. Zoe wanted to tend to Mikhail's wounds. And more than anything, Zoe wanted reassurance that someone was looking for them. But none of that was possible. Not with the tape over their mouths. And so they sat in the cold, mute and motionless, and they waited.

MARTIN LANDESMANN'S immense timbered chalet was ablaze with light as Ulrich Muller drove through the security gate and sped quickly up the long drive. A pair of guards stood watch outside the front entrance, shifting from foot to foot in the sharp early-morning cold. Muller walked past them without a word and entered the residence. Landesmann was seated alone before a fire in the great room. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a heavy zippered sweater and holding a crystal snifter filled with cognac. Muller placed a finger to his lips and handed Landesmann the phone. Landesmann scrolled through the two PDF files, his face a blank mask. When he was finished, Muller took back the phone and switched it off before slipping it into the pocket of his overcoat.

'What does he want?' Landesmann asked.

'His people back. He'd also like to have a word with you.'