House of Spies (Gabriel Allon #17)(104)

“Too sweet,” he said, making a face. “It’s a wonder Moroccans have any teeth.”

“We don’t,” said Mohammad Bakkar.

There was restrained laughter. Saladin tilted his face to the sky and searched the stars.

“Do you hear that?” he asked after a moment.

“What?” asked Mikhail.

“Bees,” said Saladin. “It sounds like bees.”

“Not here. Flies, perhaps, but not bees.”

“I’m sure you are right.” His English was heavily accented but assured. He lowered his gaze and fixed it securely on Mikhail. “I take it we have cleared up any lingering confusion about your profession.”

“We have.”

“And you are in fact a Russian?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I won’t hold that against you,” said Saladin. “Your government has committed horrible atrocities in Syria while trying to prop up the regime.”

“When it comes to Syria,” responded Mikhail, “Russia has no monopoly on atrocities. The Islamic State has plenty of blood on its hands, too.”

“When one is making an omelet,” said Saladin, “it is necessary to break eggs.”

“Or slaughter innocent civilians?”

“No one is innocent in this war. So long as the unbelievers kill our women and children, we will kill theirs.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “It is as simple as that. Besides, a man in your line of work is in no position to lecture anyone about collateral casualties.”

“There’s a difference between collateral casualties and the deliberate targeting of civilians.”

“A narrow one.” He drank some of the tea. “Tell me, Monsieur Antonov, are you a spy?”

“I live in a mansion in the south of France that’s filled with art. I’m no spy.”

“In Russia,” said Saladin knowingly, “spies come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been, a Russian intelligence officer.”

“But you are close to the Kremlin.”

“Actually, I do my best to avoid them.”

“Come now, Monsieur Antonov. Everyone knows that the Kremlin picks the winners and losers in Russia. No one is allowed to become rich without the tsar’s approval.”

“You know my country well.”

“I had many dealings with Russia in my past life. I know how the system works. And I know that a man in your line of work cannot function without the protection of friends in the SVR and the Kremlin.”

“All true,” said Mikhail. “And I would quickly lose my friends if they ever learned I was thinking about doing business with the likes of you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

“I admire your honesty.”

“And I yours,” said Mikhail.

“Are you opposed in principle to doing business with us?”

“I have few—principles, that is.”

“I pity you.”

“Don’t.”

Saladin smiled. “I’m looking to acquire some merchandise for future operations.”

“Weapons?”

“Not weapons,” said Saladin. “Material.”

“What kind of material?”

“The kind,” said Saladin, “that the government of the former Soviet Union produced in great quantity during the Cold War.”

Mikhail allowed a moment to pass before answering. “That’s a dirty business,” he said quietly.

“Very dirty,” agreed Saladin. “And lucrative.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Cesium chloride.”

“I assume you intend to use it for medical purposes.”

“Agricultural, actually.”

“I was under the impression that your organization took possession of material like that in Syria and Libya.”

“Where did you hear something like that?”

“The same place you heard I was an arms dealer.”

“It is true, but a portion of our supply recently went missing.” He was staring at Jean-Luc Martel.

“And the rest of it?” asked Mikhail.

“That is none of your affair.”

“Forgive me, I meant no—”

Saladin held up a hand to indicate that no offense had been taken. “Is it possible,” he asked, “for you to obtain such material?”

“It’s possible,” said Mikhail carefully, “but extremely risky.”

“Nothing worth doing is without risk.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mikhail after a moment, “but I can’t be a party to this.”

“To what?”

Mikhail made no reply.

“Will you at least hear my offer?”

“Money isn’t the issue.”

“Money,” said Saladin, “is always the issue. Name your price, and I will pay it.”

Mikhail made a show of thought. “I can make inquiries,” he said at last.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes. It’s not something that can be done quickly.”