House of Spies (Gabriel Allon #17)(81)

“I have to say, it was impressive reading.”

“I’m surprised you were able to squeeze it aboard your plane.”

Payne’s smile was genuine. “We both grew up on farms,” he said. “Ours was in a remote corner of South Dakota, and yours was in the Valley of Jezreel.”

“Next to an Arab village.”

“We didn’t have Arabs. Only bears and wolves.”

This time it was Gabriel who smiled. Payne picked at the edge of a dried-out tea sandwich.

“You’ve operated in North Africa before. Personally, I mean. You were involved in the Abu Jihad operation in Tunis in eighty-eight. You and your team landed on the beach and blasted your way into his villa. You killed him in his study in front of one of his children. He was watching videos of the intifada at the time.”

“That’s not true,” said Gabriel after a moment.

“Which part?”

“I didn’t kill Abu Jihad in front of his family. His daughter walked into the study after he was already dead.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her to go take care of her mother. And then I left.”

A silence fell over the room. It was Morris Payne who broke it.

“Think you can do it again? In Morocco?”

“Are you asking whether we have the capability?”

“Humor me,” said Payne.

Morocco, replied Gabriel, was well within the operational reach of the Office.

“You have decent relations with the king,” Payne pointed out. “Relations that would be endangered if something went wrong.”

“So do you,” replied Gabriel.

“Do you intend to work with the Moroccan services?”

“Did you work with the Pakistanis when you went after Bin Laden?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“In all likelihood,” said Gabriel, “Saladin is hiding in circumstances similar to the way Bin Laden was living in Abbottabad. What’s more, he enjoys the protection of a drug lord, a man who undoubtedly has friends in high places. Telling the Moroccans about the operation would be like telling Saladin himself.”

“How sure are you he’s really there?”

Gabriel placed the two composite sketches on the table. He tapped the first one, Saladin as he had appeared in the spring of 2012, not long after ISIS had set up shop in Libya.

“He looks an awful lot like the man I saw in the lobby of the Four Seasons in Georgetown before the attack. Check the hotel security footage. I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion.” Gabriel tapped the second sketch. “And this is the way he looks now.”

“According to a drug dealer named Jean-Luc Martel.”

“We don’t always get to choose our assets, Morris. Sometimes they choose us.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you prepared to ride into battle with him?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

It was obvious he didn’t. “What if Saladin doesn’t bite?”

“He just lost a hundred million euros worth of hashish. And the cesium.”

The American looked at Paul Rousseau. “Have your people been able to identify the source?”

“The most likely explanation,” said Rousseau, “is that it came from Russia or one of the other former Soviet republics or satellites. The Soviets were rather indiscriminate in their use of cesium, and they left canisters of the stuff scattered all over the countryside. It’s also possible it came from Libya. The rebels and militias overran Libya’s nuclear facilities when the regime collapsed. The IAEA was particularly concerned about the Tajoura research facility. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Payne indicated he had. “When is your government planning to make an announcement?”

“About what?”

“The cesium!” snapped Payne.

“We’re not.”

Payne appeared incredulous. It was Gabriel who explained.

“An announcement would needlessly alarm the public. More important, it would alert Saladin and his network to the fact that their radiological material had been discovered.”

“What if another shipment of cesium got through? What happens if a dirty bomb goes off in the middle of Paris? Or London? Or Manhattan, for that matter?”

“Going public won’t make that any more or less likely. Keeping quiet, however, has its advantages.” Gabriel placed a hand on Graham Seymour’s shoulder. “Have you had a chance to read his file, Director Payne? Graham’s father worked for British intelligence during the Second World War. The Double Cross Committee. They didn’t tell the Germans when they arrested their spies in Britain. They kept those captured spies alive in the minds of their German controllers and used them to feed deceptive information to Hitler and his generals. And the Germans never tried to replace those captured spies because they believed they were still on the job.”

“So if Saladin thinks the material got through, he won’t try to send more—is that what you’re saying?”

Gabriel was silent.

“Not bad,” said the American, smiling.

“This isn’t our first rodeo.”

“Did you have rodeos in the Jezreel Valley?”