The resolution, as promised, was nebulous at best. Even so, Gabriel could clearly see the right hand of the solitary figure wrapped around the upper portion of Boris Ostrovsky’s right arm.
“Where’s Ostrovsky’s body?”
“In our morgue.”
“Has anyone examined it yet?”
“I gave it a brief examination to see if there were any signs of physical trauma or wounds. There was nothing.”
“If you check again, I suspect you’ll find a very small perforation to the skin of his upper arm. It’s where the assassin injected him with a Russian poison that paralyzes the respiratory system within minutes. It was developed by the KGB during the Cold War.”
“I’ll have a look right away.”
“There’s something I need from you first.” Gabriel tapped the screen. “I need to know what time this man entered the square and which direction he went when he left. And I need the five best pictures of him you can find.”
He was a professional, and, like all professionals, he had been aware of the cameras. He had lowered his guard just once, at 15:47:33, ten seconds after Boris Ostrovsky was first picked up by Vatican surveillance on the edge of the square. The image had been captured by a camera near the Bronze Doors of the Apostolic Palace. It showed a sturdy-jawed man with wide cheekbones, heavy sunglasses, and thick blond hair. Eli Lavon examined the photograph by the glow of a streetlamp atop the Spanish Steps. Fifty yards away, an Office security team was hastily searching the safe flat for traces of toxins or radioactive material.
“The hair is artificial, but I’d say those cheekbones are real. He’s a Russian, Gabriel, and he’s not someone I’d ever care to meet in a dark alley.” Lavon studied the photo showing the assassin’s hand wrapped around Ostrovsky’s upper arm. “Poor Boris barely gives him a look after they bump into each other. I don’t think he ever knew what hit him.”
“He didn’t,” Gabriel said. “He walked straight into the Basilica and followed your instructions as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. Even as he was dying, he didn’t seem to realize why.”
Lavon looked at the photograph of the assassin again. “I stand by what I said as we were leaving the Basilica. Ostrovsky was clean. I didn’t see anyone following him. And there’s no way I could have missed someone who looks like this.”
“Maybe Ostrovsky was clean, but we weren’t.”
“You’re suggesting they were watching the watchers?”
“Exactly.”
“But how did they know we were going to be there?”
“Ostrovsky’s probably been under watch in Moscow for months. When he came to Rome, he made contact with our embassy on an insecure line. Someone from the other side picked up the call, either here in Rome or from a listening post in Moscow. The assassin is a real pro. He knew we wouldn’t go near Ostrovsky without sending him on a surveillance detection run. And he did what real pros are trained to do. He ignored the target and watched us instead.”
“But how did he get to the Vatican ten minutes before Ostrovsky?”
“He must have been following me . I missed him, Eli. It’s my fault Ostrovsky died a miserable death on the floor of the Basilica.”
“It makes sense, but it’s not something your average run-of-the-mill Russian gangster could pull off.”
“We’re not dealing with gangsters. These are professionals.”
Lavon handed the photographs back to Gabriel. “Whatever it was Boris intended to tell you, it must have been important. Someone needs to find out who this man is and whom he’s working for.”
“Yes, someone should.”
“I could be wrong, Gabriel, but I think King Saul Boulevard already has a candidate in mind for the job.”
Lavon handed him a slip of
“Where’s Ostrovsky’s body?”
“In our morgue.”
“Has anyone examined it yet?”
“I gave it a brief examination to see if there were any signs of physical trauma or wounds. There was nothing.”
“If you check again, I suspect you’ll find a very small perforation to the skin of his upper arm. It’s where the assassin injected him with a Russian poison that paralyzes the respiratory system within minutes. It was developed by the KGB during the Cold War.”
“I’ll have a look right away.”
“There’s something I need from you first.” Gabriel tapped the screen. “I need to know what time this man entered the square and which direction he went when he left. And I need the five best pictures of him you can find.”
He was a professional, and, like all professionals, he had been aware of the cameras. He had lowered his guard just once, at 15:47:33, ten seconds after Boris Ostrovsky was first picked up by Vatican surveillance on the edge of the square. The image had been captured by a camera near the Bronze Doors of the Apostolic Palace. It showed a sturdy-jawed man with wide cheekbones, heavy sunglasses, and thick blond hair. Eli Lavon examined the photograph by the glow of a streetlamp atop the Spanish Steps. Fifty yards away, an Office security team was hastily searching the safe flat for traces of toxins or radioactive material.
“The hair is artificial, but I’d say those cheekbones are real. He’s a Russian, Gabriel, and he’s not someone I’d ever care to meet in a dark alley.” Lavon studied the photo showing the assassin’s hand wrapped around Ostrovsky’s upper arm. “Poor Boris barely gives him a look after they bump into each other. I don’t think he ever knew what hit him.”
“He didn’t,” Gabriel said. “He walked straight into the Basilica and followed your instructions as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. Even as he was dying, he didn’t seem to realize why.”
Lavon looked at the photograph of the assassin again. “I stand by what I said as we were leaving the Basilica. Ostrovsky was clean. I didn’t see anyone following him. And there’s no way I could have missed someone who looks like this.”
“Maybe Ostrovsky was clean, but we weren’t.”
“You’re suggesting they were watching the watchers?”
“Exactly.”
“But how did they know we were going to be there?”
“Ostrovsky’s probably been under watch in Moscow for months. When he came to Rome, he made contact with our embassy on an insecure line. Someone from the other side picked up the call, either here in Rome or from a listening post in Moscow. The assassin is a real pro. He knew we wouldn’t go near Ostrovsky without sending him on a surveillance detection run. And he did what real pros are trained to do. He ignored the target and watched us instead.”
“But how did he get to the Vatican ten minutes before Ostrovsky?”
“He must have been following me . I missed him, Eli. It’s my fault Ostrovsky died a miserable death on the floor of the Basilica.”
“It makes sense, but it’s not something your average run-of-the-mill Russian gangster could pull off.”
“We’re not dealing with gangsters. These are professionals.”
Lavon handed the photographs back to Gabriel. “Whatever it was Boris intended to tell you, it must have been important. Someone needs to find out who this man is and whom he’s working for.”
“Yes, someone should.”
“I could be wrong, Gabriel, but I think King Saul Boulevard already has a candidate in mind for the job.”
Lavon handed him a slip of
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