Read Online The Defector by Daniel Silva - Free Book Online
Authors: Daniel Silva
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Thrillers, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Espionage, Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Fiction - Espionage, Intrigue
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vanish into thin air, just like Grigori.”
Gabriel stared at the image a moment longer. “It’s a lot of preparation for something that could have been handled far more simply. If Grigori was planning to redefect, why not slip him a passport, an airline ticket, and a change of appearance? He could have left London in the morning and been back home in time for his borscht and chicken Kiev.”
Seymour had an answer ready. “The Russians would assume we had Grigori under watch. From their point of view, they had to create a scenario that would look completely innocent to the CCTV cameras.” Seymour raised a long pale hand toward the now-blank screen. “You saw it yourself, Gabriel. He was clearly checking for watchers. When he was certain we weren’t following him, he sent a signal of some sort. Then his old comrades scooped him up.”
“Moscow Rules?”
“Exactly.”
“I assume you checked Grigori’s route for chalk marks, tape marks, or other signs of impersonal communication.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Nothing. But as a professional field operative, you know there are any number of ways of sending a signal. Hat, no hat. Cigarette, no cigarette. Wristwatch on the left hand, wristwatch on the right.”
“Grigori was right-handed. And he was wearing his watch, as usual, on his left wrist. Also, it was a different watch than the one he was wearing in Russia last autumn.”
“You do have a keen eye.”
“I do. And when I look at those CCTV images, I see something different. I see a man who’s frightened of something and trying damn hard not to show it. Something made Grigori stop suddenly in his tracks. And something made him get inside that car. It wasn’t a redefection, Graham. It was an abduction. The Russians stole him right from under your nose.”
“Thames House doesn’t see it that way. Neither do our colleagues on the other bank of the river. As for Downing Street and the Foreign Office, they’re inclined to accept our findings. The prime minister is in no mood for another high-stakes confrontation with the Russians. Not after the Litvinenko affair. And not with a G-8 summit just around the corner.”
Confronted by the global financial meltdown, the leaders of the Group of Eight industrialized nations had just agreed to hold emergency talks in February to coordinate their fiscal and monetary stimulus policies. Much to the consternation of the many bureaucrats and reporters who would also be in attendance, the summit would take place in Moscow. Gabriel was not concerned about the pending G-8 summit. He was thinking of Alexander Litvinenko, the former FSB man who was poisoned with a dose of radioactive polonium-210.
“Your conduct after Litvinenko’s murder probably convinced the Russians they could pull a stunt like this and get away with it. After all, the Russians carried out what amounted to an act of nuclear terrorism in the heart of London, and you responded with a diplomatic slap on the wrist.”
Seymour placed a finger thoughtfully against his lips. “That’s an interesting theory. But I’m afraid our response to Litvinenko’s murder, however feeble in your opinion, had no bearing on Grigori’s case.”
Gabriel knew that to belabor the point was futile. Graham Seymour was a trusted counterpart and occasional ally, but his first allegiance would always be to his service and his country. The same was true for Gabriel. Such were the rules of the game.
“Do I have to remind you that Grigori helped you and the Americans track down Ivan’s missiles? If it weren’t for him, several commercial airliners might have been blown out of the sky on a single day.”
“Actually, all the information we needed was contained in the records you and Elena stole from Ivan’s office. In fact, the prime minister had to be talked into giving Grigori asylum and a British passport. London is already home to several prominent Russian dissidents, including a handful of billionaires who ran
Gabriel stared at the image a moment longer. “It’s a lot of preparation for something that could have been handled far more simply. If Grigori was planning to redefect, why not slip him a passport, an airline ticket, and a change of appearance? He could have left London in the morning and been back home in time for his borscht and chicken Kiev.”
Seymour had an answer ready. “The Russians would assume we had Grigori under watch. From their point of view, they had to create a scenario that would look completely innocent to the CCTV cameras.” Seymour raised a long pale hand toward the now-blank screen. “You saw it yourself, Gabriel. He was clearly checking for watchers. When he was certain we weren’t following him, he sent a signal of some sort. Then his old comrades scooped him up.”
“Moscow Rules?”
“Exactly.”
“I assume you checked Grigori’s route for chalk marks, tape marks, or other signs of impersonal communication.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Nothing. But as a professional field operative, you know there are any number of ways of sending a signal. Hat, no hat. Cigarette, no cigarette. Wristwatch on the left hand, wristwatch on the right.”
“Grigori was right-handed. And he was wearing his watch, as usual, on his left wrist. Also, it was a different watch than the one he was wearing in Russia last autumn.”
“You do have a keen eye.”
“I do. And when I look at those CCTV images, I see something different. I see a man who’s frightened of something and trying damn hard not to show it. Something made Grigori stop suddenly in his tracks. And something made him get inside that car. It wasn’t a redefection, Graham. It was an abduction. The Russians stole him right from under your nose.”
“Thames House doesn’t see it that way. Neither do our colleagues on the other bank of the river. As for Downing Street and the Foreign Office, they’re inclined to accept our findings. The prime minister is in no mood for another high-stakes confrontation with the Russians. Not after the Litvinenko affair. And not with a G-8 summit just around the corner.”
Confronted by the global financial meltdown, the leaders of the Group of Eight industrialized nations had just agreed to hold emergency talks in February to coordinate their fiscal and monetary stimulus policies. Much to the consternation of the many bureaucrats and reporters who would also be in attendance, the summit would take place in Moscow. Gabriel was not concerned about the pending G-8 summit. He was thinking of Alexander Litvinenko, the former FSB man who was poisoned with a dose of radioactive polonium-210.
“Your conduct after Litvinenko’s murder probably convinced the Russians they could pull a stunt like this and get away with it. After all, the Russians carried out what amounted to an act of nuclear terrorism in the heart of London, and you responded with a diplomatic slap on the wrist.”
Seymour placed a finger thoughtfully against his lips. “That’s an interesting theory. But I’m afraid our response to Litvinenko’s murder, however feeble in your opinion, had no bearing on Grigori’s case.”
Gabriel knew that to belabor the point was futile. Graham Seymour was a trusted counterpart and occasional ally, but his first allegiance would always be to his service and his country. The same was true for Gabriel. Such were the rules of the game.
“Do I have to remind you that Grigori helped you and the Americans track down Ivan’s missiles? If it weren’t for him, several commercial airliners might have been blown out of the sky on a single day.”
“Actually, all the information we needed was contained in the records you and Elena stole from Ivan’s office. In fact, the prime minister had to be talked into giving Grigori asylum and a British passport. London is already home to several prominent Russian dissidents, including a handful of billionaires who ran
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