Read Online The Geneva Option by Adam LeBor - Free Book Online Page B

involved. I would remind you of the confidentiality agreement you signed when you joined us. Specifically of the potential criminal penalties, which have universal jurisdiction among member states, if you breach its terms. And please hand in your UN passport, telephone, and laptop to Madame Dubois.”
    â€œIs there anything else?”
    Hussein nodded. “Yes. Your name, face, and personal details are known to numerous governments and non-state actors with whom we are forced to deal.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    Hussein waited for a moment before he spoke, bending the pencil between his fingers. “Regrettably, despite our best efforts, some of them have questionable human-rights records. And long arms. Very long. But as long as you remain under our . . . imprimatur, as it were, they will respect your personal security.”
    Yael asked, “And if I do not?”
    The pencil snapped.
    S ami pressed stop and saved the sound file of the messages on Olivia’s voice mail. He transferred them to a USB memory stick attached to his key ring and wiped the file off his laptop with a government-security-level erasure program. Later, when he was off the UN’s network, he would back the messages up on the encrypted storage database site where he stored sensitive information. He printed out the other information he had found. A Google and database search of Olivia’s name turned up numerous photographs of her standing by the SG’s side over the last year: in Astana, Kazakhstan; on a visit to UNESCO; in Washington, DC, Jerusalem, Paris, and Beijing.
    The most recent photograph and brief article showed her with the SG, a couple of weeks earlier, visiting the Goma refugee camp. There were numerous photographs of the visit on the UN Development Program website, several of which showed Hussein deep in conversation with a tall, thin European man with pale skin and snow-white hair. Sami had never seen such a man inside the building. Who was he?
    Y ael opened the door of the SG’s office to find Yvette Dubois and two UN policemen standing outside. She handed the Frenchwoman her passport, laptop, and mobile telephone. Dubois placed them in a cardboard box, turned on her heel, and left without saying thank you or good-bye, her high heels clattering on the polished wooden floor.
    The younger officer loomed over Yael with a soldier’s ramrod posture and haircut. The other was middle-aged and overweight, his paunch hanging over a belt laden with a gun, handcuffs, flashlight, and pepper spray. The policemen escorted Yael down the familiar beige corridor toward her office. The walls were lined with posters and photographs showing smiling, multiethnic children, many promoting the “Year of Africa.” The size and proximity of each workplace to the SG’s suite was carefully delineated according to its occupant’s rank and seniority. Yael’s was six doors away, and she merited both a window and a two-seater sofa, which placed her high in the pecking order.
    The 38th floor was usually a hive of activity, crowded with secretaries, advisers, and assistants buzzing around self-importantly. This morning it was silent and still, and every door was closed, except Mahesh Kapoor’s. She heard a voice call her name as she walked past, and the SG’s chief of staff appeared, dressed in his trademark black turtleneck sweater and black linen suit. His mane of thick dark hair was tied back in a bundled ponytail, with a single streak of gray on one side. He looked even more like a Bollywood film star than usual, Yael thought.
    Kapoor stood in front of Yael and placed a hand on each of her arms. He shook his head as he spoke. “Yael, I am sure this is all a huge misunderstanding. I am going to sort it all out. You will be back in your office in a few days and we will be saving the world together again.”
    The officers stood watching her, irritated at the delay, but unwilling to interrupt the