“If I had to guess,” said Gabriel, “it was Alistair Hughes.”
Her expression darkened.
“How did you know he was seeing a doctor in Switzerland?”
“He told me that, too. I was the only person inside Six he trusted.”
“Big mistake.”
“Alistair’s, not mine.”
“You were lovers?”
“For nine dreadful months,” she said, rolling her eyes. “In Baghdad.”
“I assume Alistair felt differently.”
“He was quite in love with me. The fool actually wanted to leave Melinda.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
She said nothing.
“Your romantic interest in him was professional in nature?”
“Of course.”
“Moscow Center suggested the affair?”
“Actually, I undertook it on my own initiative.”
“Why?”
She stared long and deliberately at one of the cameras, as if to remind Gabriel that their conversation was being monitored. “On the day my father died,” she said, “Alistair and I were working at Brussels Station. As you might imagine, I was quite distraught. But Alistair was...”
“Pleased by the news?”
“Overjoyed.”
“And you never forgave him for it?”
“How could I?”
“You must have noticed the pills when you were sleeping with him.”
“They were rather hard to miss. Alistair was a mess in Baghdad. He was even worse after I broke off the affair.”
“But you remained friends?”
“Confidants,” she suggested.
“And when you learned he was making secret trips to Switzerland without telling Vauxhall Cross?”
“I filed the information away for a rainy day.”
“The rain began to fall,” said Gabriel, “when VeeVee Gribkov tried to defect in New York.”
“Torrentially.”
