“The most logical course of action would be to open an internal investigation into whether Alistair Hughes is flogging your secrets to the Russians. You’ll be obligated to tell the Americans about the inquiry, which will send your relationship into the deep freeze. What’s more, you’ll have to bring your rivals at MI5 into the picture, which is the last thing you want.”
“And the second option?” asked Seymour.
“Let us watch Hughes for you.”
“Surely, you jest.”
“Sometimes. But not now.”
“It’s without precedent.”
“Not entirely,” replied Gabriel. “And it’s not without its advantages.”
“Such as?”
“Hughes knows your surveillance techniques and, perhaps more important, your personnel. If you try to watch him, there’s a good chance he’ll spot you. But if we do it—”
“You’ll have license to rummage into the private affairs of one of my officers.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Gabriel made it clear that such license was his already, with or without Seymour’s acquiescence. “He won’t be able to hide it from us, Graham, not if he’s under round-the-clock surveillance. If he’s in contact with the Russians, we’ll see it.”
“And then what?”
“We’ll hand the evidence over to you, and you can do with it as you see fit.”
“Or asyousee fit.”
Gabriel did not rise to the bait; the contest was nearly over. Seymour lifted his eyes irritably toward the grate in the ceiling. The air was Siberian cold.
“I can’t let you watch my Vienna Head without someone from our side looking over your shoulder,” he said at last. “I want one of my officers on the surveillance team.”
“That’s how we got into this mess in the first place, Graham.” Greeted by silence, Gabriel said, “Given the current circumstances, there’s only one MI6 officer I’d accept.”
“Have you forgotten that he and Alistair know each other?”
“No,” replied Gabriel, “that important fact has not suddenly slipped my mind. But don’t worry, we won’t let them within a mile of each other.”
“Not a word to the Americans,” demanded Seymour.
Gabriel raised his right hand, as though swearing a solemn oath.
“And no access whatsoever to any MI6 files or the inner workings of Vienna station,” Seymour insisted. “Your operation will be limited to physical surveillance only.”
“But his apartment is fair game,” countered Gabriel. “Eyes and ears.”
Seymour made a show of deliberation. “Agreed,” he said finally. “But do try to show a little discretion with your cameras and microphones. A man is entitled to a zone of immunity.”
“Unless he’s spying for the Russians. Then he’s entitled tovysshaya mera.”
“Is that Hebrew?”
“Russian, actually.”
“What does it mean?”
Gabriel punched the eight-digit numerical code into the internal keypad, and the locks opened with a snap.
Seymour frowned. “I’ll have that changed first thing in the morning.”
