“Keep talking, Konnie.”
“It wasn’t much of an operation, really. All we had to do was ask Abdullah to set aside a few minutes of time while he was in London.”
“That was your job?”
Dragunov nodded. “That’s the way these things work. It’s always a friend.”
“He came through the passageway in the basement?”
“He didn’t come through the front door, did he?”
“What did you give him besides a glass of Louis Roederer?”
“He drank two glasses, actually.”
“Both were contaminated?”
Dragunov nodded.
“What was the substance?”
“I wasn’t told.”
“Maybe you should have asked.”
Dragunov said nothing.
“Why didn’t the woman come to the airport with you?”
“Why don’t you askher?”
“Because I killed her, Konstantin. And I’m going to kill you unless you keep talking.”
“Bullshit.”
Gabriel awakened his BlackBerry and laid it on the table in front of Dragunov. On the screen was a photograph of a blood-spattered woman hanging out the front door of a Renault Clio.
“Jesus.”
Gabriel returned the BlackBerry to his jacket pocket. “Go on, Konnie.”
“The Englishwoman wanted us to leave Britain separately. Anna was supposed to leave tonight on the Harwich–to–Hoek van Holland ferry. The eleven o’clock.”
“Anna?”
“Yurasova. The president has known her since she was a kid.”
“The operative at the hotel was supposed to leave with her?”
Dragunov nodded. “His name is Nikolai.”
“Where were they planning to go when they got to Holland?”
“If it was safe for them to get on a plane, they were going to head straight for Schiphol.”
“And if it wasn’t?”
“There’s a safe house.”
