“We would be justified.”
“It would be a grave mistake.”
“Would it?”
“Sarah’s an American, not Israeli. The CIA will retaliate if they find out you roughed her up like that.”
“She was working for you when you spoon-fed us that disinformation about Abdullah being an MI6 asset.” Rebecca reclaimed the phone. “Don’t worry, the recording is for my personal use only.”
“Do you think it will be enough?”
“For what?”
“To save your career at the SVR.”
Rebecca fell silent while the waitress placed a glass of milky Dutch coffee before her. “Is that what this was about? Destroying me?”
“No. It was about destroyinghim.”
“Our president? You’re tilting at windmills, Don Quixote.”
“Wait a few hours for the news to sink in that the Kremlin ordered the assassination of the future king of Saudi Arabia. Russia will be the pariah of pariahs.”
“It was your assassination, not ours.”
“Good luck with that.”
“By the time the trolls from the Internet Research Agency are finished, no one in the world will believe we had anything do with it.” Rebecca added sugar to her coffee and stirred it thoughtfully. “And who’s going to enforce this so-called pariah status of yours? You? Great Britain? The United States?” She shook her head slowly. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the long-cherished institutions of the West are in tatters. We’re the only game in town. Russia, China, the Iranians...”
“You left out Saudi Arabia.”
“Once the American withdrawal from the Middle East is complete, the Saudis will realize they have nowhere else to turn to for protection but us, with or without Abdullah on the throne.”
“Not if Khalid is king.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that your plan?”
“The Allegiance Council will choose the next king, not the State of Israel. But my money is on the man who stayed by his beloved uncle’s side while he was suffering the terrible effects of a radioactive Russian poison.”
“You mean this?” She placed a small glass vial on the table.
Gabriel leaned away. “What is it?”
“It doesn’t have a name yet. I’m sure the Internet Research Agency will think of something catchy.” She smiled. “Something very Israeli-sounding.”
“Is there any chance Abdullah will survive?”
“None whatsoever.”
“And what about you, Rebecca?”
She returned the vial to her handbag.
“They’ll never trust you again,” said Gabriel. “Not after this. Who knows? They might even assume you’ve been working for MI6 since the moment you set foot in Moscow Center. Either way, you’d be a fool to go back. The best you can hope for is that they’ll lock you away in some desolate little village, the kind of place that has a number instead of a name. You’ll end up like your father, a broken-down old drunk, alone in the world.”
“You’ve no right to speak of my father like that.”
Gabriel accepted her rebuke in silence.
