The Rembrandt Affair

Seymour's offer of classified intelligence did nothing to mollify Zoe's anger. "Actually," she said pointedly, "I think it's time I had a word with my barrister."

"That's not necessary, Ms. Reed."

"How about my publisher?"

"Latham? I doubt they would react well to being dragged into this."

"Really? And how do you think the British public would react to an expose on how MI5 is spying on reporters?"

After years of being hounded by the press, Seymour was tempted to point out that the British public was more likely to enjoy reading about her affair with Martin Landesma

"Unfortunately," Seymour resumed, "Martin Landesma

"Martin Landesma

"A saint?" Seymour shook his head. "I read all about Saint Martin's good works in your article. But if I were you, I'd hold off on Martin's canonization until you hear all the evidence. This may be hard to accept at the moment, but he's deceived you. I'm offering you a chance to hear the truth."

Zoe appeared to wrestle for a moment over the word truth. Gazing at her face in the video monitors, Gabriel thought he detected the first signs of doubt in her eyes.

"You're not offering me anything," she shot back. "You're trying to blackmail me. Do you not see anything remotely unethical about that?"

"I've spent my entire professional life working for the Security Service, Ms. Reed. I'm conditioned to deal not in black-and-white but shades of gray. I see the world not as I would like it to be but as it is. And, for the record, we are not blackmailing you or pressuring you in any way. Quite simply, you have a choice."

"What sort of choice?"

"Option one, you can agree to help us. Your work will be extremely limited in scope and short in duration. No one will ever know a thing—unless you choose to violate the Official Secrets Act, which, obviously, we strongly discourage."

"And the second option?"

"I'll take you home, and we'll pretend this never happened."

She appeared incredulous. "And what happens to all the dirt you and your allies have accumulated? I tell you what will happen to it. It will find its way into a nice little file that will remain within easy reach of powerful fingers. And if I ever step out of line, or do anything to irritate Her Majesty's Government, the contents of that file will be used against me."

"If that were the case, Ms. Reed, we would have used it to prevent you from going to print with the Empire Aerospace scandal. But that's not the way it works in the real world, only in bad television dramas. The Security Service exists to protect the British people, not oppress them. We aren't bloody Russians, for God's sake. And you have my word that the material you refer to will be destroyed the moment you leave here."

She hesitated. "And if I stay?"

"You will be told an extremely compelling story by a very interesting man." Seymour leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined. "You have a reputation as a consummate professional, Ms. Reed. I'm counting on that reputation to help us get past any uncomfortable feelings this conversation might have provoked. Everything you think you know about Martin Landesma

In the upstairs study, Nigel Whitcombe and Gabriel stared at the screens, awaiting her reply. Whitcombe would later say he felt they were doomed. But not Gabriel. He saw in Zoe a kindred spirit, a woman cursed with an exaggerated sense of right and wrong. Whatever she had once felt for Saint Martin was now dissolving under the weight of Seymour's words. Gabriel could see it in the expression on her telegenic face. And he could hear it in the decisive tone of her voice when she looked Graham Seymour directly in the eyes and asked, "And this very interesting man? Who is he?"

"He's co

"You still haven't told me what it is you want me to do."

"I'll leave that to him. Shall I bring him in, Ms. Reed? Or shall I take you home?"

48

HIGHGATE, LONDON

Gabriel slipped silently into the room. At first, Zoe seemed unaware of his presence. Then her head turned slowly, and she studied him for a moment with an obvious curiosity, one half of her face illuminated by lamplight, the other concealed by shadow. Her pose was so motionless that for an instant Gabriel imagined he was gazing upon a portrait. Then she rose to her feet and extended a hand. "I'm Zoe," she said. "Who are you?"

Gabriel shot a glance at Graham Seymour before accepting the outstretched hand. "I'm a friend, Zoe. I'm also a great admirer of your work."

"And you're evading my question."

Seymour was about to intervene, but Gabriel stilled him with a small shake of his head. "I'm afraid that evading questions is an affliction common to men like Graham and me. We demand truthfulness in others while concealing ourselves behind a cloak of lies."

"Is it your intention to lie to me tonight?"

"No, Zoe. If you are prepared to listen to what I have to say, then you will be told only the truth."

"I'll listen. But no commitments beyond that."

"Do you have a problem with commitment, Zoe?"

"No," she said, holding his gaze. "Do you?"

"Actually, some people tell me I'm too committed."

"Committed to what?"

"I care about some of the same things you do, Zoe. I don't like powerful men who prey on the weak. I don't like men who take things that don't belong to them. And I certainly don't like men who do business with regimes that speak openly about wiping my country from the face of the earth."

She looked at Seymour, then at Gabriel again.

"You're obviously referring to Iran."

"I am."

"Which means you're Israeli."

"I'm afraid so."

"And the other country involved in this operation?"

"That would be the United States of America."

"Lovely." She sat down again and scrutinized him for a moment without speaking.

"Is there something you wish to ask me, Zoe?"