Page 9 of The Cellist

“Since you weren’t available, I was hoping I could convince David Bull to take it on.”

“I thought he was in New York these days.”

“He is. I had lunch with him before I left. Such a lovely man.”

“Have you discussed it with him?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Who else knew about the sale to Viktor other than Julian?”

“No one.”

“And you didn’t let it slip at Wilton’s?”

“I’m a former intelligence officer and undercover operative. I don’t let thingsslip.”

“And what about Viktor?” Gabriel persisted. “Did he tell anyone that you were coming to Cheyne Walk last night?”

“With Viktor, I suppose anything’s possible. But why do you ask?”

Christopher answered on Gabriel’s behalf. “He’s wondering whether the Russians were trying to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Viktor and me?”

“You do have a rather long track record when it comes to Russians,” Gabriel pointed out. “It stretches all the way back to our old friend Ivan Kharkov.”

“If Moscow Center had wanted to kill me, they would have made an appointment to see a painting at Isherwood Fine Arts.”

Gabriel directed his gaze toward Christopher. “And you’re sure the contaminated documents were in fact delivered by Nina Antonova?”

“We didn’t see her place the bloody things on Viktor’s desk, if that’s what you’re asking. But someone gave them to Viktor, and Nina is the most likely candidate.”

“Why didn’t Jonathan mention her name this morning outside Number Ten?”

“National pride, for a start. As you can imagine, there were red faces all round when we realized that she’d slipped out of the country even before we started looking for her. The home secretary is planning to make the announcement tomorrow morning.”

“But what if Sarah is right? What if Nina was deceived into delivering those documents? And what if Viktor managed to warn her before he died?”

“She should have called the police instead of fleeing the country.”

“She doesn’t trust the police. You wouldn’t either if you were a Russian journalist.”

Gabriel’s phone pulsed with an incoming message. He had been forced, at long last, to part company with his beloved BlackBerry Key2. His new device was an Israeli-made Solaris, reputedly the world’s most secure mobile phone. Gabriel’s had been customized to his unique specifications. Larger and heavier than a typical smartphone, it was capable of fending off remote attacks from the world’s most sophisticated hackers, including the American NSA and Russia’s Special Communications Service, or Spetssviaz.

Christopher eyed Gabriel’s device enviously. “Is it as secure as they say?”

“I could send an email from the middle of the Doughnut with complete confidence that HMG would never be able to read it.” The Doughnut was how employees of Britain’s GCHQ referred to their circular headquarters in Cheltenham.

“May I at least hold it?” asked Christopher.

“In the age of Covid? Don’t even think about it.” Gabriel entered his fourteen-character hard password, and the text message appeared on the screen. He frowned as he read it.

“Something wrong?”

“Graham has asked me to come to dinner. Apparently, Helen is making couscous.”

“My condolences. I’m only sorry I won’t be joining you.”