“Not just dead,” replied Nazari. “He wanted it done in such a way that Russia couldn’t be implicated. He also wanted to punish the British. Graham Seymour, in particular.”

“Which is why the Russians chose Eamon Quinn.”

Nazari said nothing.

“I take it you were familiar with Quinn’s name.”

“I considered him a friend.”

“Because you were the one who retained Quinn to build antitank weapons for Hezbollah.”

Nazari nodded.

“A weapon that could make a ball of fire travel a thousand feet per second.”

“They were very effective, as the IDF discovered.”

Yaakov reached for Nazari in anger, but Gabriel stopped him and continued with his questioning.

“What did Rozanov want from you?”

“At that point, only an introduction.”

“And you agreed?”

“When it came to you,” said Nazari, “our interests intersected with those of the Russians.”

At that time, Nazari resumed, Quinn was living in Venezuela under the protection of a dying Hugo Chavez. His future was uncertain. It was not at all clear that Chavez’s successor would allow him to remain in the country or have use of a Venezuelan passport. Cuba was a possibility, but Quinn wasn’t interested in living under the thumb of the Castro brothers. He needed a new home, a new sponsor.

“The timing,” said Nazari, “couldn’t have been better.”

“Where did you meet?”

“In a hotel in downtown Caracas.”

“Was there anyone else there?”

“Rozanov brought a woman.”

Gabriel held up a photograph of Katerina standing on Quinn’s balcony in Lisbon. Nazari nodded.

“What was her role in the operation?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details. At that point, I was just the conduit to Quinn.”

“How much was he paid?”

“Ten million.”

“In advance?”

“On completion of the assignment.”

“My death?”

Nazari glanced at Keller and said, “His, too.”

Which brought them back to Copenhagen. Alexei Rozanov was on edge that night, but excited. The first target had been chosen. All Rozanov needed was someone to whisper Quinn’s name into the ear of Israeli and British intelligence. He asked Nazari to be his messenger, and Nazari promptly turned him down.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to do anything that might endanger my position with Mr. Taylor.”

“What changed your mind?”

Nazari was silent.

“How much did he pay you, Reza?”

“Two million.”

“Where’s the money?”

“He wanted to deposit it in a Moscow bank, but I insisted on Switzerland.”

Gabriel asked Nazari for the name of the bank, the account number, and any passwords. Nazari supplied the information. The bank was in Geneva. Recently, the Office had found it necessary to examine the institution’s balance sheet. Getting access to Nazari’s funds wouldn’t pose much of a challenge.

“I don’t suppose you mentioned any of this to Mohsen Esfahani.”

“No,” Nazari answered after a moment’s hesitation. “Mohsen knows nothing.”

“And your wife?” asked Gabriel. “Did you mention it to her?”