“His full name is Alexei Antonovich.” Keller inserted the flash drive into Gabriel’s laptop, typed in the encryption password, and opened the file. “He ran a string of mid-level SVR assets at embassies all over town. Made a run at a couple of MI5 officers, too. Frankly, MI5 never thought much of him. Neither did MI6. But when Alexei returned to Moscow Center, his star was suddenly in ascent.”

“Do we know why?”

“It probably had something to do with his friendship with the Russian president. Alexei is part of the tsar’s inner circle. A very big fish indeed.”

Gabriel scrolled through the MI6 file until he came to a photograph. It showed a man walking along a damp London street—Kensington High Street, according to the attached watch report. The subject had just left a luncheon meeting with a diplomat from the Canadian Embassy. The year was 1995. The Soviet Union was dead, the Cold War was over, and at Moscow Center nothing much had changed. The SVR regarded the United States, Great Britain, and the other members of the Western alliance as mortal enemies, and officers such as Alexei Antonovich Rozanov were ordered to spy the living daylights out of them. Gabriel compared the photograph to one of the shots from Copenhagen. The hairline was a bit higher, the face a bit fleshier and more decadent, but they were clearly the same man.

“The question is,” said Keller, “can we get him out in the open?”

“We don’t have to,” replied Gabriel. “Nazari is going to do it for us.”

“Another meeting?”

Gabriel nodded. Keller appeared dubious.

“Something wrong?”

“The negotiations between the United States and Iran are supposed to last another week.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, tapping a copy of the Times of London. “I think I read something about that in the papers this morning.”

“And when the talks adjourn,” said Keller pointedly, “Reza will no doubt go back to Tehran.”

“Unless he has pressing business elsewhere.”

“A meeting with Alexei Rozanov?”

“Exactly.”

Just then, a message flashed on the computer screen. It stated that the Iranian delegation had just returned to the InterContinental. Gabriel raised the volume and a moment later heard Reza Nazari prowling his hotel room.

“Doesn’t sound like a happy man to me,” said Keller.

Gabriel made no reply.

“There’s something else you haven’t considered,” Keller said after a moment. “There’s a good chance Alexei Rozanov won’t be interested in meeting with his co-conspirator.”

“Actually, I think Alexei is going to be relieved just to hear the sound of Reza’s voice.”

“How are you going to pull that off?”

Gabriel smiled and said, “Taqiyya.”