Katerina stared at him incredulously. “You’re mad,” she said. “You’ll never be able to pull it off alone.”

“I won’t be alone. You’re going to help me.”

“I have no interest in helping you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.”

They arrived back at the hotel. Katerina dropped her cigarette to the pavement and followed Quinn inside. The gray-haired woman was still working on her needlepoint in the alcove. Quinn informed her that they would be leaving in a few minutes.

“So soon?” she asked.

“Sorry,” said Quinn, “but something’s come up.”

55

HAMBURG

AT THAT SAME MOMENT Austrian Airlines Flight 171 from Vienna touched down in Hamburg and started toward its gate. Unbeknownst to the carrier, the passengers included an Iranian intelligence officer and his Israeli handler. The two men were seated several rows apart and did not communicate during the flight. Nor did they speak as they hiked through the terminal toward passport control. There they joined the same line and both were admitted into Germany after only a cursory inspection of their travel documents. In the Hamburg safe flat, Gabriel celebrated his first small victory. Crossing borders was always tricky for Iranians, even Iranians with diplomatic passports in their pockets.

VEVAK’s travel department had arranged a car for Reza Nazari through the Iranian consulate. It collected him at the arrivals level of the terminal and took him directly to the Marriott Hotel in the Neustadt. He arrived at 7:45 p.m., checked in, and went upstairs to his room, leaving the Do Not Disturb sign on the latch before entering. Two minutes later there was a knock at the door. He opened it and Yaakov Rossman came inside.

“Any last questions?” he asked.

“No questions,” replied Nazari. “Just a demand.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Reza.”

Nazari managed a weak smile. “Alexei always calls me before we meet. If I don’t pick up, he won’t come. It’s as simple as that.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“It must have slipped my mind.”

“You’re lying.”

“Whatever you say.”

The Iranian was still smiling. Yaakov was staring at the ceiling in anger.

“How much is it going to cost me to make you answer the phone?” he asked.

“I want to hear the sound of my wife’s voice.”

“It’s not possible. Not now.”

“All things are possible, Mr. Taylor. Especially tonight.”