THERE IS A STRICT ROUTINE to vacating an Office safe property, rules to follow, rituals to observe. They are prescribed by God and chiseled into stone. They are inviolable, even when a pair of Russians sit dead in a grassy common. And even when the operation’s brass ring lies bound and gagged in the back of an escape car. Gabriel and Eli Lavon engaged in the ceremonial purification of the safe flat now, silently and automatically, but with the devotion of zealots. Like their enemies, they were true believers.

At half past nine they locked the door and went down to the street. Another ritual ensued, the close inspection of the car for a bomb. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, they climbed inside. Gabriel allowed Lavon to drive. He was a pavement artist by instinct, not a wheelman, but his natural caution when operating a motor vehicle was at that moment an operational asset.

From Hamburg they drove south to a town called Döhle. Beyond it was a stand of dense trees accessed by only a rutted track with a sign that read privat. Mikhail had found it a day earlier, along with three suitable backup sites. The backups weren’t necessary; the woods were deserted. Lavon doused the headlights as he entered and navigated with only the yellow glow of the parking lamps. The trees were a mixture of evergreen and deciduous. Gabriel would have preferred birch trees, but birch forests weren’t common in the west of Germany. Only in the east.

Finally, the parking lamps illuminated a Volkswagen sedan waiting in a small clearing. Mikhail was leaning against the front fender, arms crossed, Keller next to him smoking a cigarette. At their feet lay Alexei Rozanov. His mouth was bound by duct tape, as were his hands. Not that restraint was necessary. The SVR officer was hovering somewhere between consciousness and coma.

“Has he said anything?”

“He didn’t have much of a chance,” replied Keller.

“Did he see your face?”

“I suppose so, but I doubt he remembers it.”

“Bring him back. I need to have a word with him.”

Keller fetched a liter bottle of mineral water from the back of the car and poured it over Rozanov’s face until the Russian stirred.

“Put him on his feet,” said Gabriel.

“I doubt he’ll stay there.”

“Do it.”