“He’s a deserter and a professional killer. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

Gabriel only smiled. “A man in your position shouldn’t make idle threats.”

“I’m not.”

“Christopher Keller knows far too much about the private life of the British prime minister for HMG to ever put him on trial for desertion or anything else. Besides,” Gabriel added, “I suspect you have other plans for Keller.”

Seymour said nothing. Gabriel asked, “What else have you got in your briefcase?”

“A thick file on the life and times of Eamon Quinn.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“What we should have done years ago. Take him off the market as quickly as possible. And while you’re at it, find out who ordered and financed the operation to murder the princess.”

“Maybe Quinn’s returned to the fight.”

“The fight for a united Ireland?” Seymour shook his head. “That fight is over. If I had to guess, he killed her at the behest of one of his patrons. And we both know the cardinal rule when it comes to assassinations. It’s not important who fires the shot. It’s who pays for the bullet.”

Another gust of wind slammed against the windows. The lights dimmed and then died. The two spies sat in darkness for several minutes, neither man speaking.

“Who said that?” Gabriel asked finally.

“Said what?”

“That business about the bullet.”

“I believe it was Ambler.”

There was silence.

“I have other plans, Graham.”

“I know.”

“My wife is pregnant. Very pregnant.”

“So you’ll have to work quickly.”

“I suppose Uzi’s already approved it.”

“It was his idea.”

“Remind me to give Uzi a lousy assignment the moment after I’m sworn in as chief.”

A flash of lightning illuminated Seymour’s Cheshire cat grin. Then the darkness returned.

“I think I saw some candles in the kitchen when I was looking for a corkscrew.”

“I like the darkness,” said Gabriel. “It clarifies my thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to my wife.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Gabriel. “I’m wondering how Quinn knew the princess was going to be on that boat.”

9

BERLIN–CORSICA

THE SAVOY HOTEL STOOD at the unfashionable end of one of Berlin’s most fashionable streets. A red carpet stretched from its entrance; red tables stood beneath red umbrellas along its facade. The previous afternoon Keller had spotted a famous actor drinking coffee there, but now, as he emerged from the hotel’s entrance, the tables were deserted. The clouds were low and leaden and a cold wind was plucking the last leaves from the trees lining the pavements. Berlin’s brief autumn was receding. Soon it would be winter again.

“Taxi, monsieur?”

“No, thank you.”