“Torture, I know.”
He smiled, and she smiled back. There was something between them. He knew it. She knew it. They’d felt it at the clinic, and they hadn’t been mistaken. She hated it when it was like this: when there was chemistry. Later, it might make things easier, but now she felt vulnerable and exposed. It was easier to pretend with a man you despised.
To steel herself, she replayed her conversation with Zvi Gelber from the day before. The one where her entire plan nearly crashed down upon her.
“You’ve been a naughty girl,” said Zvi Gelber.
“You’re in,” said Ava, feeling a rush of excitement.
She was on the train to St. Moritz, a six-hour ride. They rode comfortably alongside the Rhine, hardly more than a turbulent stream. Beyond it, the magnificent Grand Resort Bad Ragaz.
“Don’t thank me,” said Gelber. “Thank Zeus.”
“Zeus?” said Ava. “I thought you used Pegasus.”
“It’s an upgrade,” said Gelber. “Who needs a flying horse when you can have the god of gods?”
Zeus (formerly Pegasus) was the name of the spyware attached to the invoice Dr. Lutz had emailed to TNT. Once downloaded—Click on the link—Zeus took over a device’s operating system and gave Zvi Gelber and his team of computer geniuses the ability to steal text messages, emails, key logs, and every bit of information from every app on his phone, as well as any other device linked to it. At the same time, Zeus allowed Gelber to take over the device’s camera and microphone. He could film videos, snap pictures, and eavesdrop in real time.
“We found Abbasi,” said Gelber. “Don’t ask how.”
Abbasi. The man with whom, according to Gerhard Lutz, TNT had been so urgently speaking.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” continued Gelber. “He’s been scrubbed. All mention of him removed from the net. Reza Abbasi. Professor emeritus of nuclear physics at Tehran University. Ranking member of Al-Quds Brigade of the Revolutionary Guard, and most recently, and the reason for his public disappearance, reactor group chief at Natanz Nuclear Facility.”
Natanz Nuclear Facility, where the Iranians were busy enriching uranium with hopes of one day building a nuclear weapon. The most secret facility in all the Middle East. “I had no idea,” said Ava. “I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily.”
“Consider me necessarily alarmed,” said Gelber. “Now tell me everything. Spill.”
Ava relayed all Lutz had told her about TNT’s conversation with Abbasi. When she finished, Gelber was silent. “Zvi? You there?”
“Lutz heard him say the name ‘Samson,’” said Gelber, as if he were questioning her on the stand. “You’re sure?”
“Now you know why I called.”
“Good girl,” said Gelber. “It was smart to come to me.”
“Of course I did,” said Ava. “You’re my rabbi.” “Rabbi” meant the person she trusted above all others. “Did you find anything?”
“First the good news,” said Gelber. “We confirmed the call from Tariq al-Sabah to Reza Abbasi. Thirty-two minutes in length. Date matches what Lutz said. Substantial email correspondence between them followed. Both men were cagey. They know enough not to write anything incriminating. There was no mention of any kind of bomb or device. Abbasi met with Tariq al-Sabah in Doha a week ago and agreed to a fee of one million US to provide plans for a transmitter designed for the one-kiloton device we liked to call ‘Samson.’”
Ava felt her breath catch. Not good news at all. The worst possible news.
“Abbasi traveled to the Samedan airport three days ago,” said Gelber. “TNT insisted he deliver the plans by hand.”
“Why did he insist on hand delivery?”
“Now the bad news,” said Gelber. “Because he’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“He’s concerned he’s being watched.”
“He’s always being watched,” said Ava. “It’s what he does. He wants the whole world to look at him.”
“Not like this,” said Gelber. “We believe that Al-Sabah’s phone is hardened. He has software installed to detect spyware.”
“I thought Zeus was undetectable,” said Ava.
