“Spite, I imagine. Whatever their motive, you can be sure DowningStreet is livid. After all, they were counting on the element of surprise to help secure the summit.”
“So much for the special relationship,” said Gabriel.
“There’s no such thing. Not anymore, at least. Vauxhall Cross is withholding intelligence from our friends at Langley on a broad range of issues, including Russia. You can be sure the Americans know nothing about Yuri Ivanov.”
“They will the minute the Danes put the cuffs on him.”
Christopher glanced at his wristwatch. “By my calculation we have exactly twenty-four hours before his arrest. At which point the curtain will fall on Operation Sapphire.”
“It was fun while it lasted.”
“I’ll say,” said Christopher, and ordered another drink.
Captain Yuri Ivanov began his last day of freedom with a leisurely breakfast at the Scandic Palace. Then he set off on another walking tour of Copenhagen, tailed by no fewer than eight PET officers on foot and a dozen more in unmarked vehicles.
This time his wanderings took him farther afield to Assistens Cemetery, burial place of Denmark’s most notable citizens, including the writer Hans Christian Andersen and the philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard. While Ivanov was standing before the grave of the nineteenth-century Danish painter Christen Købke, a woman of perhaps forty went to his side and their hands briefly touched. Four members of the surveillance team, after witnessing what appeared to be a rather sloppy brush contact, gave up the chase of the primary target and followed the woman instead. She led them from the cemetery straight to the Russian Embassy.
At which point Prime Minister Kalla Eriksen and her senior ministers reconvened in emergency session, this time with no outside observers present. Christopher went to the British Embassy to have a secure word with Vauxhall Cross, but Gabriel hid out at the Sanders with Ingrid. By midafternoon they were both stir-crazy, so they slipped out of the hotel and wandered over to the Strøget, Copenhagen’s pedestrian shopping street. Ingrid held Gabriel’s arm as they walked.
“Are you afraid you’re going to have a relapse?” he asked.
“Office doctrine, Mr. Allon. Remember?”
“A fancy hotel and a pretty girl?”
“Exactly. Besides, the Strøget is my home turf.” She pointed to a CCTV camera. “And you can be sure our friends at PET headquarters are watching our every move.”
Gabriel’s phone rang suddenly.
“See what I mean,” said Ingrid.
He drew the phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID. There was no name, but he recognized the number. It was the op center at PET headquarters.
He tappedacceptand lifted the phone to his ear. “Drones?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Allon,” said the voice at the other end of the connection. “But you and Ingrid need to get off the street immediately. Your friend from the GRU is headed straight for you.”
Gabriel killed the connection, then explained the situation to Ingrid. She pointed toward a busy café and said, “Let’s have a coffee, shall we?”
They went inside and were seated at a table against the window. Ingrid placed their order at once and then peered into the busy pedestrian street. Two minutes went by with no sign of Yuri Ivanov.
“I wonder what’s keeping him.”
“He must be doing a bit of shoplifting.”
“I got my Givenchy blazer just up the street.”
Gabriel shook his head with dismay. “Perhaps we should enjoy a moment or two of silence.”
“An uncomfortable silence, you mean? Yes, let’s.” The waiter delivered their coffees. Ingrid added artificial sweetener to hers and resumed her contemplation of the street. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Go see what he’s doing.”
“So much for the uncomfortable silence.”
“Pretend to walk out on me.”
“With pleasure.”
Gabriel tossed a banknote onto the table and went into the street. A crowd of about twenty people had gathered in a circle outside a nearby H&M boutique. He walked over at an unhurried pace, only to discover a man lying unconscious on the paving stones. A young woman was compressing the man’s chest in a desperate attempt to restart his heart. As she lowered her mouth toward his, Gabriel forced his way through the crowd and pulled the woman away. “Don’t!” he shouted. “Whatever you do, don’t touch him.”
