Page 79 of The Collector
Without warning, he launched himself across the clearing, arm raised, firing on the run. Ten shots in rapid succession. Ten rounds into the flesh of the beech tree. The same spot. One atop the other. Breathing heavily, he swung round and saw Ingrid staring at him as though he were a madman. Together they collected the spent cartridges and started back to the hotel.
40
PET Headquarters
The headquarters of the Politiets Efterretningstjeneste, Denmark’s Security and Intelligence Service, were located northwest of Copenhagen in the suburb of Søborg. The view from Lars Mortensen’s top-floor office was tranquil and unhurried. Very little ever went wrong in Mortensen’s world—except, of course, when Gabriel rolled into town.
“Surely,” he said, “you must have had at leastsomesuspicions about him.”
“Were we troubled by his relationship with the Russian president? Yes, of course. Did we think he should walk away from his joint venture with RuzNeft? Without question. But this?” Mortensen shook his head, mystified. “Who could imagine he could be involved in something so despicable?”
“You never watched him? Never listened to his calls or opened his mail?”
“This is Denmark, Allon. And Magnus Larsen—”
“Has been a Russian asset for twenty years.”
Mortensen allowed a moment to pass before speaking. “I assume there’s a recording of his interrogation in Berlin?”
Gabriel gave a small shrug to indicate it was so.
“He confessed to all of it?”
“Everything.”
“Rikke Strøm?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Do you believe his story?”
“That he had nothing to do with her death? If I didn’t, I would have handed him over to your colleagues at the Police of Denmark and washed my hands of him.”
“I should have been in Berlin, Allon. You had no right to question a Danish citizen without me being present.”
“You’re right, Lars,” said Gabriel with false contrition. “That was a mistake on my part.”
“One of many.” The Danish spy chief looked down at the two photographs Gabriel had placed on his desk. One showed an SVR assassin entering an out-of-the-way café on the island of Funen. The other showed the same SVR assassin lying dead on a narrow lane near the northern tip of the Jutland peninsula. “He was shot four times in the center of the chest and, inexplicably, once in the side of the knee.”
“That’s what he gets for trying to kill my dinner date.”
“Where is she now?”
“In a safe house within walking distance of DanskOil headquarters.”
“I want her.”
“I don’t blame you, Lars. But you can’t have her.”
“Why not?”
“Because we need her. Magnus, too.”
“We?”
“Adrian Carter and I. We’re working together again. You’re welcome to join us, if you like. It will be like old times.”
“What did you have in mind?”
