Page 97 of The Collector
Ordinarily, he would have taken comfort in the soundness of his plan and the care with which he had assembled and rehearsed it. But the plan for tonight, if there was one, was in the hands of Gennady Luzhkov. Gabriel would be nothing more than a distant observer, helpless to influence the course of events. For an operational mastermind of his stature, it was the equivalent of driving a car without a steering wheel or throttle.
He was certain, however, that he could not spend the rest of the afternoon pacing the floors of the safe house, so he rang Lars Mortensen and requested a PET security detail. At half past four, with the afternoon light fading, the two bodyguards were followinghim along Strøget, Copenhagen’s famed pedestrian shopping street. Eli Lavon, in a fedora and a woolen overcoat, walked beside him. The watcher’s eyes were restless.
“They’re the happiest people in the world, the Danes. Did you know that?”
“Second happiest,” said Gabriel.
Lavon was incredulous. “Who’s happier than the Danish people?”
“Finns.”
“I thought Finns were the most depressed.”
“They are.”
“So how can they be the happiest people in the world and the most depressed as well?”
“It’s a statistical anomaly.”
Gabriel slowed to a stop outside a sporting goods store. On the second floor of the building, its windows darkened, was Nielsen Antiquarian.
He looked at Lavon and smiled. “So much for some scandals being too big to sweep under the rug.”
“We have a long night ahead of us.”
They entered a café on the opposite side of the street. Gabriel ordered their coffees in German-accented English while Lavon took inventory of the patrons at the surrounding tables.
“Looking for something?” asked Gabriel.
“A Russian assassin preparing to kill you.”
“They’ve already tried that.”
“You know what they say. Fourth time’s the charm.”
“That’s not what they say, Eli.”
They carried their coffees to a table outside in the street. The two bodyguards stood watch nearby.
Lavon lit a cigarette. “How long do you think it would take them to draw their weapons from beneath their coats?”
“Several seconds longer than it would take me to draw mine. Unless, of course, I’m overcome by smoke.”
Lavon slowly crushed out his cigarette. “You realize, I hope, that you’re engaging in displacement activity.”
“Am I?”
“It’s a psychological defense mechanism in which—”
“I know what displacement activity is, Eli. I was paying attention that day at the academy.”
“So what’s really bothering you? And don’t tell me that it’s my one bad habit.”
“I’m worried about Ingrid.”
“She knows what she’s doing,” replied Lavon. “And we trained her to within an inch of her life. We also reminded her, over and over again, to walk away if necessary.”
“She has a stubborn streak.”
