Page 77 of The Collector
“All you have to do is compose a text message to the proper phone number stored in your contacts, and the phone embeds it in your most recent photograph and squirts it securely to the bird. Once the message leaves your Genesis, the software eliminates any trace of it, so you don’t have to worry about cleaning up after yourself.”
“What would happen if the Russians were to get their hands on it?”
“We subjected it to the murder board of all murder boards. Not one of our technicians was able to spot the software.”
“And if the Russians decided to break open the chassis?”
“They would find a great deal of Israeli technology, which they would undoubtedly attempt to reverse-engineer. Therefore, it is important that you never let your Genesis out of your sight.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” She was picking at the polish on her thumbnail. “The Russians know what I look like.”
“One version of you,” Gabriel pointed out. “But I’m told there are several others. Besides, the last place they would ever expect to find you is at the side of Comrade Larsenov.”
“They know my name, too.”
“A new identity and passport will take care of that.”
“Where am I going to get a new Danish passport?”
“From the director of the PET. Where else?”
“And when the director of Danish intelligence asks how we’re acquainted?”
“I’ll have no recourse but to tell him everything.”
“If you do that—”
“Your career as a thief will be officially over. But not to worry, a fresh start at DanskOil awaits.”
“A fossil fuel company? I’d rather go to jail.”
Gabriel exhaled heavily. “We’re really going to have to do something about your politics.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my politics.”
“You’re a woke social democrat and radical environmentalist.”
“So are you, as far as I can tell.”
“But I’m not sleeping with Magnus Larsen.”
“Neither am I, just so we’re clear.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that he would never get involved with someone like you. And he certainly wouldn’t introduce you to his Russian friends. You have to become a card-carrying member of the pro-Kremlin European far right.”
“An asshole? Is that what you mean?” She made a show of thought. “You know, I wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t stolen Peter’s damn phone.”
“Or the Vermeer,” added Gabriel.
“Or the jewelry and money from your cottage in Kandestederne. But it was great fun, wasn’t it?” She was silent for a long moment. Then she asked, “How does the camera work on the Genesis?”
The 1,900-acreforest and heathland known as Dübener Heide lay one hundred kilometers south of Potsdam in the German state of Saxony-Anhalt, between the Elbe and Mulde Rivers. In the center ofthe nature preserve was a small hotel. Gabriel and Ingrid ate lunch in the dining room, then set out along a footpath into a dense grove of beech trees.
“Come here often?” asked Ingrid.
“I used to a hundred years ago.”
“Why?”
