Page 95 of The Cellist

“Really? Who?”

He paused the recording. “It sounds as though the evening went well.”

“Not as well as Arkady had hoped.”

“He made a pass at you?”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“And another?”

“Arkady would like us to enter into a long-term arrangement.”

“Sexual?”

“And professional.” Isabel handed over Arkady’s offer letter.

“The terms are rather generous,” said Gabriel after reviewing it. “But what exactly does he want you to do for all this money?”

“He’d like me to be his kapellmeister.”

“Meaning?”

“He wants me to serve as the liaison between Kremlin Incorporated and the financial services industry in the West.” She paused. “Head washerwoman.”

“He’s obviously impressed by your work.”

“So it would seem.”

Gabriel reset the time code on the recording and tapped theplayicon.

“In fact, one of my guests specifically asked me to invite you.”

“Really? Who?”

He paused the recording a second time. “After you arrived home safely last night, I rang an old friend who works for the DGSI, the French internal security service. And I asked the old friend whether his government knew of any high-profile Russians who were planning to celebrate the New Year in Courchevel. And the old friend, after calling a contact at the Service de la Protection, told me his name.”

“What’s the Service de la Protection?”

“The SDLP is an elite unit of the Police Nationale that looks after the president and visiting foreign dignitaries.”

“He’s a government official, this important figure from Moscow?”

“Quite a senior one.”

“Who is he?”

“The CEO of Kremlin Incorporated.” Gabriel smiled. “Mr. Big.”

47

Costa de Prata, Portugal

Gabriel’s old friend from France’s DGSI was a man named Paul Rousseau. Working together, they had destroyed the external terrorism division of the Islamic State, earning Gabriel the admiration and gratitude of France’s security establishment. For that reason, Rousseau had revealed closely guarded details of the Russian president’s pending private visit to France—details that Gabriel shared with Isabel in the familiar surroundings of Anna Rolfe’s villa on the Costa de Prata.

The Russian president, he explained, was scheduled to arrive at two p.m. on New Year’s Eve. His aircraft, a modified Ilyushin Il-96, would land at Chambéry Airport. There he would board a French government helicopter for the short flight to Courchevel, where he would attend a party at a luxury chaletowned by the oil trader and oligarch Arkady Akimov. A number of French businessmen and politicians were expected to attend the gathering as well, including several leading figures from the far right, which the Russian president supported clandestinely. A team of twelve officers from the Russian Presidential Security Service—a so-called light footprint, in the lexicon of the protective trade—would look after him inside the chalet. The SDLP would handle the perimeter, with support from uniformed Police Nationale officers. Anticipated departure from the chalet was one minute past midnight. Departure from Chambéry Airport was scheduled for one fifteen.

“Unless, of course, he’s running late, which is usually the case.”

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