He continued westward across Turkey and Greece and eventually washed ashore in Corsica, where he fell into the waiting arms of Don Anton Orsati. With his northern European looks and SAS training, Christopher was a valuable addition to the don’s stable of Corsican-born assassins. His prophesized reunion with Gabriel occurred thirteen years after their first meeting. Gabriel survived the encounter only because Christopher declined a perfect opportunity to kill him. He returned the favor by convincing the director-general of the Secret Intelligence Service to give Christopher a job. Because the director was none other than Graham Seymour, the man who had sent Christopher into West Belfast, the negotiations went smoothly.
Under the generous terms of Christopher’s repatriation agreement, SIS provided him with a new identity and allowed him to keep the small fortune he had amassed working for the Orsati Olive Oil Company, a portion of which he had invested in his maisonette in Queen’s Gate Terrace. He acquired Sarah Bancroft soon after. Gabriel had initially opposed the relationship, but in the end he played a decisive role in their decision to marry. The wedding took place at an SIS safe house. Gabriel gave away the bride.
The SIS had also allowed Christopher to maintain possession of his comfortable villa on Corsica. Seated in a deck chair next to the swimming pool, Gabriel explained to his old friend the nature of the crime he was planning to perpetrate in the Principality of Monaco. Christopher, like Don Orsati before him, was deeply troubled by what he was hearing.
“You’ve placed me in a precarious situation.” He gave his glass of Johnnie Walker Black Label a shake, rattling the ice. “Very precarious, indeed.”
“With all due respect, Christopher, your entire life has been one long precarious situation.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I am now obligated to inform my superiors about your findings regarding the murder of Professor Charlotte Blake, including the role played by a former MI5 officer named Trevor Robinson. If your hacker’s allegations are true, it’s going to be a scandal for the ages.”
“The allegations are true,” said Gabriel.
“Prove it.”
“I intend to.”
“By stealing the names of Harris Weber’s clients?”
Gabriel nodded.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Depends on the names, I suppose.”
“Given the fact that Harris Weber & Company is, for all intents and purposes, a British firm, it is likely that many of its clients are British as well. It is also likely that some of them are public figures. People who’ve made a lot of money. Posh people with grand estates in Somerset and the Cotswolds. You see my point?”
“I don’t believe you’ve made one.”
“Those files, in the wrong hands, can do a lot of damage.”
“Or in the right hands,” replied Gabriel.
Christopher ignited a Marlboro with a gold Dunhill lighter and exhaled a cloud of smoke. It was carried away by a sudden gust of wind that bent the laricio pine trees surrounding the terrace.
“The plan?” he asked.
“Sorry,” answered Gabriel. “That’s need-to-know only.”
Christopher laid a sledgehammer hand on Gabriel’s forearm. “You were saying?”
Gabriel complied with the request for an operational briefing.
“How did our old friend René Monjean get mixed up in this?” asked Christopher.
“It was the don’s idea, actually.”
“In my experience, René doesn’t work for free.”
“He expects to be paid at some point.”
“And Ingrid?”
“She has more money than you do.”
“Are you two . . .”
“Are we what?”
“You know,” said Christopher.
“I don’t, actually.”
A female voice behind them calmly supplied the answer. “What your friend wants to know, Mr. Allon, is whether we’re sleeping together.”
Gabriel and Christopher swung around in their chairs in unison and saw Ingrid standing on the flagstone deck, clad in spandex athletic attire and a pair of Nike trainers.
“I’m going for a run. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
She turned without another word and was gone. Christopher drained the last of his whisky. “Don’t I feel like a complete ass.”
“You should, you reprobate.”
“Does she ever make a sound? And who the hell takes two-hour training runs?”
“Ingrid does.”
“Where did you find her?”
