At exactly 10:45 a.m., as Hillary Edwards was handing her resignation to the King, a silence fell over the gathering, and the firm’s stunned employees turned to face the televisions. No one dared to raise the volume, but then it wasn’t necessary; the breaking news banner at the bottom of the screen was sufficient. Lucinda was the last to notice it. Her brittle smile faded, but the hand holding the champagne flute remained steady.

“Turn it up, please,” she said after a moment, and someone increased the volume. The voice they heard was Lucinda’s; there was no mistaking her throaty contralto. It was a recording of a conversation she had had some months earlier with Lord Michael Radcliff, the fallen Conservative Party treasurer and a longtime Lambeth client. They were discussing a plan to bring down the Edwards government. The BBC presenters and political analysts had dispensed with any semblance of objectivity and were beside themselves with indignation.

“Will you excuse me?” said Lucinda, and climbed the internal staircase to the sixth floor. The privacy blinds in her office were drawn, which had not been the case when she went down to the reception. The culprit was standing before the window overlooking Old Burlington Street, a hand to his chin, his head tilted slightly to one side. Lucinda managed not to scream when he turned to face her.

“You,” she gasped.

“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “Me.”

58

Old Burlington Street

How did you get in here?”

“You left the door open.”

“Get out,” Lucinda said through clenched teeth. “Otherwise, I’ll have you arrested.”

Gabriel smiled. “Please do.”

She went to her desk and snatched up the receiver of the phone.

“Put it down, Lucinda. You’ll thank me later.”

She hesitated, then replaced the receiver.

“A much more sensible play on your part.”

She pointed toward the television. “I suppose this is all your doing.”

“It was the Telegraph that broke the story. It says so on the bottom of the screen.”

“Where did Samantha Cooke get that recording?”

“Since there were only two people in the room at the time, I’m betting it was Lord Radcliff. He’s a client of your firm, if I’m not mistaken. And when he required untraceable offshore shell companies to conceal some of his more unsavory business dealings, you sent him to Harris Weber & Company. You’ve been funneling wealthy clients to them for years. And in the process, you’ve earned hundreds of millions in fees and kickbacks. You’re part of the team, a member of the family.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Mr. Allon. We’re all part of the team. There isn’t a bank or investment house in London that isn’t in bed with Harris Weber. And the best part is, it’s all perfectly legal.”

“But Hillary Edwards planned to shut down the London Laundromat, which is why she had to be removed from office. Your colleagues asked you to handle the dirty work. After all, you and your husband had the most to gain.” Gabriel glanced at the television. “And the most to lose, as it turns out.”

“There’s nothing illegal about scheming against one’s political rivals, Mr. Allon. We’ve been doing it on this blessed plot for more than a millennium.”

“I doubt the Crown Prosecution Service would agree. Fortunately for you, I’m enormously fond of this country and have no desire to see its political system thrown into chaos. Not when democracies around the world are under siege. Therefore, I’m prepared to be reasonable.” He paused, then added, “Which is more than you deserve.”

Lucinda closed the door to her office and lowered herself decorously onto her couch. Gabriel couldn’t help but admire her display of outward composure. She was miscast as a money launderer, he thought. She would have made an excellent spy.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Thank you, no.”

She poured a cup for herself and turned to face the television. Her husband’s Range Rover was at a standstill in the central quadrangle of Buckingham Palace. A protection officer stood next to the rear door, which was closed tight. As yet, there was no sign of the King’s equerry.

“Care to make a prediction?” asked Lucinda.

“I’m more interested in yours.”

“The equerry will appear in a moment and escort Hugh to the 1844 Room, where His Majesty will ask him to form a government. This minor scandal will blow over in a few days, in large part because the Party backbenchers are quite pleased that the hapless Hillary Edwards is gone. Furthermore, they will conclude that yet another leadership contest will do more harm than good.”

“Isn’t it pretty to think so,” replied Gabriel.

“All right, Mr. Allon. Let’s hear your prediction.”

“Your husband’s term as prime minister, if it comes to pass, will be measured in days, if not hours. The Party will select a new leader in short order, and you will face charges of criminal tax evasion and money laundering. In addition, you are likely to be indicted as an accessory in the murder of Charlotte Blake.”

“I had nothing to do with her death.”

“But you definitely warned your partners at Harris Weber about her investigation into the Picasso. You did so because a number of your high-profile clients were using the art strategy to move their wealth offshore. Trevor Robinson, the firm’s head of security, made the problem go away.”

“I’m not familiar with anyone by that name.”

“Trevor is the one who arranged for my friend and me to be kidnapped yesterday. With your help, of course. You invited me here to determine how much I knew. And when it became clear that I knew a great deal, Trevor and his goons snatched us from a car park in Garrick Street. You undoubtedly assumed that I was dead. Which is why you turned as white as a sheet when you saw me a moment ago.”

“You have a vivid imagination, Mr. Allon.”

He drew Trevor Robinson’s mobile phone from his jacket pocket and dialed. Lucinda’s phone vibrated an instant later. “Perhaps you should answer that.”

She looked at the number displayed on the screen and declined the call. Then her gaze settled once again on the television, where the standoff at the Palace continued.

“Terms,” she said quietly.

“Call your husband. Tell him to leave the Palace and resign as Party leader.”

“And if I do?”

“I will make certain that you are never linked to the murder of Professor Blake.”

Lucinda was incredulous. “And just how do you intend to do that, Mr. Allon?”

“I have a number of influential friends here in London.” Gabriel smiled. “At least that’s the rumor.”

Lucinda reluctantly took up her phone and typed, then placed it face down on the coffee table. Together they watched the image on the screen, a gray Range Rover motionless in a maroon-colored courtyard.

“Perhaps you should send him another message,” said Gabriel.

“Give him a minute. It’s not easy to let go of Number Ten. It’s all he ever wanted.”

“He could have had it were it not for you.”