58 Old Burlington Street

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."

"Were it not for me ," she replied, "handsome Hugh would never have become an MP in the first place. I made him who he is."

A worldwide embarrassment, thought Gabriel.

Finally, the protection officer moved away from the door, and the gray Range Rover eased forward. Lucinda increased the volume.

The BBC's presenters and political analysts were struggling to make sense of the drama unfolding before their eyes.

"You won't forget our deal, will you, Mr. Allon?"

"For better or worse, Lucinda, I am a man of my word."

She rose to her feet, looking suddenly drained. "May I ask you a question before you leave?"

"You want to know what I'm doing with Trevor Robinson's phone?"

Lucinda's eyes were vacant. "I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with anyone by that name."

"That makes two of us," replied Gabriel, and went out.

***

The Bentley was parked in a loading zone at the southern end of Old Burlington Street. Gabriel slid into the back seat next

to Ingrid, and the car rolled away from the curb. The team on Radio 4 was at a loss for words, surely a first in the history

of British broadcasting.

"I assume you had something to do with this," said Christopher.

"It was Lucinda's idea. I just helped her reach the best decision for the sake of the country."

"How?"

"By promising her that she would face no charges in the murder of Charlotte Blake."

Christopher looked at Peel. "Do you think you can manage that, Timothy?"

"That depends on whether or not I still have a job."

"Not to worry. I'll explain everything to your chief constable."

"Everything?"

"Maybe five percent of everything." Christopher turned into Piccadilly and glanced at Gabriel in the rearview. "Are you quite

finished?"

"I certainly hope so. I'm exhausted."

"What are your plans?"

"The two o'clock British Airways flight to Venice. If it departs on schedule, I'll be home in time for dinner."

"I'll drop you at Heathrow on the way to Exeter. But what about your partner in crime?"

"She's coming with me."

Ingrid looked at Gabriel with surprise. "I am?"

"When those documents from Harris Weber are made public, several hundred very rich people are going to be extremely angry,

including a few Russians. I think it would be a good idea for you to stay in Venice until the storm blows over. If you can

behave yourself, that is."

Frowning, Ingrid drew her phone. "I've always been fond of the Cipriani."

Gabriel laughed. "Perhaps you should stay with us instead."