14 Berkeley Square
Berkeley Square
“Do everything we say, or the woman dies.”
The voice was female and fully automated. It was like listening to the voice of an answerphone.
“Look here now,” replied Gabriel agreeably, “there’s no need for melodrama, and no one is going to die. We both know what
this is about, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”
There was silence. It sounded to Gabriel as though they had muted the call. Edward Knight’s eyes were wide and unblinking.
Sotto voce he said, “What the hell is going on?”
Gabriel ignored the question. The automated voice had come on the line again.
“We want to speak to her husband,” it said.
“I’m sure you would, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal with me. Rest assured, I’ve done this sort of thing a time
or two. You’re in very good hands.”
A long moment crawled by before the automated voice issued another threat. “Put the husband on the phone, or we’ll kill her
right now.”
“No, you won’t. You see, that would be a rather poor business decision on your part.”
“Put him on the phone. Last chance.”
“Sorry, gentlemen. But that’s not going to happen.”
Knight was crimson. “Damn it, Allon! What in God’s name are you playing at?”
Gabriel shot him a dark look across the conference table. The phone at the other end of the connection was unmuted. Someone
was typing a response.
It came a few seconds later. “We want to give him our demands.”
“He has no interest in hearing your demands,” replied Gabriel. “And neither do I. Not until I know that Ms. Winter is alive
and well. It’s a very basic concept in my line of work. We call it proof of life.”
There was more typing on the open line, then, “You have to trust us.”
“That’s not going to happen either. But here’s what I’d like you to do. You’re going to take a photograph of Ms. Winter holding
the current issue of The Economist. You can find it at any reputable newsstand. A bit on the expensive side, I realize, but not to worry. If you play by the
rules, you will soon have all the money you need.”
They muted the call again. Edward Knight ignited another cigarette and resumed his restless pacing. “You’re pushing them too
hard, Allon.”
“Trust me, that was nothing more than a gentle nudge.”
The automated voice returned. “How do we contact you?”
Knight, relieved, expelled a cloud of smoke. Gabriel recited the number of one of the burner phones, then said, “You have
twenty-four hours. Otherwise we go to the police and sever all contact. Is that clear?”
The connection died without a response. Gabriel replaced the receiver, then marked the time. It was 9:05 p.m. “All in all,” he said, “I think that went rather well.” He paused, then added, “With one minor exception.”
“What’s that?” asked Knight.
“You told them my name.”
The Knight Group owned a number of commercial and residential properties in Mayfair, including the building in which its offices
were located and a spacious mews house in Adams Row. Gabriel toppled into the bed in the master suite at midnight and fell
into a dreamless sleep. The harsh ringtone of a mobile phone awakened him with a start shortly before seven the next morning.
Regrettably it was not the burner.
“Mind telling me where you are?” inquired Chiara.
Gabriel swung his feet to the floor and wandered over to the window. Parting the curtain, he peered into the empty street
below. “It appears as though I’m in London.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
He explained.
“An unexpected turn of events,” remarked Chiara.
“Not entirely. It was obvious to me from the start that she wasn’t murdered in a botched robbery.”
“It’s still possible, you know.”
“Which is why I insisted on proof of life before entertaining a demand for ransom.”
“And how will you determine whether the proof of life photo is genuine and not a deepfake?”
“At the risk of sounding immodest, I have a rather good eye.”
“For Raphaels and Leonardos, perhaps, but not for deepfake images. You need someone who knows a thing or two about digital forensics to tell the difference.”
“Any other helpful advice?”
“Don’t even think about serving as the bagman.”
There was no food in the apartment, so Gabriel walked to Popina for coffee. When he returned to the mews house, two blue-suited
security guards were standing watch at the door and Edward Knight was wandering the sitting room. His suit was freshly pressed
and his shirt was clean, but he looked dreadful nevertheless.
“Did you manage to get any sleep?” asked Gabriel.
“Not a minute.” Knight cast a glance at his wristwatch. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from them yet.”
“You would have been the first to know. But try not to worry, it’s still early.”
“There are only twelve hours left before your deadline.”
“And you can be sure they’ll use every minute of it. That’s the way the game is played.”
“And if they refuse to supply a photograph?”
“Then you’ll have no choice but to cut off negotiations.”
Knight lowered himself heavily into an armchair. “You left something in my office last night, a leather attaché case filled
with a considerable amount of cash. I don’t imagine that was an accident on your part.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I was under the impression that Higgins told you the unspent money was yours to keep.”
“Something tells me you’re going to need it more than I do.”
“A lousy five hundred thousand?”
“Not quite.”
“Yes,” said Knight. “I noticed that several thousand euros were missing.”
“I gave the money to a young Spanish woman who works at a beach café where Alice bumped into an old friend. With the woman’s
help, we were able to identify him.”
“Why did you give her so much?”
Gabriel explained.
“I see,” said Knight. “And the friend Alice bumped into?”
“His name is Peter Hoffmann. He works for—”
“Bank Josef B?nzinger & Company in Zurich. Peter and Alice were at Cambridge together.”
“Did she tell you that she ran into him?”
“Actually she didn’t mention it.”
“If my wife ran into an old friend from her university days, I’m certain she would tell me.”
“I trust Alice where Peter is concerned.”
“And why is that?”
“Peter looks after a substantial share of my personal fortune.” Knight drew a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket
of his suit jacket. “Do you mind?”
“No,” replied Gabriel with a frown. “Not in the least.”
Under the terms of his formal separation agreement from his old service, Gabriel had been allowed to retain possession of a fully updatable copy of Proteus, the world’s most formidable cell phone hacking malware.
Its most insidious feature was that it required no blunder on the part of the target, no unwise software update or click of an innocent-looking photograph or advertisement.
All Gabriel had to do was enter the target’s phone number into the application, and within minutes the device would be under his complete control.
He could read the target’s emails and text messages, review the target’s browsing history and telephone metadata, and monitor the target’s physical movements with the GPS location services.
Perhaps most important, he could activate the phone’s microphone and camera and thus turn the device into a full-time instrument of surveillance.
He waited until Knight had left the mews house to unleash Proteus on the phone that the kidnappers had used to make contact
the previous evening. Forty-five minutes elapsed before the malware informed him that repeated attempts to connect with the
device had proven unsuccessful. Gabriel reckoned it had been switched off or placed in a signal-blocking Faraday pouch—or
that it was lying on the bottom of a lake or a river. He nevertheless instructed Proteus to continue its labors. Professional
criminals, like spies and master terrorists, sometimes made mistakes.
He passed the remainder of the afternoon stretched out on the couch in the sitting room with the burner phone resting on his
chest. Shortly before six he shaved and showered and changed into clean clothing. Knight and Higgins arrived with a takeaway
dinner at seven, this time from Socca. They ate without appetite at the dining room table, the phone resting between them.
It rang at 8:05 p.m., an hour before the expiration of Gabriel’s deadline. He accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear. “Good evening,
Mr. Allon,” said the automated female voice. “Now, listen carefully.”