to Gabriel. The banner headline read: TERROR AND KIDNAPPING IN LONDON . But it was the headline at the bottom of the page that seized Gabriel’s attention: ISRAEL INTELLIGENCE OFFICER INVOLVED IN AMBUSH IN HYDE PARK . Beneath the headline was a grainy image of Gabriel pointing his Beretta into the face of Samir al-Masri. Inside was a second photograph: the mug shot taken of him in New Scotland Yard in the hours after the attack.
“The photograph of you in the park was taken by a passerby with a mobile phone camera. Poor quality, but quite dramatic. Congratulations, Gabriel. I suppose you now have another group of terrorists that would like your head on a platter.”
Gabriel switched on his reading lamp and scanned the article. It contained his real name, along with a largely accurate depiction of his professional exploits.
“Is your service responsible for this?”
“Trust me, Gabriel, I have enough headaches at the moment. I don’t need one more. The sourcing is vague, but obviously the leak must have come from someone at the Met. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a senior officer attempting to curry favor with an important newspaper. Regardless of how it happened, it does mean that you’re not going to be allowed to leave the country until all the questions of your involvement in this affair are sorted out and aired in a proper forum.”
“The details of my involvement in this affair are quite clear, Graham. I came to London to warn you that a cell of terrorists from Amsterdam was probably in England preparing for a major attack. You chose to ignore that warning. Would you like me to air that in front of a proper forum?”
Seymour appeared to give the question serious thought before responding. “You are charged with several serious offenses, including entering Britain on a false passport, illegal possession of a firearm, and the unlawful discharge of that firearm in a public place.”
“I discharged my illegal firearm into three terrorist murderers.”
“It doesn’t matter. You have to remain in Britain until we get this sorted out. To release you now would be to invite wailing and gnashing of teeth from all quarters.” Seymour gave a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Gabriel. We’ve arranged comfortable quarters for you. You’re lucky. You get to leave London. The rest of us have to stay here and live with the aftermath of this attack.”
“Does my service know I’m in custody?”
“They will shortly. We’ve just notified the legal liaison officer at your embassy, as well as your declared chief of station.”
The car turned into the driveway of Thames House, MI5’s imposing riverfront headquarters. Vauxhall Cross, the headquarters of MI6, the foreign intelligence service, stood on the opposite side of the river overlooking the Albert Embankment.
“My driver will run you out to one of our safe houses,” Seymour said. “Don’t even consider attempting to escape. He’s well armed and an excellent shot.”
“Where would I go, Graham? I don’t have a passport.”
“I’m sure you could come up with one.”
Seymour reached for the door but stopped himself. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Gabriel? Anything that might help us locate Elizabeth Halton?”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Everything except the name of your source in Amsterdam.”
“I promised to protect him, Graham. You remember what it means to protect a source.”
“At times like these, sources aren’t for protecting. They’re to be used and burned.”
“I’d rather not torch this one, Graham. He risked his life by coming to us.”
“Have you at least considered the possibility that he’s somehow linked to this affair?”
“He’s not.”
“I hope you’re right,” Seymour said. “It’s been my experience that sources rarely tell the whole truth. In fact, more times than not, they lie. That’s what sources do. That’s why they’re sources in the first
“The photograph of you in the park was taken by a passerby with a mobile phone camera. Poor quality, but quite dramatic. Congratulations, Gabriel. I suppose you now have another group of terrorists that would like your head on a platter.”
Gabriel switched on his reading lamp and scanned the article. It contained his real name, along with a largely accurate depiction of his professional exploits.
“Is your service responsible for this?”
“Trust me, Gabriel, I have enough headaches at the moment. I don’t need one more. The sourcing is vague, but obviously the leak must have come from someone at the Met. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a senior officer attempting to curry favor with an important newspaper. Regardless of how it happened, it does mean that you’re not going to be allowed to leave the country until all the questions of your involvement in this affair are sorted out and aired in a proper forum.”
“The details of my involvement in this affair are quite clear, Graham. I came to London to warn you that a cell of terrorists from Amsterdam was probably in England preparing for a major attack. You chose to ignore that warning. Would you like me to air that in front of a proper forum?”
Seymour appeared to give the question serious thought before responding. “You are charged with several serious offenses, including entering Britain on a false passport, illegal possession of a firearm, and the unlawful discharge of that firearm in a public place.”
“I discharged my illegal firearm into three terrorist murderers.”
“It doesn’t matter. You have to remain in Britain until we get this sorted out. To release you now would be to invite wailing and gnashing of teeth from all quarters.” Seymour gave a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Gabriel. We’ve arranged comfortable quarters for you. You’re lucky. You get to leave London. The rest of us have to stay here and live with the aftermath of this attack.”
“Does my service know I’m in custody?”
“They will shortly. We’ve just notified the legal liaison officer at your embassy, as well as your declared chief of station.”
The car turned into the driveway of Thames House, MI5’s imposing riverfront headquarters. Vauxhall Cross, the headquarters of MI6, the foreign intelligence service, stood on the opposite side of the river overlooking the Albert Embankment.
“My driver will run you out to one of our safe houses,” Seymour said. “Don’t even consider attempting to escape. He’s well armed and an excellent shot.”
“Where would I go, Graham? I don’t have a passport.”
“I’m sure you could come up with one.”
Seymour reached for the door but stopped himself. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Gabriel? Anything that might help us locate Elizabeth Halton?”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Everything except the name of your source in Amsterdam.”
“I promised to protect him, Graham. You remember what it means to protect a source.”
“At times like these, sources aren’t for protecting. They’re to be used and burned.”
“I’d rather not torch this one, Graham. He risked his life by coming to us.”
“Have you at least considered the possibility that he’s somehow linked to this affair?”
“He’s not.”
“I hope you’re right,” Seymour said. “It’s been my experience that sources rarely tell the whole truth. In fact, more times than not, they lie. That’s what sources do. That’s why they’re sources in the first
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