The Cellist by Daniel Silva
62Wilmington, Delaware
Gabriel began his briefing not with the document he had brought from Tel Aviv but with the operation that had produced it—the operation against Arkady Akimov and the private intelligence unit hidden within his Geneva-based company. The president-elect’s knowledge of the unfolding scandal involving NevaNeft and the Russian leader’s personal finances was limited to what his staff had culled from the media. His daily intelligence briefings, which he had only belatedly begun to receive, had contained no mention of the story.
“Did Langley know about your operation?” he asked.
“Not until late in the game.”
“Why not?”
“Because the current administration showed little interest in operating against the Russians.”
“How diplomatic of you, Director Allon. Try again.”
“I didn’t brief the Agency because I was afraid the president would tell his friend in the Kremlin. Unfortunately, I learned early on that he was not to be trusted with sensitive information. My counterpart at MI6 was also extremely careful about the intelligence he let him see. For that matter, so was the director of the CIA.”
“Are you suggesting he’s a Russian asset?”
“That’s a question for your intelligence chiefs.”
“I’m not asking them. I’m asking you.”
“Assets come in all shapes and sizes. And some assets don’t realize they’re assets. Oftentimes, they’re the best kind.”
They were seated at Covid-safe intervals around a wrought-iron table on the patio. Only Gabriel, the briefer, was maskless. A glance at his wristwatch established he had used four of his allotted ten minutes. He opened the file folder and removed the translation of the document found on Felix Belov’s computer.
“The Haydn Group’s main weapon was dirty Russian money, which it used it to fund anti-establishment parties and to corrupt prominent Western businessmen and politicians. But the Haydn Group also possessed a sophisticated information warfare unit similar to the Internet Research Agency.”
“The St. Petersburg company that meddled in the 2016 election.”
“Exactly. Our analysis of the Haydn Group’s computers revealed that early last summer, their fake Twitter accounts began to amplify the president’s false claims the election was going to be stolen from him. But more ominously, the Haydn Group also began planning for the future.” Gabriel held up the document. “A future in which their preferred candidate lost the election and you were about to enter the White House.”
“What do you have there, Director Allon?”
“A memorandum written by a top operative of the Haydn Group named Felix Belov. It details a plot to deliver a catastrophic blow to American democracy by covertly encouraging an attack on your inauguration. The beauty of the plot, at least from Russia’s point of view, is that it will be carried out by an American citizen.”
“Who?”
“An asset known as Rebel. Evidently, one of the Haydn Group’s cyberwarriors encountered Rebel on an 8kun message board. Rebel is a far-right extremist who supports the imposition of white nationalist, authoritarian rule in the United States, by violence if necessary. Rebel is also an official of the US government who will have access to the inauguration ceremony.”
“How?”
“Needless to say, the document doesn’t say where Rebel works. The Haydn Group communicated with him anonymously. Rebel has no idea that the texts and direct messages he’s been receiving were sent by a private Russian intelligence company.”
“Are you sure Rebel is a man?”
“I was using the male pronoun for the sake of brevity. The document doesn’t specify Rebel’s gender.”
“May I see it?” asked Jordan Saunders.
Gabriel handed over the document.
Saunders switched on his phone’s flashlight. “Do you know whether the plot is active?”
“No,” admitted Gabriel. “In fact, for all we know, Arkady Akimov dropped that document in his shredder five minutes after it landed on his desk. But if I were in your position, I would assume that he showed it to his friend in the Grand Kremlin Palace, and that his friend gave it the green light.”
“There’s no way the Russian president would approve something so reckless,” said Saunders.
“Viktor Orlov might disagree.”
The future national security adviser looked down at the document. “Where’s the man who wrote this?”
“He had an unfortunate accident in the French Alps on New Year’s Eve.”
“What kind of accident?”
“He was shot twice at close range.” Gabriel frowned. “And I’d feel better if you threw that phone of yours in the lake.”
“The lake is frozen, and the phone is secure.”
“Not as secure as you think.” Gabriel turned to the president-elect. “Is there any chance you might reconsider—”
“None,” the president-elect interjected. “It is essential that I take my oath on the West Front of the Capitol, especially in light of what happened there on January sixth. Besides, the security next Wednesday will be unprecedented. There’s no way anything is going to happen.”
“Will you at least make sure the Secret Service is told about what we discovered?”
“Jordan will see to it.”
Gabriel rose. “In that case, I won’t take up any more of your time.”
The president-elect pointed toward Gabriel’s chair. “Sit down.”
He did as he was told.
“Who shot Felix Belov?”
“A young woman who penetrated Arkady Akimov’s operation.”
“Israeli?”
“German, actually.”
“A professional?”
“She plays the cello.”
“Any good?”
“Not bad,” said Gabriel.
The president-elect smiled. “What are you doing on Wednesday?”
“I was planning to watch your inauguration with my wife and children.”
“Would you like to attend the ceremony as my guest?”
“I would be honored, Mr. President-elect.”
“Excellent.” He nodded toward his national security adviser. “Jordan will make the arrangements.”
But Saunders appeared not to hear him; he was still reading Felix Belov’s memo. He didn’t look like an intern any longer, thought Gabriel. He looked like a very nervous young man.