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Gabriel, lost in thought for a long moment, finally looked up at Shamron. “Have you forgotten that Vie
Shamron lit one of his foul-smelling Turkish cigarettes and placed the dead match in the saucer next to his teaspoon. He pushed his eyeglasses onto his forehead and folded his arms. They were still powerful, braided steel beneath a thin layer of sagging sunta
“I volunteered to go to Vie
“So your solution is to send me?”
“Not in any official capacity, of course.” These days Shamron did almost nothing in an official capacity. “But I would feel much more comfortable if someone I trusted was keeping an eye on things.”
“We have Office perso
“Yes, but they report to Lev.”
“Heis the chief.”
Shamron closed his eyes, as if he were being reminded of a painful subject. “Lev has too many other problems at the moment to give this the attention it deserves. The boy emperor in Damascus is making troublesome noises. The mullahs of Iran are trying to build Allah’s bomb, and Hamas is turning children into bombs and detonating them on the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. One minor bombing in Vie
Shamron stared compassionately at Gabriel over the rim of his coffee cup. “I know you have no desire to go back to Vie
Gabriel thought of the half-completed Bellini altarpiece in the church of San Giova
“If I went to Vie
Shamron shrugged, as if to say there were ways-obvious ways, dear boy-of getting around a small problem such as cover. Gabriel had expected this would be Shamron’s response. He held out his hand.
Shamron opened his briefcase and handed over a manila envelope. Gabriel lifted the flap and poured the contents on the coffee table: airline tickets, a leather billfold, a well-traveled Israeli passport. He opened the cover of the passport and saw his own face staring back at him. His new name was Gideon Argov. He’d always liked the name Gideon.
“What does Gideon do for a living?”
Shamron inclined his head toward the billfold. Among the usual items-credit cards, a driver’s license, a health-club and video-club membership-he found a business card:
GIDEON ARGOV
WARTIME CLAIMS AND INQUIRIES
17 MENDELE STREET
JERUSALEM 92147
5427618
Gabriel looked up at Shamron. “I didn’t know Eli had an office in Jerusalem.”
“He does now. Try the number.”
Gabriel shook his head. “I believe you. Does Lev know about this?”
“Not yet, but I plan on telling him once you’re safely on the ground in Vie
“So we’re deceiving the Austrians and the Office. That’s impressive, even for you, Ari.”
Shamron gave a sheepish smile. Gabriel opened the airline jacket and examined his travel itinerary.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to travel directly to Vie
Gabriel lifted his gaze and stared at Shamron, his expression dubious. “And if I’m recognized at the airport and dragged into a room for some special Austrian attention?”
“That’s always a possibility, but it has been thirteen years. Besides, you’ve been to Vie
“I have been back to Vie
Gabriel spent a long moment appraising the false passport with his restorer’s eye. Finally he closed the cover and slipped it into his pocket. Chiara stood and walked out of the room. Shamron watched her go, then looked at Gabriel.
“It seems I’ve managed to disrupt your life once again.”
“Why should this time be any different?”
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
Gabriel shook his head. “She’ll get over it,” he said. “She’s a professional.”
THERE WERE MOMENTS of Gabriel’s life, fragments of time, which he rendered on canvas and hung in the cellar of his subconscious. To this gallery of memory he added Chiara as he saw her now, seated astride his body, bathed in a Rembrandt light from the streetlamps beyond their bedroom window, a satin duvet bunched at her hips, her breasts bared. Other images intruded. Shamron had opened the door to them, and Gabriel, as always, was powerless to push them back. There was Wadal Adel Zwaiter, a ski
A mane of hair fell across Chiara’s breasts. Gabriel reached up and gently pushed it away. She looked at him. It was too dark to see the color of her eyes, but Gabriel could sense her thoughts. Shamron had trained him to read the emotions of others, just as Umberto Conti had taught him to mimic the Old Masters. Gabriel, even in the arms of a lover, could not suspend his ceaseless search for the warning signs of betrayal.
“I don’t want you to go to Vie
“Shamron is right. It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, it was, but if you go there and start asking questions about the bombing, you’ll rub up against the Austrian police and security services. Shamron is using you to keep his hand in the game. He doesn’t have your best interests in mind.”
“You sound like a Lev man.”
“It’s you I care about.” She bent down and kissed his mouth. Her lips tasted of blossom. “I don’t want you to go to Vie
“To who?”
She lifted the duvet to her shoulders and covered her breasts. Leah’s shadow fell between them. It was Chiara’s intention to let her into the room. Chiara only talked about Leah in bed, where she believed Gabriel would not lie to her. Gabriel’s entire life was a lie; with his lovers he was always painfully honest. He could make love to a woman only if she knew that he had killed men on behalf of his country. He never told lies about Leah. He considered it his duty to speak honestly of her, even to the women who had taken her place in his bed.
“Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?” Chiara asked. “Everyone knows about Leah. She’s an Office legend, just like you and Shamron. How long am I supposed to live with the fear that one day you’ll decide you can’t do this anymore?”