The Defector (43 page)

For the remainder of the meal, Shamron regaled them with stories of the past. He was never happier than when surrounded by his family and friends, and his good mood seemed to soften the deep cracks and fissures in his aged face. But there was sadness there, too. The operation had been traumatic for all of them, but in many ways it had been hardest on Shamron. With his cool, creative thinking, he had saved all their lives. But for more than an hour that terrible morning, he had feared that three officers, two of whom he loved as children, were about to suffer a horrible death. There was an emotional price to be paid for an operation like that—and Shamron paid it, later that evening, when he invited Gabriel to join him on the terrace for a private chat. They sat together on the spot where Gabriel and Chiara were married, Shamron smoking quietly, Gabriel gazing at the blue-black sky above the Golan.

“Your wife looks radiant this evening. Almost like new.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Ari, but she does look wonderful. I suppose I have Gilah to thank. She obviously took good care of her while I was gone.”

“Gilah is good at putting people back together again, even when she’s not sure how they ended up broken in the first place. I must say, we enjoyed having Chiara for the summer. If only my own children would come more often.”

“Maybe they would if you didn’t smoke so much.”

Shamron took a final pull at his cigarette and crushed it out slowly. “You actually looked as if you were enjoying yourself, too. Or were you just deceiving me?”

“It was a wonderful evening, Ari. In fact, it was exactly what we all needed.”

“Your team adores you, Gabriel. They would do anything for you.”

“They have, Ari. Just ask Mikhail.”

“Do you think he’s actually going to marry this American girl?”

“Her name is Sarah. Surely, as a Jew from Tiberias, you should have no trouble remembering that name.”

“Answer my question.”

“He’d be a fool not to marry her. She’s a remarkable woman.”

“But she’s not Jewish.”

“She might as well be.”

“Do you think the CIA will let her stay on if she marries one of us?”

“If they don’t, you should hire her. If it weren’t for Sarah, Anton Petrov might have killed Uzi in Zurich.”

Shamron made no response other than to light another cigarette.

“How is he?” Gabriel asked.

“Petrov?” Shamron pulled his lips into an indifferent frown. “Not so good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Apparently, he managed to escape the detention and interrogation facility. A group of Bedouin found his body out in the Negev, about fifty miles south of Beersheba. The vultures had got to him by then. I hear it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to have a final word with him.”

“Don’t be. While you were in Europe, we were able to wring one more confession out of him. He admitted to killing those two journalists from Moskovskaya Gazeta last year on Ivan’s orders. But given the rather sensitive circumstances of his admission, we’re in no position to forward the information to the French and Italian authorities. For now both cases will remain officially unsolved.”

“What did you do with the five million euros Petrov left in Becker and Puhl?”

“We made him sign it over to Konrad Becker to cover the costs of the mess you made in his bank. He sends his best, by the way. But he would be most grateful if you did your private banking elsewhere.”

“Were you forced to clean up any other messes?”

“Not really. Our disinformation campaign managed to deflect all suspicion from us onto Ivan. Besides, these were not exactly fine, upstanding citizens whom you killed. They were former KGB hoods who traded in murder, kidnapping, and extortion. As far as the European police and security services are concerned, we did them a favor.”

Shamron looked at Gabriel for a moment in silence. “Did it help?”

“What?”

“Killing them?”

Gabriel gazed out at the black waters of the lake. “I did terrible things in order to get Chiara back, Ari. I did things I never want to do again.”

“But?”

“Yes, it did help.”

“Eleven,” Shamron said. “Ironic, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Your first assignment came about because Black September killed eleven Israelis in Munich. And for your final assignment, you and Mikhail killed eleven Russians who were responsible for Chiara’s abduction and Grigori Bulganov’s death.”

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of laughter at the dinner table.

“My final assignment? I thought you and the prime minister had decided it was my time to take over the Office.”

“Have you seen your fitness reports?” Shamron shook his head slowly. “You’re in no condition to take on the responsibility of running the Office now. Not when we have a confrontation with the Iranians looming. And not when your wife needs your attention.”

“What are you saying, Ari?”

“I’m saying that you are released from the promise you made in Paris. I’m telling you that you’re fired, Gabriel. You have a new mission now. Get your wife pregnant again as quickly as possible. You’re not so young, my son. You need to have another child quickly.”

“Are you sure, Ari? Are you really prepared to let me go?”

“I’m sure we’ll always find something for you to do. But it’s not going to be sitting behind the desk in the director’s suite. We’re going to inflict that chore on someone else.”

“Do you have a candidate in mind?”

“Actually, we’ve already settled on one. It’s going to be announced next month when Amos steps down.”

“Who is it?”

“Me,” said Uzi Navot.

Gabriel turned and saw Navot standing on the terrace, his heavy arms folded across his chest. In the half-light, he looked shockingly like Shamron in his youth.

“Brilliant choice, don’t you think?”

“I’m speechless.”

“For once.” Navot came forward and placed his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “We have a wonderful system, you and I. You turn a job down, then they give it to me.”

“But the right man got the job in both cases, Uzi. I would have been a terrible director. Mazel tov.”

“Do you mean that, Gabriel?”

“The Office is going to be in good hands for years to come.” Gabriel cocked his head toward Shamron. “Now, if we can just get the Old Man to let go of the bicycle seat.”

Shamron grimaced. “Let’s not get carried away. But let us also be clear about one thing. Uzi is not going to be my pawn. He’ll be his own man. But obviously I’ll always be here to offer advice.”

“Whether he wants it or not.”

“Be careful, my son. Otherwise, I’ll advise him to deal with you harshly.”

Navot walked over and leaned against the balustrade.

“What are we going to do with him, Ari?”

“In my opinion, he should be locked in a room with his wife and kept there until she is pregnant again.”

“Done.” Navot looked at Gabriel. “It’s an order. And you’re not going to disobey another one of my orders, are you, Gabriel?”

“No, sir.”

“So what are you going to do with all this spare time?”

“Rest. After that . . .” Gabriel gave a noncommittal shrug. “To be honest, I haven’t a clue.”

“Just don’t get any ideas about leaving the country,” Shamron said. “For the time being, your address is No. 16 Narkiss Street.”

“I need to work.”

“So we’ll find you some paintings to clean.”

“The paintings are in Europe.”

“You can’t go to Europe,” Shamron said. “Not yet.”

“When?”

“When we’ve dealt with Ivan. Then you can leave.”

76

JERUSALEM

GABRIEL AND Chiara made a determined effort to follow Navot’s order to the letter. They found little reason to leave the apartment; a furnacelike August heat had settled over Jerusalem, and the daylight hours were intolerably hot. They ventured out only after dark, and even then only briefly. For the first time in many years, Gabriel felt a strong desire to produce original work. His subject matter, of course, was Chiara. In just three days he painted a stunning nude that, when finished, he propped against the wall at the foot of their bed. Sometimes, when the room was in darkness and he was intoxicated with Chiara’s kisses, it was almost possible to confuse canvas with reality. It was during one such hallucination that the bedside telephone rang quite unexpectedly. With Chiara astride his hips, he was tempted not to answer. Reluctantly he brought the receiver to his ear.

“We need to talk,” said Adrian Carter.

“I’m listening.”

“Not over the phone.”

“Where?”

They met for breakfast two days later on the terrace of the King David Hotel. When Gabriel arrived, he found Carter wearing a wrinkled poplin suit and reading the International Herald Tribune. It had been many months since they had seen each other. Indeed, their last encounter had occurred at Shannon Airport in Ireland, the morning after the G-8 summit. Under the agreement reached with the Russian president, Gabriel, Chiara, Mikhail, and Irina Bulganova had been allowed to leave Moscow the same way Gabriel had arrived: surrounded by Secret Service agents, aboard the so-called car plane. They had disembarked during a refueling stop and had gone their separate ways. Irina had accompanied Graham Seymour to Britain, while Gabriel, Chiara, and Mikhail had flown home to Israel with Shamron. Carter had been so overcome by emotion that morning that he had neglected to ask Gabriel for the official American passport he had used to enter Russia. He did so now, a moment after retaking his seat. Gabriel tossed it onto the table, emblem down.

“I hope you didn’t use this during your little European holiday this summer.”

“I haven’t left Israel since I got back from Russia.”

“Nice try, Gabriel. But we have it on very good authority that you and your team spent the summer killing Anton Petrov’s friends and associates. And you did a damn good job of it.”

“It wasn’t us, Adrian. It was Ivan.”

“My European station chiefs heard those rumors, too.”

Carter opened the passport and began leafing through the pages.

“Don’t worry, Adrian. You won’t find any new visas in there. I wouldn’t do that to you or the president. My wife is alive because of you. And I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“I believe the balance of our account is still weighted heavily in your favor.” Carter sipped his coffee and changed the subject. “We hear there’s about to be a change at the helm of King Saul Boulevard. Needless to say, Langley is pleased by the choice. I’ve always been fond of Uzi.”

“But?”

“Obviously, we were hoping the next chief would be you. We understand why that’s not going to be possible. And we whole- heartedly support your decision.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know I have the support of Langley, Adrian.”

“Do try to control that caustic Israeli wit of yours.” Carter dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Have you given any thought to your future plans?”

“For the moment, Chiara and I will have to stay here.” Gabriel nodded toward the pair of bodyguards seated two tables away. “Protected by children with guns.”

“You could come to America. Elena says you’re welcome anytime. In fact, she says she’d be willing to build a house for you and Chiara on the estate. If I were in your shoes, I’d be tempted to take her up on the offer.”

“That’s because you grew up in New England and you’re used to the winters. I’m from the Valley of Jezreel.”

“She’s not joking, Gabriel.”

“Please thank Elena and tell her I do appreciate the offer. But I can’t accept it.”

“Her children are going to be very disappointed.” Carter handed Gabriel an envelope. “They wrote you a letter. Actually, it’s addressed to you and Chiara.”

“What is it?”

“A letter of apology. They want you to know how sorry they are for what their father did.”

Gabriel removed the letter and read it in silence.

“It’s beautiful, Adrian, but tell the children they have no need to feel guilty about their father’s actions. Besides, we would never have been able to get Chiara back without their help.”

“Apparently, they put on quite a performance at Andrews. Fielding says it was one for the books. The Russian ambassador never suspected a thing.”

Gabriel returned the letter to the envelope and smiled. Though the Russian ambassador did not realize it, he had been a bit player in an elaborate deception. It was true that Anna and Nikolai had boarded the U.S. Air Force C-32 at Andrews, but at Gabriel’s insistence they had been kept far from Russian airspace. Indeed, within seconds after passing through the cabin door, they walked straight into the hold of a hydraulic catering vehicle, where Sarah Bancroft was waiting. Ten minutes after the ambassador departed, they joined their mother aboard the Gulfstream and returned to the Adirondacks. Only the note was genuine. It had been written by the children at Andrews and handed over to the pilot. According to Elena, they had meant every word of it.

“My director bumped into the Russian ambassador at a White House reception a couple of months back. He’s still fuming about what happened. Apparently, he lives in fear of Ivan’s wrath. He spends as little time in Russia as possible.”

Gabriel slipped the letter into his shirt pocket. Surely Carter hadn’t come all the way to Jerusalem to recover a passport and deliver a letter, but he seemed in no hurry to get around to the real reason for his visit. He was now reading his newspaper. He folded it in quarters and handed it across to Gabriel.

“You see this?” he asked, tapping a headline.

It was a story about the new memorial at the killing ground in Vladimirskaya Oblast. Though understated and small, it had already attracted tens of thousands of visitors, much to the chagrin of the Kremlin. Many of the visitors were relatives of those killed there, but most were ordinary Russians who came to see something of their dark past. Since the memorial’s opening, Stalin had seen a precipitous slide in his standing. So, too, had the current regime. Indeed, more and more Russians were beginning to voice their discontent. The reporter for the Herald Tribune wondered whether Russians might be so willing to accept an authoritarian future if they spoke more openly about their totalitarian past. Gabriel wasn’t so sure. He remembered something Olga Sukhova had once said while walking through Novodevichy Cemetery. Russians had never known true democracy. And, in all likelihood, they never would.