“Which means Ivan Kharkov has an established track record of selling weapons directly to terrorist organizations.”

“Without question. RPGs and AK-47s we can deal with. But our friend Ivan has the connections to lay his hands on the most dangerous weapons in the world. Chemical. Biological. Even nuclear weapons aren’t out of the question. We know that agents of al-Qaeda have been scouring the remnants of the old Soviet Union for years looking for nuclear material or even a fully functioning nuclear device. Maybe they’ve finally found someone willing to sell it to them.”

Shamron spooned sugar into his coffee and stirred it slowly. “The Americans might have better insight into the situation. They’ve been watching Ivan closely for years.” He gave a sardonic smile. “The Americans love to monitor problems but do nothing about them.”

“They’ll have to do something about him now.”

Shamron nodded in agreement. “It’s my recommendation we dump this in their lap as soon as possible and wash our hands of the affair. I want you to go to Washington and see your friend Adrian Carter. Tell him everything you learned in Moscow. Give them Elena Kharkov. Then get on the next plane to Umbria and finish your honeymoon. And don’t ever accuse me of failing to live up to my word again.”

Gabriel stared at the silent television but made no response.

“You disagree with my recommendation?” Shamron asked.

“What do you think Adrian Carter and the Americans are going to do with this information?”

“I suspect they’ll go cap in hand to the Kremlin and plead with the Russian president to block the sale.”

“And he’ll tell the Americans that Ivan is a legitimate businessman with no ties to the illegal international arms trade. He’ll dismiss the intelligence as an anti-Russian slur spread by Jewish provocateurs who are conspiring to keep Russia backward and weak.” Gabriel shook his head slowly. “Going to the Russians and appealing for help is the last thing we should be doing. We should regard the Russian president and his intelligence services as adversaries and act accordingly.”

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“That we have a quiet word with Elena Kharkov and see if she knows more than she told Olga Sukhova.”

“Just because she trusted Olga Sukhova once doesn’t mean she’ll trust an intelligence service of a foreign country. And remember, two Russian journalists have lost their lives because of her actions. I don’t suspect she’s going to be terribly receptive to an approach.”

“She spends the majority of her time in London, Ari. We can get to her.”

“And so can Ivan. She’s surrounded by his security goons night and day. They’re all former members of the Alpha Group and OMON. All her contacts and communications are probably monitored. What do you intend to do? Invite her to tea? Call her on her cell phone? Drop her an e-mail?”

“I’m working on that part.”

“Just know Ivan is three steps ahead of you. There’s been a leak from somewhere in his network and he knows it. His private security service is going to be on high alert. Any approach to his wife is going to set off alarm bells. One misstep and you could get her killed.”

“So we’ll just have to do it quietly.”

“We?”

“This isn’t something we can do alone, Ari. We need the assistance of the Americans.”

Shamron frowned. As a rule, he didn’t like joint operations and was uncomfortable with Gabriel’s close ties to the CIA. His generation had lived by a simple axiom known as kachol lavan, or “blue and white.” They did things for themselves and did not rely on others to help them with their problems. It was an attitude borne from the experience of the Holocaust, when most of the world had stood by silently while the Jews were fed to the fires. It had bred in men like Shamron a reluctance-indeed, a fear-of operating with others.

“I seem to remember a conversation we had a few days ago during which you berated me for interrupting your honeymoon. Now you want to run an open-ended operation against Ivan Kharkov?”

“Let’s just say I have a personal stake in the outcome of the case.”

Shamron sipped his coffee. “Something tells me your new wife isn’t going to be pleased with you.”

“She’s Office. She’ll understand.”

“Just don’t let her anywhere near Ivan,” Shamron said. “Ivan likes to break pretty things.”

22 JERUSALEM

Is this some sort of sick fantasy of yours, Gabriel? Watching a stewardess remove her clothing?”

"I’ve never really been attracted to girls in uniform. And they’re called flight attendants now, Chiara. A woman in your line of work should know that.”

“You could have at least flirted with me a little bit. All men flirt with flight attendants, don’t they?”

“I didn’t want to blow your cover. You seemed to be having enough trouble as it was.”

“I don’t know how they can wear these uniforms. Help me with my zipper.”

“With pleasure.”

She turned around and pulled aside her hair. Gabriel lowered the zipper and kissed the nape of her neck.

“Your beard tickles.”

“I’ll shave.”

She turned around and kissed him. “Leave it for now. It makes you look very distinguished.”

“I think it makes me look like Abraham.” He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Chiara wriggle out of the dress. “This is certainly better than spending another night in Lubyanka.”

“I should hope so.”

“You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the Poussin. Please tell me you didn’t leave it unguarded.”

“Monsignor Donati took it back to the Vatican.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. How long do I have before he gives it to one of the butchers from the Vatican ’s restoration department? ”

“The end of September.” She reached behind her back and loosened the clasp on her brassiere. “Is there any food in this house? I’m famished. ”

“You didn’t eat anything on the flight?”

“We were too busy. How was Gilah’s chicken?”

“Delicious.”

“It looked a lot better than the food we were serving.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“Was I that bad?”

“Let’s just say the first-class passengers were less than pleased by the level of service. If that flight had lasted another hour, you would have had an intifada on your hands.”

“They didn’t give us adequate training to accomplish our mission. Besides, Jewish girls shouldn’t be flight attendants.”

“ Israel is the great equalizer, Chiara. It’s good for Jews to be flight attendants and farmers and garbagemen.”

“I’ll tell Uzi to keep that in mind the next time he’s handing out field assignments.”

She gathered up her clothing. “I need to take a shower. I smell like bad food and other people’s cologne.”

“Welcome to the glamorous world of air travel.”

She leaned down and kissed him again. “Maybe you should shave after all, Gabriel. I really can’t make love to a man who looks like Abraham.”

“He fathered Isaac at a very old age.”

“With help from God. I’m afraid you’re on your own tonight.” She touched the bruise on his cheek. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not really. We spent most of the night playing gin rummy and swapping stories about the good old days before the Wall came down.”

“You’re upset about something. I can always tell when you’re upset. You make terrible jokes to cover it up.”

“I’m upset because it appears a Russian arms trafficker named Ivan Kharkov is planning to sell some very dangerous weapons to al-Qaeda. And because the woman who risked her life to tell us about it is now in very serious danger.” He hesitated, then added, “And because it’s going to be a while before we can resume our honeymoon in Umbria.”

“You’re not thinking about going back to Russia?”

“Just Washington.”

She stroked his beard and said, “Have a nice trip, Abraham.”