“What about Eichmann?” Shamron asked stubbornly in return.

“Did you consider the diplomatic consequences before plucking him from that bus stop in Argentina?”

“Of course we did. In fact, we debated long and hard about whether or not to take him. We were afraid the world would condemn us as criminals and kidnappers. We were afraid there would be severe fallout that our young and vulnerable state wasn’t prepared to withstand.”

“But, in the end, you took that bastard down. You did it because it was the right thing to do, Ari. Because it was the just thing to do.”

“We did it because we had no other choice, Gabriel. If we’d requested extradition, the Argentines would have refused and tipped off Eichmann. And then we would have lost him forever.”

“Because the police and security services were protecting him?”

“Correct.”

“Just like the FSB and the Kremlin are protecting Ivan.”

“Ivan Kharkov isn’t Adolf Eichmann. I shouldn’t think I’d need to explain the difference to you. I lost most of my family to Eichmann and the Nazis. So did you. Your mother spent the war in Birkenau and she bore Birkenau’s scars until the day she died. You bear them now.”

“Tell that to the thousands who’ve died in the wars that have been stoked by Ivan’s guns.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Gabriel. If Ivan were to stop selling the warlords guns today, someone else would do it for him tomorrow.” Shamron lifted his hand toward Carter. “Who knows? Perhaps it will be your good friend Adrian. He and his government poured weapons into the Third World whenever it suited their needs. And we’ve been known to sell to some pretty atrocious customers ourselves.”

“Congratulations, Ari.”

“For what?”

“Achieving a new personal low,” Gabriel said. “You have just compared our country to the worst man in the world in order to win an argument.”

Gabriel could see that Shamron’s resistance was beginning to weaken. He decided to press his advantage before the old warrior could reinforce his defenses.

“I’m doing this, Ari, but I can’t do it without your support.” He paused, then added, “Or your help.”

“Who’s stooping to personal lows now?”

“I learned from the master.”

Shamron tamped out his cigarette and regarded Gabriel through the remnants of the smoke. “Have you given any thought to where you’re going to put her?”

“I was thinking about letting her move into the apartment in Narkiss Street with Chiara and me, but we really don’t have enough room for her and the children.”

Shamron, by his dour expression, let it be known he didn’t find the remark even faintly amusing. “Resettling Elena Kharkov in Israel is completely out of the question. When Russia finally permitted its Jews to immigrate to Israel, a large number of non-Jewish Russians slipped into the country with them, including several serious organized crime figures. You can be certain that any number of these fine fellow countrymen of yours would be more than willing to kill Elena on Ivan’s behalf.”

“I never contemplated keeping her in Israel, Ari. She would have to go to America.”

“Drop her in Adrian ’s lap? Is that your solution? We’re not talking about resettling some KGB colonel who’s used to living on government wages. Elena Kharkov is an extremely wealthy woman. She’s grown accustomed to a lifestyle few of us can even contemplate. She’ll become a problem. Most defectors eventually do.”

Shamron looked to Adrian Carter for affirmation, but Carter knew better than to inject himself into the middle of a family quarrel and maintained a mandarin silence. Shamron removed his glasses and absently polished them against his shirtfront.

“At the moment, the long-term emotional well-being of Elena and her children is the least of your problems. The first thing you have to do is devise some way of getting her back into Russia, alone, without Ivan becoming suspicious.”

Gabriel dropped an envelope on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” Shamron asked.

“Elena’s ticket home to Moscow.”

Shamron slipped on his spectacles and removed the letter from the envelope. He had no trouble reading it; Russian was one of his many languages. When he had finished, he inserted the letter back into the envelope, carefully, as though trying not to leave fingerprints.

“It’s not a bad start, Gabriel, but what about the rest of it? How are you going to get her into that apartment without Ivan’s private security service sounding the alarm? And how are you going to get her out of the country safely after she’s stolen those disks? And how are you going to keep Ivan occupied while you kidnap his children?”

Gabriel smiled. “We’re going to steal his airplane.”

Shamron dropped Elena’s letter on the coffee table.

“Keep talking, my son.”

It did not take long for Shamron to fall under Gabriel’s spell. He sat motionless in his chair, his hooded eyes half closed, his thick arms folded across his chest. Adrian Carter sat next to him, his face still an inscrutable blank mask. Unable to protect himself from the encroachment of Shamron’s smoke, he had decided to fill the room with some of his own and was now puffing rhythmically on a pipe that reeked of burning leaves and wet dog. Gabriel and Navot sat side by side on the couch like troubled youth. Navot was rubbing the raw spot on the bridge of his nose where Bella’s spectacles pinched him.

At the conclusion of Gabriel’s briefing, it was Carter who spoke first. He did so after banging his pipe on the edge of the ashtray, like a judge trying to bring an unruly court to order. “I’ve never regarded myself as having any particular insights into the French, but, based on our last meeting, I’m confident they’ll play ball with you.” He cast an apologetic glance at Shamron, who loathed the use of American sports metaphors when discussing sensitive operational details. “French law gives the security services wide latitude, especially when dealing with foreigners. And the French have never been adverse to bending those laws a little bit more when it suits their purposes.”

“I don’t like operating with the French services,” Shamron said. “They annoy me.”

“I volunteer to take the point on this one, Ari. Thanks to Gabriel, the French and I have something of a relationship.”

Shamron’s eyes moved to Gabriel. “I don’t suppose I have to ask who’s going to serve as Elena’s chaperone.”

“She won’t do it unless I go with her.”

“Why did I know that was going to be your answer?”

Carter was slowly reloading his pipe. “He can go in on his American passport. The Russians wouldn’t dare to touch him.”

“I suppose that depends on what sort of Russians you’re talking about, Adrian. There are all different sorts. First you have your run-of-the-mill FSB thugs like the ones Gabriel encountered in Lubyanka. Then there are the private thugs who work for people like Ivan. I doubt very much that they’ll be intimidated by a passport, even an American one.”

Shamron’s gaze moved from Carter to Gabriel.

“Do I need to remind you, Gabriel, that your friend Sergei made it clear that they knew exactly who you were and what would happen if you ever set foot in Russia again?”

“I’m just going along for the ride. It’s Elena’s show. All she has to do is walk into the House on the Embankment, grab Ivan’s files, and walk out again.”

“What could possibly go wrong with a plan like that?” Shamron asked sardonically of no one in particular. “How many of your brave associates do you intend to take along with you on this venture?”

Gabriel recited a list of names. “We can send them in as El Al crew and cabin staff. Then we’ll all fly out of Moscow together when it’s over.”

Adrian Carter was puffing on his freshly loaded pipe and nodding his head slowly. Shamron had settled once more into his Buddha-like pose and was staring at Navot, who was staring back at him in return.