“To be honest with you, I never put much stock in the Khaled myth,” Shamron said. “I always assumed the boy had changed his name and had chosen to live out his life free from the shadow of his grandfather and father-free of the shadow of this land.”

“So did I,” said Gabriel, “but the case is compelling.”

“Yes, it is. Why didn’t anyone ever make the connection between the dates of Buenos Aires and Istanbul?”

“It was assumed to be a coincidence,” Gabriel said. “Besides, there wasn’t enough evidence to close the circle. No one ever thought to look at Beit Sayeed until now.”

“She’s very good, this girl Dina.”

“I’m afraid it’s something of an obsession with her.”

“You’re referring to the fact she was at Dizengoff Square the day the Number Five exploded?”

“How did you know that?”

“I took the liberty of reviewing the personnel files of your team. You chose well.”

“She knows a lot about you, including a few things you never told me.”

“Such as?”

“I never knew it was Rabin who drove the getaway car after you killed Sheikh Asad.”

“We were very close after that, Rabin and I, but I’m afraid we parted company over Oslo. Rabin believed that Arafat was down and that it was time to strike a deal. I told him Arafat was striking a deal because he was down, that Arafat intended to use Oslo as a way to wage war against us by other means. I was right, of course. For Arafat, Oslo was just another step in his ‘phased strategy’ to bring about our destruction. He said so in his own words, when he was speaking in Arabic to his people.”

Shamron closed his eyes. “I take no satisfaction in being proven correct. Rabin’s death was a terrible blow to me. His opponents called him a traitor and a Nazi, and then they killed him. We murdered one of our own. We succumbed to the Arab disease.” He shook his head slowly. “Still, I suppose it was all necessary, this delusional attempt to make peace with our sworn enemies. It’s steeled our spine for the steps we’ll need to take if we are to survive in this land.”

The next subject, the demolition of Beit Sayeed, Gabriel approached with great caution.

“It was a Palmach operation, was it not?”

“What exactly do you want to know, Gabriel?”

“Were you there?”

Shamron exhaled heavily, then nodded once. “We had no choice. Beit Sayeed was a base of operations for Sheikh Asad’s militia. We couldn’t leave such a hostile village in our midst. After the sheikh’s death, it was necessary to deal the remnants of his force a fatal blow.”

Shamron’s gaze grew suddenly distant. Gabriel could see he wished to discuss the matter no further. Shamron drew heavily on his cigarette, then told Gabriel about the premonition of disaster he’d had the night before the bombing. “I knew it was something like this. I could feel it the moment it happened.” Then he corrected himself. “I could feel it before it happened.”

“If Khaled is trying to punish us, why didn’t he kill me in Venice when he had the chance?”

“Maybe he intended to. Daoud Hadawi was only a few miles up the road in Milan when the Italians found him. Maybe Hadawi was the one who was supposed to kill you.”

“And Rome?” Gabriel asked. “Why did Khaled choose Rome?”

“Maybe it was because Rome served as the European headquarters of Black September.” Shamron looked at Gabriel. “Or maybe he was trying to speak directly to you.”

Wadal Abdel Zwaiter, thought Gabriel. The Piazza Annabaliano.

“Keep in mind something else,” Shamron said. “Within a week of the bombing, there was a massive demonstration in central Rome, not against Palestinian terror, but against us. The Europeans are the best friends the Palestinians have. The civilized world has abandoned us to our fate. We would never have come back to this land if we weren’t pushed here by the hatred of Europe’s Christians, and now that we’re here, they won’t let us fight, lest we antagonize the Arabs in their midst.”

A silence fell between them. From the kitchen came the clatter of china and the gentle laughter of the women. Shamron sank lower into his chair. The patter of the rain and the strong scent of the eucalyptus trees seemed to have the effect of a sedative on him.

“I brought some papers for you to sign,” he said.

“What sort of papers?”

“The kind that will quietly dissolve your marriage to Leah.” Shamron placed a hand on Gabriel’s forearm. “It’s been fourteen years. She’s lost to you. She’s never coming back. It’s time for you to get on with your life.”

“It’s not as easy as that, Ari.”

“I don’t envy you,” Shamron said. “When are you planning to bring her home?”

“Her doctor is opposed to the idea. He’s concerned that being back in Israel will only make her condition worse. I finally managed to convey to him that it’s nonnegotiable, but he’s insisting she be given adequate time to prepare for the transition.”

“When?”

“A month,” Gabriel said. “Maybe a bit less.”

“Tell her doctor she’ll be well cared for here. Unfortunately, we have a fair amount of experience when it comes to treating the victims of terrorist bombs.”

Shamron abruptly changed course. “Are you comfortable in this flat?”

Gabriel indicated that he was.

“It’s big enough for a child or two.”

“Let’s not get carried away, Ari. I’ll never see fifty again.”

“Chiara will want children, if you marry, of course. Besides, you have to do your patriotic duty. Haven’t you heard about the demographic threat? Soon we’ll be a minority people between the River Jordan and the sea. The prime minister is encouraging all of us to contribute by having more children. Thank God for the Haredim. They’re the only reason we’re still in the game.”

“I’ll try to contribute in other ways.”

“It’s yours, you know,” Shamron said.

“What?”

“The flat.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You own it now. It was purchased on your behalf by a friend of the Office.”

Gabriel shook his head. He had always been amazed at Shamron’s gangster-like access to money.

“I can’t accept it.”

“It’s too late. The deed is being sent over in the morning.”

“I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt.”

“It is we who are in your debt. Accept it graciously and in the spirit with which it is given.” Shamron patted Gabriel’s shoulder. “And fill it with children.”

Gilah poked her head around the half-open door. “Dessert is on the table,” she said, then she looked at Shamron and, in Polish, ordered him to put out his cigarette.

“April eighteenth,” he murmured, when Gilah had gone. “That’s not much time.”

“I’m already watching the clock.”

“It’s occurred to me there’s one person who might know where Khaled is.”

“Arafat?”

“He is Khaled’s father. Besides, he owes you a favor. You did save his life once.”

“Yasir Arafat is the last person I want to see. Besides, he’s a liar.”

“Yes, but sometimes his lies can lead us in the direction of the truth.”

“He’s off-limits. Lev would never grant me authorization.”

“So don’t tell him.”

“I don’t think it would be wise for me to just show up and knock on Arafat’s front door. And the only way I’m going to Ramallah is in an armored personnel carrier.”

“Arafat doesn’t really have a door. The IDF took care of that.” Shamron permitted himself to smile at the sinking fortunes of his old adversary. “As for the armored car, leave that to me.”

GABRIEL CLIMBED INTO BED and inched carefully toward the middle. He reached out in the darkness and draped his arm across Chiara’s abdomen. She remained motionless.

“What were you and Ari talking about in the study?”

“The case,” he replied absently.

“Is that all?”

He told her that the apartment was now theirs.

“How did that happen?”

“Shamron and his moneyed friends. I’ll tell Housekeeping to remove the old furniture. Tomorrow, you can buy us a proper bed.”