Prince of Fire

“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.”

Chiara’s arm rose slowly. Gabriel, in the darkness, could see the talisman swinging from her fingertips.

“What is this?”

“A Corsican good-luck charm. They say it wards off the evil eye.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s classified.”

He reached for the talisman. Chiara, with a deft movement of her hand, twirled the talisman so that it wrapped securely around her fingertips, in the manner in which Arabs often toy with their prayer beads.

“A gift from one of your old lovers?” she asked.

“An old enemy, actually. A man who’d been hired to kill me and a woman I was protecting.”

“Anna Rolfe?”

Yes, Gabriel said, Anna Rolfe.

“Why did you keep it?” she asked. “To remind you of her?”

“Chiara, don’t be ridiculous.”

She tossed the talisman in his direction. The red-coral hand landed on his chest.

“Is something wrong, Chiara?”

“What were those papers that Shamron gave you before he left tonight? Or is that classified, too?”

Gabriel answered the question truthfully.

“Did you sign them yet?”

“I thought I should read them first.”

“You know what they say.”

“I’ll sign them,” Gabriel said.

“When?”