“It usually is. You shouldn’t pay attention to rumors, Chiara.”
“I once heard a rumor that you’d never leave Leah to marry me. I wish I’d paid attention to that one.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder, then bent down and kissed Gabriel’s lips.
“One last kiss,” she whispered.
“At least let me drive you to the airport.”
“The last thing we need is a tearful good-bye at Ben-Gurion. Help me with my bags.”
He carried the suitcases down and loaded them in the trunk of the car. Chiara climbed into the backseat and closed the door without looking at him. Gabriel stood in the shade of a eucalyptus tree and watched the car drive off. As he walked upstairs to the empty apartment, he realized he hadn’t asked her to stay. Eli had been right. It was easier that way.
36 TIBERIAS, ISRAEL
A WEEK AFTER CHIARA’S DEPARTURE GABRIEL drove to Tiberias for dinner at the Shamrons. Yonatan was there, along with his wife and three young children. So was Rimona and her husband. They both had just come off duty and were still in uniform. Shamron, surrounded by his family, seemed happier than Gabriel had seen him in years. After supper he led Yonatan and Gabriel onto the terrace. A bright three-quarter moon was reflected in the calm surface of the Sea of Galilee. Beyond the lake, black and shapeless, loomed the Golan Heights. Shamron liked it best on his terrace, because it faced east toward his enemies. He was content to sit quietly and say nothing for a time while Gabriel and Yonatan talked pessimistically about the
“He is a colonel in the IDF,” Gabriel said, when Yonatan had gone. “He doesn’t like when you treat him like that.”
“Yonatan has his line of work, and we have ours.” Shamron adroitly shifted the focus from his personal problems to Gabriel’s. “How’s Leah?”
“I’m taking her to the Mount of Olives tomorrow to see Dani’s grave.”
“I assume her doctor has approved this outing?”
“He’s coming with us, along with half the staff of the Mount Herzl Psychiatric Hospital.”
Shamron lit a cigarette. “Have you heard from Chiara?”
“No, and I don’t expect to. Do you know where she is?”
Shamron looked theatrically at his wristwatch. “If the operation is proceeding as planned, she’s probably sipping brandy in a ski lodge in Zermatt with a certain Swiss gentleman of questionable character. This gentleman is about to ship a rather large consignment of arms to a Lebanese guerrilla group that doesn’t have our best interests at heart. We’d like to know when that shipment is leaving port and where it’s going.”
“Please tell me Operations isn’t using my former fiancee as bait in a honey trap.”
“I’m not privy to the details of the operation, only the overarching goals. As for Chiara, she’s a girl of high moral character. I’m sure she’ll play hard to get with our Helvetian friend.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Don’t worry,” Shamron said. “Soon
“What are you talking about?”
“The prime minister would like a word with you. He has a job he’d like you to take.”
“Javelin-catcher?”
Shamron threw back his head and laughed, then suffered a long, spasmodic fit of coughing.
“Actually, he wants you to be the next director of Operations.”
“Me? By the time Lev’s committee of inquiry has finished with me, I’ll be lucky to get a job as a security guard at a cafe in Ben-Yehuda Street.”
“You’ll come out of it just fine. Now is not the time for public self-flagellation. Leave that for the Americans. If we have to tell a few half-truths, if we must lie to a country like France that is not interested in our survival, then so be it.”
“By way of deception, thou shalt do war,” Gabriel said, reciting the motto of the Office. Shamron nodded once and said, “Amen.”
“Even if I come out of it in one piece, Lev won’t allow me to have Operations.”
“He won’t have a say in the matter. Lev’s term is ending, and he has few friends in King Saul Boulevard or Kaplan Street. He won’t be invited to stay for a second dance.”
“So who’s going to be the next chief?”
“The prime minister and I have a short list of names. None of them are Office. Whoever we select, he’ll need an experienced man running Operations.”
“I knew it was leading to this,” Gabriel said. “I knew it the moment I saw you in Venice.”
“I admit my motives are selfish. My term is coming to an end, too. If the prime minister goes, so do I. And this time there won’t be a return from exile. I need you, Gabriel. I need you to keep watch over my creation.”
“The Office?”
Shamron shook his head, then lifted his hand toward the land.
“I know you’ll do it,” Shamron said. “You have no choice. Your mother named you Gabriel for a reason. Michael is the highest, but you, Gabriel, you are the mightiest. You’re the one who defends Israel against its accusers. You’re the angel of judgment-the prince of fire.”
Gabriel, silent, looked out at the lake. “There’s something I need to take care of first.”
“Eli will find him, especially with the clues you’ve given him. That was a brilliant piece of detective work on your part. But then you always did have that kind of mind.”
“It was Fellah,” Gabriel said. “She doomed him by telling me her story.”
“But that’s the Palestinian way. They’re trapped in their narrative of loss and exile. There’s no escaping it.” Shamron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you really sure you want the job of turning Khaled into a martyr? There are other boys who can do it for you.”
“I know,” he said, “but I need to do it.”
Shamron sighed heavily. “If you must, but it’s going to be a private affair this time. No teams, no surveillance, nothing Khaled can manipulate to his advantage. Just you and him.”
“As it should be.”
A silence fell between them. They watched the running lights of a fishing boat steaming slowly toward Tiberias.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” Gabriel said.
“You want to talk to me about Tochnit Dalet,” Shamron said. “About Beit Sayeed and Sumayriyya.”
“How did you know?”
“You’ve been wandering in the wilderness of Palestinian pain for a long time now. It’s only natural.”
He asked Shamron the same question he’d put to Eli Lavon a week earlier at Megiddo. Did we drive them out?
“Of course we did,” Shamron said, then hastily he added: “In a few places, under specific circumstances. And if you ask me, we should have driven more out. That was where we went wrong.”
“You can’t be serious, Ari.”
“Let me explain,” he said. “History dealt us a losing hand. In 1947, the United Nations decided to give us a scrap of land to found our new state. Remember, four-fifths of Mandatory Palestine had already been cut away to create the state of Transjordan. Eighty percent! Of the final twenty percent, the United Nations gave us half-ten percent of Mandatory Palestine, the Coastal Plain and the Negev. And still the Arabs said no. Imagine if they’d said yes. Imagine if they’d said yes in 1937, when the Peel Commission recommended partition. How many millions might we have saved? Your grandparents would still be alive. My parents and my sisters might still be alive. But what did the Arabs do? They said no, and they aligned themselves with Hitler and cheered our extermination.”
