'No, I didn't,' Shamron said. 'But your personal life is relevant. You see, if you were still involved with Anna Rolfe, I couldn't ask you to come back to work for me--at least, not in good conscience.'
'When have you ever let your conscience get in the way of something you wanted?'
'Now there's the old Gabriel that I know and love.' Shamron flashed an iron smile. 'How much do you know about the murder of Benjamin?'
'Only what I read in the Herald Tribune. The Munich police say he was killed by neoNazis.'
Shamron snorted. Clearly, he did not agree with the findings of the Munich police, no matter how preliminary. 'I suppose it's possible. Benjamin's writings on the Holocaust made him extremely unpopular among many segments of German society, and the fact that he was an Israeli made him a target. But I'm not convinced that some skinhead managed to kill him. You see, whenever Jews die on German soil, it makes me uneasy. I want to know more than what the Munich police are telling us on an official basis.'
'Why don't you send a fyatsa to Munich to investigate?'
'Because if one of our field officers starts asking questions, people are going to get suspicious. Besides, you know that I always prefer the back door to the front.'
'What do you have in mind?'
'In two days, the Munich detective in charge of the case is going to meet with Benjamin's half-brother, Ehud Landau. After briefing Landau on the investigation, he will allow him to take inventory of Benjamin's possessions and arrange a shipment back to Israel.'
'If memory serves, Benjamin doesn't have a half-brother.'
'He does now.' Shamron placed an Israeli passport on the table and slid it toward Gabriel with the palm of his hand. Gabriel opened the cover and saw his own face staring back at him. Then he looked at the name: Ehud Landau.
Shamron said, 'You have the best eyes I've ever seen. Have a look around his apartment. See if there's something out of place. If you can, remove anything that might tie him to the Office.'
Gabriel closed the passport, but left it lying on the table.
'I'm in the middle of a difficult restoration. I can't go running off to Munich now.'
'It will take a day--two at the most.'
'That's what you said last time.'
Shamron's temper, always seething below the surface, broke through. He pounded his fist on the table and shouted at Gabriel in Hebrew: 'Do you wish to fix your silly painting or help me find out who killed your friend?'
'It's always that simple for you, isn't it?'
'Oh, but I wish it were so. Do you intend to help me, or will you force me to turn to one of Lev's oafs for this delicate mission?'
Gabriel made a show of contemplation, but his mind was already made up. He scooped up the passport with a smooth movement of his hand and slipped it into his coat pocket. Gabriel had the hands of a conjurer and a magician's sense of misdirection. The passport was there; the passport was gone. Next, Shamron reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a mid-sized manila envelope. Inside, Gabriel found an airline ticket and an expensive Swiss-made wallet of black leather. He opened the wallet: Israeli driver's license, credit cards, membership to an exclusive Tel Aviv health club, a checkout card for a local video store, a substantial amount of currency in euros and shekels.
'What do I do for a living?'
'You own an art gallery. Your business cards are in the zippered compartment.'
Gabriel found the cards and removed one:
landau art gallery sheinkin street, Tel Aviv
'Does it exist?'
'It does now.'
The last item in the envelope was a gold wristwatch with a black leather band. Gabriel turned over the watch and read the engraving on the back. for Ehud from Hannah with love.
'Nice touch,' Gabriel said.
'I've always found it's the little things.'
The watch, the airline tickets, and the wallet joined the passport in Gabriel's pocket. The two men stood. As they walked outside, the long-haired girl in the bronze-colored wrap came quickly to Shamron's side. Gabriel realized she was the old man's bodyguard.
'Where are you going?'
'Back to Tiberias,' Shamron replied. 'If you pick up something interesting, send it to King Saul Boulevard through the usual channels.'
'Whose eyes?'
'Mine, but that doesn't mean little Lev won't have a peek, so use appropriate discretion.'
In the distance, a church bell tolled. Shamron stopped in the center of the campo, next to thepozzo, and took one last look around. 'Our first ghetto. God, how I do hate this place.'
'It's too bad you weren't in Venice in the sixteenth century,' Gabriel said. 'The Council of Ten would never have dared to lock the Jews away here.'
'But I was here,' Shamron said with conviction. 'I was always here. And I remember it all.'
MUNICH
Detective Axel Weiss of the Munich Kriminal Polizei was waiting outside Adalbertstrasse 68 two days later, dressed in civilian clothes and a tan raincoat. He shook Gabriel's hand carefully, as though he were feeling its density. A tall man with a narrow face and a long nose, Weiss's dark complexion and short-cropped black hair gave him the appearance of a Doberman pinscher. He released Gabriel's hand and patted him fraternally on the shoulder.
'It's a pleasure to meet you, Herr Landau, though I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances. Let me take you somewhere comfortable to talk before we go up to the apartment.'
They set off down the rain-soaked pavement. It was late afternoon, and the lights of Schwabing were slowly coming up. Gabriel never liked German cities at night. The detective stopped in front
of a coffeehouse and peered through a fogged window. Wood floors, round tables, students and intellectuals hunched over books. 'This will do,' he said. Then he opened the door and led Gabriel to a quiet table in the back.
'Your people at the consulate tell me you own an art gallery.'
'Yes, that's right.'
'In Tel Aviv?'
'You know Tel Aviv ?'
The detective shook his head. 'It must be very hard for you now--with the war and all.'
'We make do. But then, we always have.'
A waitress appeared. Detective Weiss ordered two coffees.
'Something to eat, Herr Landau?'
Gabriel shook his head. When the waitress was gone, Weiss said, 'Do you have a card?'
He managed to pose the question in an offhand way, but Gabriel could tell his cover story was being probed. His work had left him incapable of seeing things as they appeared to be. When he viewed paintings, he saw not only the surface but the underdrawings and layers of base paint. The same was true of the people he met in his work for Shamron and the situations he found himself. He had the distinct impression Axel Weiss was more than just a detective for the Munich Kriminal Polizei. Indeed, Gabriel could feel Weiss's eyes boring into him as he reached into his wallet and produced the business card Shamron had given him in Venice. The detective held it up to the light, as if looking for the marks of a counterfeiter.
'May I keep this?'
'Sure.' Gabriel held open his wallet. 'Do you need any other identification?'
