A Death in Vienna

building and turning into the street. He snapped a series of photographs, then lowered the camera and sat down in front of the tape recorder. In the darkness it took him a moment to find thePLAY button.
    “So I waited until the right person came along. You seemed like him. Are you the right person, Mr. Argov?”
    “Yes, Herr Klein. I’m the right person. Don’t worry, I’m going to help you.”
    “None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. Those girls are dead because of me. Eli Lavon is in that hospital because of me.”
    “That’s not true. You did nothing wrong. But given what’s taken place, I’m concerned about your safety.”
    “So am I.”
    “Has anyone been following you?”
    “Not that I can tell, but I’m not sure I would know it if they were.”
    “Have you received any threatening telephone calls?”
    “No.”
    “Has anyone at all tried to contact you since the bombing?”
    “Just one person, a woman named Renate Hoffmann.”
    STOP. REWIND. PLAY.
    “Just one person, a woman named Renate Hoffmann.”
    “Do you know her?”
    “No, I’ve never heard of her.”
    “Did you speak to her?”
    “No, she left a message on my machine.”
    “What did she want?”
    “To talk.”
    “Did she leave a number?”
    “Yes, I wrote it down. Hold on a minute. Yes, here it is. Renate Hoffmann, five-three-three-one-nine-zero-seven.”
    STOP. REWIND. PLAY.
    “Renate Hoffmann, five-three-three-one-nine-zero-seven.”
    STOP.
    6
    VIENNA
    THE COALITION FORa Better Austria had all the trappings of a noble yet ultimately hopeless cause. It was located on the second floor of a dilapidated old warehouse in the Twentieth District, with sooty windows overlooking a railyard. The workspace was open and communal and impossible to heat properly. Gabriel, arriving the following morning, found most of the youthful staff wearing thick sweaters and woolen caps.
    Renate Hoffmann was the group’s legal director. Gabriel had telephoned her earlier that morning, posing as Gideon Argov from Jerusalem, and told her about his encounter the previous evening with Max Klein. Renate Hoffmann had hastily agreed to a meeting with him, then broken the connection, as if she were reticent to discuss the matter on the telephone.
    She had a cubicle for an office. When Gabriel was shown inside, she was on the telephone. She pointed toward an empty chair with the tip of a chewed pen. A moment later, she concluded the conversation and stood to greet him. She was tall and better dressed than the rest of the staff: black sweater and skirt, black stockings, flat-soled black shoes. Her hair was flaxen and did not reach her square, athletic shoulders. Parted on the side, it fell naturally toward her face, and she was holding back a troublesome forelock with her left hand as she shook hands firmly with Gabriel with her right. She wore no rings on her fingers, no makeup on her attractive face, and no scent other than tobacco. Gabriel guessed that she was not yet thirty-five.
    They sat down again, and she asked a series of curt, lawyerly questions. How long have you known Eli Lavon? How did you find Max Klein? How much did he tell you? When did you arrive in Vienna? With whom have you met? Have you discussed the matter with the Austrian authorities? With officials from the Israeli embassy? Gabriel felt a bit like a defendant in the dock, yet his responses were as polite and accurate as possible.
    Renate Hoffmann, her cross-examination complete, regarded him skeptically for a moment. Then she stood suddenly and pulled on a long, gray overcoat with very square shoulders.
    “Let’s take a walk.”
    Gabriel looked out the soot-smudged windows and saw that it was sleeting. Renate Hoffman shoved some files into a leather bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Trust me,” she said, sensing his apprehension. “It’s better if we walk.”
    RENATE HOFFMANN, ONthe icy footpaths of the Augarten, explained to Gabriel how she had become Eli Lavon’s most important asset in Vienna. After graduating at the top of her class from Vienna University, she had gone to work for the Austrian state prosecutor’s office, where she had served exceptionally for seven years. Then, five years ago, she’d resigned, telling friends and colleagues that she longed for the freedom of private practice. In truth, Renate Hoffman had decided she could no longer work for a government that showed less concern about justice than about protecting the interests of