A Death in Vienna

Vienna. It was January 1991. The Office had learned that an Iraqi intelligence agent operating from the city was planning to direct a string of terrorist attacks against Israeli targets to coincide with the first Persian Gulf War. Shamron had ordered Gabriel to monitor the Iraqi and, if necessary, take preemptive action. Unwilling to endure another long separation from his family, Gabriel had brought his wife, Leah, and young son, Dani, along with him. Though he didn’t realize it, he had walked into a trap laid by a Palestinian terrorist named Tariq al-Hourani.
    Gabriel, lost in thought for a long moment, finally looked up at Shamron. “Have you forgotten that Vienna is the forbidden city for me?”
    Shamron lit one of his foul-smelling Turkish cigarettes and placed the dead match in the saucer next to his teaspoon. He pushed his eyeglasses onto his forehead and folded his arms. They were still powerful, braided steel beneath a thin layer of sagging suntanned skin. So were the hands. The gesture was one Gabriel had seen many times before. Shamron the unmovable. Shamron the indomitable. He’d struck the same pose after dispatching Gabriel to Rome to kill for the first time. He’d been an old man even then. Indeed, he’d never really been young at all. Instead of chasing girls on the beach at Netanya, he’d been a unit commander in the Palmach, fighting the first battle in Israel’s war without end. His youth had been stolen from him. In turn he had stolen Gabriel’s.
    “I volunteered to go to Vienna myself, but Lev wouldn’t hear of it. He knows that because of our regrettable history there, I’m something of a pariah. He reckoned the Staatspolizei would be more forthcoming if we were represented by a less polarizing figure.”
    “So your solution is to sendme ?”
    “Not in any official capacity, of course.” These days Shamron did almost nothing in an official capacity. “But I would feel much more comfortable if someone I trusted was keeping an eye on things.”
    “We have Office personnel in Vienna.”
    “Yes, but they report to Lev.”
    “Heis the chief.”
    Shamron closed his eyes, as if he were being reminded of a painful subject. “Lev has too many other problems at the moment to give this the attention it deserves. The boy emperor in Damascus is making troublesome noises. The mullahs of Iran are trying to build Allah’s bomb, and Hamas is turning children into bombs and detonating them on the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. One minor bombing in Vienna is not going to get the attention it deserves, even though the target was Eli Lavon.”
    Shamron stared compassionately at Gabriel over the rim of his coffee cup. “I know you have no desire to go back to Vienna, especially after another bombing, but your friend is lying in a Viennese hospital fighting for his life! I would think you’d like to know who put him there.”
    Gabriel thought of the half-completed Bellini altarpiece in the church of San Giovanni Crisostomo and could feel it slipping away from him. Chiara had turned away from Shamron and was eyeing him intently. Gabriel avoided her gaze.
    “If I went to Vienna,” he said quietly, “I would need an identity.”
    Shamron shrugged, as if to say there were ways—obvious ways, dear boy—of getting around a small problem such as cover. Gabriel had expected this would be Shamron’s response. He held out his hand.
    Shamron opened his briefcase and handed over a manila envelope. Gabriel lifted the flap and poured the contents on the coffee table: airline tickets, a leather billfold, a well-traveled Israeli passport. He opened the cover of the passport and saw his own face staring back at him. His new name was Gideon Argov. He’d always liked the name Gideon.
    “What does Gideon do for a living?”
    Shamron inclined his head toward the billfold. Among the usual items—credit cards, a driver’s license, a health-club and video-club membership—he found a business card:
    GIDEON ARGOV
    WARTIME CLAIMS AND INQUIRIES
    17 MENDELE STREET
    JERUSALEM 92147
    5427618
    Gabriel looked up at Shamron. “I didn’t know Eli had an office in Jerusalem.”
    “He does now. Try the number.”
    Gabriel shook his head. “I believe you. Does Lev know about this?”
    “Not yet, but I plan on telling him once you’re safely on the ground in Vienna.”
    “So we’re deceiving the Austriansand the Office. That’s impressive, even for you, Ari.”
    Shamron gave a sheepish smile. Gabriel opened