A Death in Vienna

word. When finally he looked up from the last page, his eyes were damp.
    “I take it Irene Allon is your mother?”
    “Shewas my mother. She died a long time ago.”
    “How can you be sure the SS man in the woods was Radek?”
    Gabriel told him about his mother’s paintings.
    “So I take it you’ll be the one who’ll handle the negotiations with Radek. And if he refuses to cooperate? What then, Gabriel?”
    “His choices will be limited, Adrian. One way or another, Erich Radek is never setting foot in Vienna again.”
    Carter handed the testimony back to Gabriel. “It’s an excellent plan,” he said. “But will your prime minister go for it?”
    “I’m certain there will be voices raised in opposition,” Shamron said.
    “Lev?”
    Shamron nodded. “My involvement will give him all the grounds he needs to veto it. But I believe Gabriel will be able to bring the prime minister around to our way of thinking.”
    “Me? Who said I was going to brief the prime minister?”
    “I did,” Shamron said. “Besides, if you can convince Carter to put Radek on a platter, surely you can convince the prime minister to partake in the feast. He’s a man of enormous appetites.”
    Carter stood and stretched, then walked slowly toward the window, a doctor who has spent the entire night in surgery only to achieve a questionable outcome. He opened the drapes. Gray light filtered into the room.
    “There’s one last item we need to discuss before leaving for Israel,” Shamron said.
    Carter turned around, a silhouette against the glass. “The money?”
    “What exactly were you planning to do with it?”
    “We haven’t reached a final decision.”
    “I have. Two and a half billion dollars is the price you pay for using a man like Erich Radek when you knew he was a murderer and a war criminal. It was stolen from Jews on the way to the gas chambers, and I want it back.”
    Carter turned once more and looked out at the snow-covered pasture.
    “You’re a two-bit blackmail artist, Ari Shamron.”
    Shamron stood and pulled on his overcoat. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Adrian. If all goes according to plan in Jerusalem, we’ll meet again in Zurich in forty-eight hours.”
    29
    JERUSALEM
    THE MEETING WAScalled for ten o’clock that evening. Shamron, Gabriel, and Chiara, delayed by weather, arrived with two minutes to spare after a white-knuckle car ride from Ben-Gurion Airport, only to be told by an aide that the prime minister was running late. Evidently, there was yet another crisis in his brittle governing coalition, because the anteroom outside his office had taken on the air of a temporary shelter after a disaster. Gabriel counted no fewer than five cabinet officials, each surrounded by a retinue of acolytes and apparatchiks. They were all shouting at each other like quarreling relatives at a family wedding, and a fog bank of tobacco smoke hung on the air.
    The aide escorted them into a room reserved for security and intelligence personnel, and closed the door. Gabriel shook his head.
    “Israeli democracy in action.”
    “Believe it or not, it’s quiet tonight. Usually, it’s worse.”
    Gabriel collapsed into a chair. He realized suddenly that he had not showered or changed his clothing in two days. Indeed, his trousers were soiled by the dust of the graveyard in Puerto Blest. When he shared this with Shamron, the old man smiled. “To be covered with the dirt of Argentina only adds to the credibility of your message,” Shamron said. “The prime minister is a man who will appreciate such a thing.”
    “I’ve never briefed a prime minister before, Ari. I would have liked to at least had a shower.”
    “You’re actually nervous.” This seemed to amuse Shamron. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous about anything before in my life. You’re human after all.”
    “Of course I’m nervous. He’s a madman.”
    “Actually, he and I are quite similar in temperament.”
    “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
    “May I give you a piece of advice?”
    “If you must.”
    “He likes stories. Tell him a good story.”
    Chiara perched herself on the arm of Gabriel’s chair. “Tell it to the prime minister the way you told it to me in Rome,” she saidsotto voce.
    “You were in my arms at the time,” Gabriel replied. “Something tells me tonight’s briefing will be a bit more formal.” He smiled, then added, “At least I hope so.”
    It was nearing midnight by the time the