Portrait of a Spy

had given to Sarah five years earlier as an inducement to come to work for him. A jeweler employed by Identity had buffed out the original inscription and replaced it with To the future, Thomas . Nadia’s eyes glistened as she read it. Leaving, she embraced Gabriel in a way that made Shamron visibly uncomfortable.
    “Is there something you’d like to tell me about our girl?” he asked Gabriel as they stood in the window watching Nadia climb into her car.
    “She’s one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met. And if any harm comes to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”
    “Now tell me something I don’t know,” Shamron said.
    “She knows who killed her father. And she forgives him.”
    The team assumed that their enemies were watching and their friends were listening, and so they conducted themselves accordingly. For the most part, they remained barricaded inside the Cannon Street offices of Rogers & Cressey, with all outside errands handled by British personnel who had no direct connection to the operation. Shamron spent most of his time in an Office flat on Bayswater Road that was known to MI5. Gabriel dropped by once a day to walk with him on the footpaths of Kensington Gardens. On their last day in London, the British followed them. So did the Americans.
    “I’ve always preferred to do my killing alone,” Shamron said, looking glumly at the watchers trailing them along the edge of the Long Water. “I’m surprised your friend the president didn’t insist on going to the U.N. for a resolution.”
    “I managed to talk him out of it.”
    “What did you talk about with him?”
    “Adrian Carter,” said Gabriel. “I told the president that we would take care of Malik only if the Justice Department dropped its investigation into Adrian’s handling of the war on terror.”
    “He agreed?”
    “It was somewhat veiled,” said Gabriel, “but unmistakable. He also agreed to my second demand.”
    “Which was?”
    “That he fire James McKenna before he gets us all killed.”
    “We always assumed the president and McKenna were inseparable.”
    “In Washington, no two people are ever inseparable.”
    Shamron was beginning to tire. They walked to the Italian Gardens and sat on a bench overlooking a fountain. Shamron did a poor job of concealing his irritation. Waterworks, like all other forms of human amusement, bored him.
    “You should know that your efforts have already earned us valuable political capital with the Americans,” he said. “Last night, the secretary of state quietly agreed to all our conditions for resuming the peace process with the Palestinians. She also hinted that the president might be willing to pay a visit to Jerusalem in the near future. We assume it will take place before the next election.”
    “Don’t underestimate him.”
    “I never have,” Shamron said, “but I’m not sure I envy him. The great Arab Awakening has occurred on his watch, and his actions will help to determine whether the Middle East tips toward people like Nadia al-Bakari or the jihadists like Rashid al-Husseini.” Shamron paused. “I’ll admit even I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. I only know that killing a man like Malik will make it easier for the forces of progress and decency to prevail.”
    “Are you saying the entire future of the Middle East depends on the outcome of my operation?”
    “That would be hyperbolic on my part,” Shamron said. “And I’ve always tried to avoid hyperbole at all costs.”
    “Except when it suits your purposes.”
    Shamron gave a trace of a smile and lit one of his Turkish cigarettes. “Have you given any thought to who’s going to enforce the sentence that’s been imposed on Malik?”
    “In all likelihood, that decision will be made by Malik himself.”
    “Which is just one of many things about this operation that I don’t care for.” Shamron smoked in silence for a moment. “I know you’ve always preferred the finality of a firearm, but in this case, the needle is a far better option. A noisy kill will only make it harder for you and your team to escape. Hit him with a healthy dose of suxamethonium chloride. He’ll feel a pinprick. Then he’ll have trouble breathing as the paralysis sets in. Within a few minutes, he’ll be dead. And you’ll be boarding a private plane at the airport.”
    “Suxamethonium has one thing in common with a bullet,” Gabriel said. “It stays in the body long after the victim is dead. Eventually,