Portrait of a Spy

Quarter on this morning, he planned to die on his own terms. And, if possible, he was going to take Malik al-Zubair with him.
    Emerging from the shadow of the dune, Gabriel saw Nadia for the first time since she had walked past him in the lobby of the Burj Al Arab. Cloaked in her death shroud, she appeared paralyzed by fear. So did the sparsely bearded young jihadi who was guarding her. Malik walked over and shoved the boy out of the way. Then he seized Nadia’s dark hair and pulled her toward Gabriel. “Look at what you’ve done,” he shouted over her screams. “This is what happens when you seduce our people into renouncing their faith.”
    “She never renounced her faith, Malik. Let her go.”
    “She worked for you against us. She has to be punished. And for your sins, you shall cast the first stone.”
    “I won’t do it.” Gabriel looked searchingly toward the sky. One last deception. One last lie. “And neither will you, Malik.”
    Malik smiled. It was genuine.
    “This isn’t Pakistan or Yemen, Allon. This is Saudi Arabia. And the Americans would never fire a Hellfire missile against the territory of their great ally, the House of Saud. Besides, no one knows where you are. You are completely alone.”
    “Are you sure about that, Malik?”
    Clearly, he wasn’t. Still clutching a handful of Nadia’s hair, he tilted his face to the sky. So did the others, including al-Kamal. He was standing about three feet to Gabriel’s left, holding the knife and the camera.
    “Listen carefully,” Gabriel said. “Can you hear it? It’s circling just overhead. It’s watching with its cameras. Let her go, Malik. Otherwise, we’re all going to die in a flash of fire. You’ll go to your God; Nadia and I will go to ours.”
    “There is no God but God, Allon. There is only Allah.”
    “I hope you’re right, Malik, because you’re about to see His face. Do you want to be a martyr? Or do you prefer to leave the martyrdom to others?”
    Malik flung Nadia aside and swung the Kalashnikov wildly toward Gabriel’s head. Gabriel easily sidestepped the blow and delivered a vicious knee to Malik’s groin that sent him sprawling to the sand. Then Gabriel pivoted with his arms extended and his hands formed like the blade of an ax. The blade connected squarely with Rafiq al-Kamal’s neck, crushing his larynx. Gabriel looked at Nadia and at the pile of bone white stones. Then he flailed his arms like a madman against the sky and screamed, “Take the shot! Take the shot! It’s Malik, damn it! Take the shot!”
    Adrian Carter hung up the phone with the White House and buried his face in his hands. Uzi Navot watched for a few seconds longer, then closed his eyes. Only Shamron refused to look away. It was his fault, all of it. The least he could do was see it through to the end.
    Malik had risen to one knee and was groping blindly about for his fallen Kalashnikov. Gabriel was still raging at the merciless sky. He heard the metallic clack-clack of the rifle’s cocking handle and saw the barrel rise. Then, from the corner of one eye, he glimpsed the ghostlike flash of Nadia’s sparkling white death shroud as she came hurtling toward him. As she passed before the gun, two crimson flowers bloomed violently in the center of her chest, though her face appeared oddly serene as she collapsed onto Gabriel. Malik tore her away and pointed the Kalashnikov downward at Gabriel’s face, but before he could pull the trigger again, the side of his head exploded in a flash of pink. Several more gunshots followed until only the young jihadi remained standing. He peered down at Gabriel, his face eclipsing the sun, then looked mournfully at Nadia.
    “It was God’s will that she die today,” he said, “but at least she did not suffer.”
    “No,” said Gabriel, “she did not suffer.”
    “Are you hit?” asked the boy.
    “One round,” said Gabriel.
    “Will they come for you?”
    “Eventually.”
    “Can you hold out until they arrive?”
    “I think so.”
    “I have to leave you here alone. I have a wife. I have a child on the way.”
    “Boy or girl?” asked Gabriel, his strength beginning to ebb.
    “Girl.”
    “Have you chosen a name?”
    “Hanan.”
    “Be kind to her,” said Gabriel. “Treat her always with respect.”
    The boy stepped away; the sun beat upon Gabriel’s face. He heard an engine turning over, then glimpsed a cloud of dust moving across the sea of sand. After that, there was only the empty silence of