Portrait of a Spy

with a trace of sadness, as though a confidence had been betrayed. “My father’s opinions about Jews were well known,” she said after a moment. “Unfortunately, I was exposed to those opinions on a daily basis, and my father’s views briefly became my own.” She paused and looked at Gabriel. “Have you never said something you wish you could take back? Have you never done anything for which you are deeply ashamed?”
    Gabriel blew softly on the kindling but said nothing.
    “I sit atop a fortune worth many billions of dollars,” Nadia said. “So you’ll probably not find it surprising that I don’t believe Jews control the world’s financial system. Nor do I believe they control the media. I do believe the Holocaust took place, that six million people perished, and that to deny its truth is an act of hate speech. I also believe the ancient blood libel to be just that, a libel, and I cringe each time I hear one of Saudi Arabia’s so-called men of religion refer to Jews and Christians as apes and pigs.” She paused. “Have I left anything out?”
    “The devil,” said Gabriel.
    “I don’t believe in the devil.”
    “And what about Israel, Nadia? Do you believe we have a right to live in peace? That we have a right to take our children to school or go to the market without fear of being blown to bits by a soldier of Allah?”
    “I believe the State of Israel has a right to exist. I also believe it has a right to defend itself against those who seek to destroy it or to murder its citizens.”
    “And what do you think would happen if tomorrow we walked away from the West Bank and Gaza and granted the Palestinians their state? Do you think the Islamic world would ever accept us, or are we doomed to forever be regarded as an alien entity, a cancer that must be removed?”
    “The latter, I’m afraid,” said Nadia, “but I’m trying to help you. It might be nice if, from time to time, you didn’t make things so difficult for me. Each and every day, in large ways and small, you humiliate the Palestinians and their supporters in the broader Islamic world. And when you mix humiliation with the ideology of the Wahhabis . . .”
    “Bombs explode in the streets of Europe,” said Gabriel. “But it takes more than just humiliation and ideology to produce terrorism on a global scale. It also takes money. The masterminds need money to inspire, money to recruit and train, and money to operate. With money, they can strike at will. Without it, they are nothing. Your father understood the power of money. So do you. That’s why we went to so much trouble to speak with you, Nadia. That’s why you’re here.”
    Eli Lavon had slipped silently into the room and was watching the proceedings impassively from a perch along the windows. Nadia regarded him carefully for a moment, as if trying to place him in the cluttered drawers of her memory.
    “Is he in charge?” she inquired.
    “Max?” Gabriel shook his head slowly. “No, Max isn’t in charge. I’m the one who’s been cursed with the responsibility of command. Max is merely my guilty conscience. Max is my worried soul.”
    “He doesn’t look worried to me.”
    “That’s because Max is a professional. And like all professionals, Max is very good at concealing his emotions.”
    “Like you.”
    “Yes, like me.”
    She glanced at Lavon and asked, “What’s bothering him?”
    “Max thinks I’ve lost a step. Max is trying to prevent me from making what he thinks will be the biggest mistake of an otherwise unblemished career.”
    “What mistake is that?”
    “You,” said Gabriel. “I’m convinced you are the answer to my prayers, that we can work together in order to eliminate a grave threat to the security of the West and the Middle East. But as you can see, Max is much older than I am, and he’s terribly set in his ways. He finds the idea of our partnership laughable and naïve. He believes that, as a Muslim woman from Saudi Arabia, you acquired your hatred of Jews with the milk of your mother’s breast. Max is also convinced that you are, first and foremost, your father’s daughter. And Max believes that, like your father, you have two faces—one you show to the West and another you show at home.”
    Nadia smiled for the first time. “Perhaps you should remind Max that I’m not allowed to show my face at home, at least not in public. And perhaps you should also remind Max that I risk my life every day trying to change that.”
    “Max