Prince of Fire

table, contemplating a glass of red wine. Gabriel handed him the bag of dirty clothing.
    “Get rid of these things,” he said. “Someplace where no one’s going to find them.”
    The bodel nodded, then slipped out of the safe flat. Gabriel took his place at the table and looked at Navot. The Paris katsa was a compact man, no taller than Gabriel, with a wrestler’s heavy shoulders and thick arms. Gabriel had always seen something of Shamron in Navot, and he suspected that Shamron did, too. They’d clashed in the past, Gabriel and Navot, but Gabriel had come to regard the younger officer as a thoroughly competent field man. They’d worked together most recently on the Radek case.
    “There’s going to be a shit storm over this.” Navot handed Gabriel a glass of wine. “We might as well break out the hip-waders now.”
    “How much warning did we give them?”
    “The French? Two hours. The prime minister called Grey Poupon directly. Grey Poupon had a few choice words, then he raised the terror alert status to Level Red. You didn’t hear any of it?”
    Gabriel told Navot about the disabled car radio. “The first time I sensed any increase in security was the moment I was walking into the station.” He swallowed some of the wine. “How much did the prime minister tell them?”
    Navot relayed to Gabriel what details of the conversation he knew.
    “How did they explain my presence in Marseilles?”
    “They said you were looking for someone in connection with the Rome bombing.”
    “Khaled?”
    “I don’t think they went into specifics.”
    “Something tells me we need to get our stories straight. Why did they wait so long to alert the French?”
    “They were hoping you’d turn up, obviously. They also needed to make sure all the members of the Marseilles team had left French soil.”
    “Had they?”
    Navot nodded.
    “I suppose we could consider ourselves lucky the prime minister went on the record with Élysée Palace.”
    “Why is that?”
    Gabriel told Navot about the three shaheeds. “We were at the same table in Cairo together. I’m sure someone made a very nice photograph of the occasion.”
    “A setup?”
    “Designed to make it look as though I was somehow involved in the conspiracy.”
    Navot inclined his head in the direction of the living room. “Will she eat anything?”
    “Let her sleep.”
    Navot slid an omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of Gabriel.
    “Specialty of the house: mushrooms, Gruyère, fresh herbs.”
    “I haven’t eaten in thirty-six hours. When I’m finished with the eggs, I plan on eating the plate.”
    Navot began breaking more eggs into his mixing bowl. His work was interrupted by the flashing red light atop the telephone. He snatched up the receiver, listened for a moment, then murmured a few words in Hebrew and rang off. Gabriel looked up from his food.
    “What was that?”
    “King Saul Boulevard. The escape plan will be ready in an hour.”
    A S IT TURNED OUT , they had only forty minutes to wait for the plan. It was transmitted to the safe flat by way of secure fax—three sheets of Hebrew text, composed in Naka, the field code of the Office. Navot, seated next to Gabriel at the kitchen table, handled the decryption.
    “There’s an El Al charter on the ground in Warsaw right now,” Navot said.
    “Polish Jews visiting the old country?”
    “Actually, visiting the scene of the crime. It’s a packaged tour of the death camps.” Navot shook his head. He had been at Treblinka that night with Gabriel and Radek and had walked among the ashes at the side of the murderer. “Why anyone would want to go to such a place is beyond me.”
    “When does the flight depart?”
    “Tomorrow night. One of the passengers will be asked to volunteer for a rather special assignment—traveling home on a false Israeli passport from a different point of departure.”
    “And Leah will take her place on the charter?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Does King Saul Boulevard have a candidate?”
    “Three, actually. They’re making the final decision now.”
    “How will they explain Leah’s condition?”
    “Illness.”
    “How will we get her to Warsaw?”
    “We?” Navot shook his head. “You’re going home by a different route: overland to Italy, then a nighttime pickup on the beach at Fiumicino. Apparently you’re familiar with that spot?”
    Gabriel nodded. He knew the beach well. “So how does Leah get to Warsaw?”
    “I’ll take her.” Navot saw the