The Confessor

into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the comforting shape of the Beretta.
    For Lange the rapid acceleration of the van provided confirmation that Gabriel Allon was inside. It also meant that they had been spotted, that the element of surprise had been lost, and that killing Allon would entail a high-speed chase followed by a shoot-out, something that violated nearly all of Lange's operational tenets. He killed by stealth and surprise, appearing where he was least expected and slipping quietly away. Gun battles were for commandos and desperados, not professional assassins. Still, he was loath to let Allon escape so easily. Reluctantly, he ordered Aziz to take up the chase. The Palestinian downshifted and pressed hard on the accelerator, trying to maintain contact.
    Two minutes later, the interior of the Lancia was suddenly filled with blinding halogen light. Lange shot a look over his shoulder and saw the distinctive headlights of a Mercedes, a few inches from the rear bumper. The Mercedes moved left, so that its right front bumper was aligned with the left rear bumper of the Lancia.
    Lange braced himself against the dash. The Mercedes accelerated hard, closing the gap between the two cars. The Lancia shuddered with the impact, then went into a violent clockwise spin. Aziz
    shouted and clung desperately to the wheel. Lange grabbed the armrest and waited for the car to roll.
    It never did. After what seemed like an eternity, the Lancia came to a stop, facing the opposite direction. Lange turned around and glanced through the rear window in time to see the van and the Mercedes disappear below the crest of a hill.
    NINETY MINUTES later, the van rolled to a stop in a carpark overlooking a windswept beach. The labored howl of a jumbo jet sinking out of the black sky provided proof that they were near the end of Fiumicino's busy runway. Chiara climbed out and walked down to the water's edge to see if it was clear. The van shuddered in the wind gusts. Two minutes later, she poked her head through the doors and nodded. Pazner shook Gabriel's hand and wished him luck. Then he looked at Chiara. "We'll wait here. Hurry."
    Gabriel followed her along the rocky beach. They came to the boat, a ten-foot Zodiac, and dragged it into the frigid surf. The engine started without hesitation. Chiara guided the boat expertly out to sea, the stubby prow bucking over the wind-driven surf, while Gabriel watched the shoreline falling away and the coastal lights growing dim. Italy, a country he loved, a place that had given him peace after the Wrath of God operation. He wondered whether he would ever be allowed to go back again.
    Chiara removed a radio from her jacket pocket, murmured a few words into the microphone, and released the talk button. A moment later, the running lights of a motor yacht flickered on. "There," she said, pointing off the starboard side. "There's your ride home."
    She changed the heading and opened the throttle, racing across the whitecaps toward the waiting vessel. Fifty yards from the yacht,
    she killed the engine and glided silently toward the stern. Then, for the first time, she looked at Gabriel.
    "I'm coming with you."
    "What are you talking about?"
    "I'm coming with you," she repeated deliberately.
    "I'm going to Israel."
    "No, you're not. You're going to Provence to find the daughter of Regina Carcassi. And I'm going with you."
    "You're going to put me on that yacht, and then you're going to turn around."
    "Even with that Canadian passport, you can't go anywhere in Europe right now. You can't rent a car, you can't get on an airplane. You need me. And what if Pazner was lying? What if there are two men on that boat instead of just one?"
    Gabriel had to admit she had point.
    "You're a fool to do this, Chiara. You'll destroy your career."
    "No, I won't," she said. "I'll tell them that you forced me to accompany you against my will."
    Gabriel looked up at the motor yacht. It was growing larger by degrees. Honor was due. Chiara had picked the perfect time to spring her trap.
    "Why?" he asked. "Why do you want to do this?"
    "Did my father tell you that his grandparents were among the elderly Jews who were removed from that home in the ghetto and deported to Auschwitz? Did he tell you that they died there, along with all the others?"
    "He didn't mention that."
    "Do you know why he didn't tell you? Because even now, even after all these years, he can't bring himself to speak of it. He can recite the name of every