The Confessor

Venetian Jew who died at Auschwitz, but he
    can't bring himself to talk about his own grandparents." She removed a Beretta from her jacket pocket and pulled the slide. "I'm coming with you to find that woman."
    The Zodiac nudged against the stern of the motor yacht. Above them, a figure appeared on the deck and looked over the railing at a them. Gabriel tied off the line and held the boat steady while Chiara pulled herself up the ladder. Then he followed after her. By the time he reached the deck, the captain was standing with his arms in the air and a look of utter disbelief on his face.
    "Sorry," Gabriel said. "I'm afraid there's been a slight change in our itinerary."
    Chiara had brought a syringe and a bottle of sedative. Gabriel led the captain down to one of the staterooms below deck and bound his wrists and ankles with a length of line. The man struggled for a few seconds as Chiara pulled up his sleeve, but when Gabriel pressed his forearm against the man's throat, he relaxed and allowed Chiara to give him the injection. When he was unconscious, Gabriel checked the knots--tight enough to hold him, not tight enough to cut off the circulation to his hands and feet. "How long is the sedative supposed to last?" "Ten hours, but he's big. I'll give him another dose in eight." "Just don't kill the poor bastard. He's on our side." "He'll be fine."
    Chiara led the way up to the bridge. A chart of the waters off Italy's western coast was spread on the table. She checked their position on the GPS display and quickly plotted a course. Then she powered up the engines and brought the yacht around to a proper
    heading. A moment later they were cruising north, toward the straits between Elba and Corsica.
    She turned and looked at Gabriel, who was watching in admiration, and said, "We're going to need some coffee. Think you can handle that?"
    "I'll do my best."
    "Sometime tonight would be good."
    "Yes, sir."
    Shimon Pazner stood motionless on the beach, hands on his hips, shoes filled with seawater, trousers soaked to the knees, like a long-submerged statue being slowly revealed by the receding waters. He brought his radio to his lips and tried to raise Chiara one last time. Silence.
    She should have been back an hour ago. There were two possibilities, neither pleasant. Possibility one? Something had gone wrong and they were lost. Possibility two? Alton ...
    Pazner hurled his radio into the surf in disgust, a look of pure loathing on his face, and trod slowly back to the van.
    THERE WAS just enough time for Lange for Eric Lange to catch the night train for Zurich. He directed Aziz to a quiet side street adjacent to the rail lines feeding out of the Stazione Termini and told him to shut down the engine. Aziz seemed puzzled. "Why do you want to be dropped here?"
    "At the moment every police officer in Rome is looking for Gabriel Allon. Surely, they're watching the train stations and airports.
    It's best not to show your face there unless it's absolutely necessary."
    The Palestinian seemed to accept this explanation. Lange could see a train easing out of the station. He waited patiently to take his leave.
    "Tell Hussein that I'll contact him in Paris when things have cooled down," Lange said.
    "I'm sorry we weren't successful tonight."
    Lange shrugged. "With a bit of luck, we'll get another chance."
    The train was suddenly next to them, filling the car with a metallic screeching. Lange saw his chance. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. Aziz leaned across the front seat and called out, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the train.
    "What?" Lange asked, cupping his ear. "I can't hear you."
    "The gun," Aziz repeated. "You forgot to give me the gun." Ah, yes.
    Lange removed the silenced Stechkin from his coat pocket and pointed it toward Aziz. The Palestinian reached out for it. The first shot pierced the palm of his hand before tearing into his chest cavity. The second left a neat circle above his right eye.
    Lange dropped the gun on the passenger seat and walked into the station. The Zurich train was boarding. He found his compartment in the first-class sleeper carriage and stretched out in the comfortable berth. Twenty minutes later, as the train slipped through the northern suburbs of Rome, he closed his eyes and was immediately asleep.
    Tiberias, Israel
    The call from Lev did not awaken Shamron. Indeed, he had not closed his eyes since the first urgent flash from Rome that Gabriel and the girl were