The Defector

kind of justice, perhaps even peace, to seventy thousand restless souls.
    For the remainder of the meal, Shamron regaled them with stories of the past. He was never happier than when surrounded by his family and friends, and his good mood seemed to soften the deep cracks and fissures in his aged face. But there was sadness there, too. The operation had been traumatic for all of them, but in many ways it had been hardest on Shamron. With his cool, creative thinking, he had saved all their lives. But for more than an hour that terrible morning, he had feared that three officers, two of whom he loved as children, were about to suffer a horrible death. There was an emotional price to be paid for an operation like that—and Shamron paid it, later that evening, when he invited Gabriel to join him on the terrace for a private chat. They sat together on the spot where Gabriel and Chiara were married, Shamron smoking quietly, Gabriel gazing at the blue-black sky above the Golan.
    “Your wife looks radiant this evening. Almost like new.”
    “Looks can be deceiving, Ari, but she does look wonderful. I suppose I have Gilah to thank. She obviously took good care of her while I was gone.”
    “Gilah is good at putting people back together again, even when she’s not sure how they ended up broken in the first place. I must say, we enjoyed having Chiara for the summer. If only my own children would come more often.”
    “Maybe they would if you didn’t smoke so much.”
    Shamron took a final pull at his cigarette and crushed it out slowly. “You actually looked as if you were enjoying yourself, too. Or were you just deceiving me?”
    “It was a wonderful evening, Ari. In fact, it was exactly what we all needed.”
    “Your team adores you, Gabriel. They would do anything for you.”
    “They have, Ari. Just ask Mikhail.”
    “Do you think he’s actually going to marry this American girl?”
    “Her name is Sarah. Surely, as a Jew from Tiberias, you should have no trouble remembering that name.”
    “Answer my question.”
    “He’d be a fool not to marry her. She’s a remarkable woman.”
    “But she’s not Jewish.”
    “She might as well be.”
    “Do you think the CIA will let her stay on if she marries one of us?”
    “If they don’t, you should hire her. If it weren’t for Sarah, Anton Petrov might have killed Uzi in Zurich.”
    Shamron made no response other than to light another cigarette.
    “How is he?” Gabriel asked.
    “Petrov?” Shamron pulled his lips into an indifferent frown. “Not so good.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Apparently, he managed to escape the detention and interrogation facility. A group of Bedouin found his body out in the Negev, about fifty miles south of Beersheba. The vultures had got to him by then. I hear it wasn’t pretty.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t get to have a final word with him.”
    “Don’t be. While you were in Europe, we were able to wring one more confession out of him. He admitted to killing those two journalists from Moskovskaya Gazeta last year on Ivan’s orders. But given the rather sensitive circumstances of his admission, we’re in no position to forward the information to the French and Italian authorities. For now both cases will remain officially unsolved.”
    “What did you do with the five million euros Petrov left in Becker and Puhl?”
    “We made him sign it over to Konrad Becker to cover the costs of the mess you made in his bank. He sends his best, by the way. But he would be most grateful if you did your private banking elsewhere.”
    “Were you forced to clean up any other messes?”
    “Not really. Our disinformation campaign managed to deflect all suspicion from us onto Ivan. Besides, these were not exactly fine, upstanding citizens whom you killed. They were former KGB hoods who traded in murder, kidnapping, and extortion. As far as the European police and security services are concerned, we did them a favor.”
    Shamron looked at Gabriel for a moment in silence. “Did it help?”
    “What?”
    “Killing them?”
    Gabriel gazed out at the black waters of the lake. “I did terrible things in order to get Chiara back, Ari. I did things I never want to do again.”
    “But?”
    “Yes, it did help.”
    “Eleven,” Shamron said. “Ironic, don’t you think?”
    “How so?”
    “Your first assignment came about because Black September killed eleven Israelis in Munich. And for your final assignment, you and Mikhail killed eleven