The Defector

town?”
    “He’s making his semiannual tour of European assets. Patting backs. Showing the flag.”
    “Do I detect a slight bit of resentment in your voice?”
    “Why on earth would I be resentful?”
    “Because you should be the one making the grand tour of our European assets instead of Uzi.”
    “Traveling isn’t what it once was, Chiara. Besides, I didn’t want the job.”
    “But you’ve never been comfortable with the fact that they gave it to Uzi when you turned it down. You don’t think he has the intellect or the creativity for it.”
    “Shamron and his acolytes at King Saul Boulevard disagree. And if I were you, Chiara, I’d stay on Uzi’s good side. He’s likely to be the director one day.”
    “Not after Moscow. According to the rumor mill, Uzi was lucky to keep his job.” She sat at the edge of the bed and made a halfhearted effort to remove her right boot. “Help me,” she said, extending her foot toward Gabriel. “It won’t budge.”
    Gabriel took hold of the boot by the toe and the heel and it slid easily off her foot. “Maybe you should try pulling on it next time.”
    “You’re much stronger than I am.” She raised her other leg. “So how long are you planning to make me wait this time, Gabriel?”
    “Before what?”
    “Before telling me why Uzi came all the way to Umbria to see you. And why two Office bodyguards followed you home.”
    “I thought you didn’t hear me arrive.”
    “I was lying.”
    Gabriel slipped off Chiara’s second boot.
    “Don’t ever lie to me, Chiara. Bad things happen when lovers tell lies.”

8
    VILLA DEI FIORI, UMBRIA
    MAY BE THE British are right. Maybe Grigori did redefect.”
    “And maybe Guido Reni will show up here later tonight to help me finish his altarpiece.”
    Chiara plucked an egg from its carton and expertly broke it one-handed into a glass mixing bowl. She was standing at an island in the center of the villa’s rustic kitchen. Gabriel was opposite, perched atop a wooden stool, a glass of Umbrian merlot in his hand.
    “You’re going to kill me with those eggs, Chiara.”
    “Drink your wine. If you drink wine, you can eat as many as you like.”
    “That’s nonsense.”
    “It’s true. Why do you think we Italians live forever?”
    Gabriel did as she suggested and drank some of his wine. Chiara cracked another egg against the side of the bowl, but this time a fragment of shell lodged in the yoke. Annoyed, she delicately removed it with the tip of her fingernail and flicked it into the rubbish bin.
    “What are you making, anyway?”
    “Frittata with potato and onion and spaghetti alla carbonara di zucchine .”
    She turned her attention to the trio of pots and pans spattering and bubbling on the antiquated range. Blessed with a Venetian’s natural sense of aesthetics, she brought artistry to all things, especially food. Her meals, like her beds, seemed too perfect to disturb. Gabriel often wondered why she had ever been attracted to a scarred and broken relic like him. Perhaps she viewed him as a tired room in need of redecoration.
    “Anna could have left us something to eat other than eggs and cheese.”
    “You think she’s trying to kill you by clogging your arteries with cholesterol?”
    “I wouldn’t put it past her. She detests me.”
    “Try being nice to her.”
    A strand of stray hair had escaped the restraint of Chiara’s clasp and fallen against her cheekbone. She tucked it behind her ear and treated Gabriel to a puckish smile.
    “It seems to me you have a choice,” she said. “A choice about your future. A choice about your life.”
    “I’m not good at making decisions about life.”
    “Yes, I’ve noticed that. I remember a certain afternoon in Jerusalem not long ago. I’d grown weary of waiting for you to marry me, and so I’d finally worked up the nerve to leave you. When I got into that car outside your apartment, I kept waiting for you to chase after me and beg me to stay. But you didn’t. You were probably relieved I was the one walking out. It was easier that way.”
    “I was a fool, Chiara, but that’s ancient history.”
    She speared a piece of potato from the frying pan, tasted it, then added a bit more salt. “I knew it was Leah, of course. You were still married to her.” Chiara paused, then added softly, “And you were still in love with her.”
    “What does any of this have to do with the situation at hand?”
    “You are a man who takes vows seriously, Gabriel. You took a