The Defector

need to send someone from London Station to collect it. Otherwise, Julian’s liable to let it loose in Green Park.”
    Gabriel removed Grigori’s letter from his coat pocket and dealt it onto the table. Navot read it silently, his face an inscrutable mask, then looked up again.
    “I want to know everything you did while you were in England, Gabriel. No shortcuts, deletions, edits, or abridgments. Do you understand me?”
    Gabriel gave Navot a complete account, beginning with his first meeting with Graham Seymour and ending with the assassination attempt on Olga’s doorstep.
    “They disabled the lock?” Navot asked.
    “It was a nice touch.”
    “It’s a shame the shooter didn’t realize you were unarmed. He could have simply climbed out of the car and killed you.”
    “You don’t really mean that, Uzi.”
    “No, but it makes me feel better to say it. Rather sloppy for a Russian hit team, don’t you think?”
    “It’s not so easy to kill someone from a moving vehicle.”
    “Unless you’re Gabriel Allon. When we set our sights on someone, he dies. The Russians are usually like that, too. They’re fanatics when it comes to planning and preparation.”
    Gabriel nodded in agreement.
    “So why send a couple of amateurs to Oxford?”
    “Because they assumed it would be easy. They probably thought the second string could handle it.”
    “You’re assuming Olga was the target and not you?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “What makes you so sure?”
    “I’d only been in the country three days. Even we would be hard-pressed to organize a hit that quickly.”
    “So why didn’t they call it off when they saw she wasn’t alone?”
    “It’s possible they simply mistook me for Olga’s boyfriend or one of her students, not someone who knows to hit the deck when a lock suddenly stops working.”
    A waiter approached the table. Navot sent him away with a subtle gesture of his hand.
    “It might have been wiser if you’d shared some of these observations with Graham Seymour. He allowed you to conduct your own review of Grigori’s disappearance. And how did you repay him? By sneaking out of the country with another one of his defectors.” Navot gave a humorless smile. “Graham and I could form our own little club. Men who have placed their trust in you, only to be burned.”
    Navot looked at Olga and switched from Hebrew to English.
    “Your neighbors didn’t notice the bullet holes and the broken front door until about eight o’clock. When they couldn’t find you, they called the Thames Valley Police.”
    “I’m afraid I know what happened next,” she said. “Because my address had a special security flag on it, the dispatch officer immediately contacted the chief constable.”
    “And guess what the chief constable did?”
    “I suspect he called the Home Office in London. And then the Home Office contacted Graham Seymour.”
    Navot’s gaze shifted from Olga to Gabriel. “And what do you think Graham Seymour did?”
    “He called our London station chief.”
    “Who’d been quietly scouring the city for you for the past three days,” Navot added. “And when Graham got the station chief on the telephone, he read him the riot act. Congratulations, Gabriel. You’ve managed to bring relations between the British and the Office to a new low. They want a full explanation of what happened in Oxford last night. And they’d also like their defector back. Graham Seymour is expecting us in London tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
    “Us?”
    “You, me, and Olga.” Then, almost as an afterthought, Navot added, “And the Old Man, too.”
    “How did Shamron manage to get himself involved in this?”
    “The same way he always does. Shamron abhors a vacuum. He sees an empty space and he fills it.”
    “Tell him to stay in Tiberias. Tell him we can handle it.”
    “Please, Gabriel. As far as Shamron is concerned, we’re still a couple of kids trying to learn how to ride a bicycle, and he can’t quite bring himself to let go of the seat. Besides, it’s too late. He’s already here.”
    “Where is he?”
    “A safe flat up in Montmartre. Olga and I will stay here and get better acquainted. Shamron would like a word with you. In private.”
    “About what?”
    “He didn’t tell me. After all, I’m only the chief of Special Ops.”
    Navot looked down at his menu and frowned.
    “No potted chicken. You know how much I loved the potted chicken at Jo Goldenberg. The only thing better than the