The Defector

impurity. “If we are forced to attack Iran, we can expect a ferocious response from their proxy army in Lebanon: Hezbollah. You should know that a delegation from Hezbollah made a secret trip to Moscow recently to do a bit of shopping. And they weren’t looking for nesting dolls and fur hats. They went to see your old friend Ivan Kharkov. Word is, Ivan sold them three thousand Kor net vehicle-mounted antitank weapons, along with several thousand RPG 32s. Apparently, he also gave them a nice discount since he knew they’d be using the weapons against us.”
    “We’re sure it was Ivan?”
    “We heard his name mentioned in several intercepts.” Shamron put on his eyeglasses again and scrutinized Gabriel for a moment. “With adversaries like Iran, Hezbollah, and Ivan Kharkov, we need friends wherever we can find them, Gabriel. That’s why we need good relations with the British.” Shamron paused. “And it’s why I need you to end your honeymoon without end and come home.”
    Gabriel could see where this was headed. He decided not to make Shamron’s task any easier by posing a leading question. Shamron, visibly annoyed by the calculated silence, stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table.
    “Our new prime minister has been an admirer of yours for many years. The same cannot be said of his feelings toward the current director of the Office. He and Amos served briefly together in AMAN, Israel’s military intelligence service. Their hatred was mutual and persists to this day. Amos will not survive long. Last week, over a private dinner, the prime minister asked me who I wanted to be the next chief of the Office. I gave him your name, of course.”
    “I’ve made it abundantly clear I’m not interested in the job.”
    “I’ve heard this speech before. It’s tiresome. More to the point, it does not reflect current realities. The State of Israel is facing a threat unlike any in its history. If you haven’t noticed, we’re not very popular right now. And the Iranian threat means even greater instability and potential violence across the region. What do you intend to do, Gabriel? Sit on your farm in Italy and restore paintings for the pope?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s not realistic.”
    “Perhaps not to you, Ari, but it’s what I intend to do. I’ve given my life to the Office. I’ve lost my son. I’ve lost one wife. I’ve shed the blood of other men and my own blood. I’m finished. Tell the prime minister to choose someone else.”
    “He needs you. The country needs you.”
    “You’re being a bit hyperbolic, don’t you think?”
    “No, just honest. The country has lost faith in its political leaders. Our society is beginning to fray. The people need someone they can believe in. Someone they can trust. Someone beyond reproach.”
    “I was an assassin. I’m hardly beyond reproach.”
    “You were a soldier on the secret battlefield. You gave justice to those who could not seek it themselves.”
    “And I lost everything in the process. I almost lost myself.”
    “But your life has been restored, just like one of your paintings. You have Chiara. Who knows? Perhaps soon you’ll have another child.”
    “Is there something I should know, Ari?”
    Shamron’s lighter flared again. His next words were spoken not to Gabriel but the floodlit dome of Sacré-Coeur. “Come home, Gabriel. Take control of the Office. It is what you were born to do. Your future was determined when your mother named you Gabriel.”
    “That was the same thing you said when you recruited me for Operation Wrath of God.”
    “Was it?” Shamron gave a faint smile of remembrance. “No wonder you said yes to me then.”
    Shamron had been hinting at a scenario like this for years, but never before had he stated it so unequivocally. Gabriel, were he foolish enough to accept the offer, knew only too well how he would spend the rest of his life. Indeed, he had to look no further than the man standing before him. Running the Office had ruined Shamron’s health and wreaked havoc with his family. The country regarded him as a national treasure, but as far as his children were concerned, Shamron was the father who had never been there. The father who had missed birthdays and anniversaries. The father who traveled in armored cars, surrounded by men with guns. It was not the life Gabriel wanted, nor did he intend to inflict it on his loved ones. To say those words to Shamron now was not an option. Better to hold out