The Defector

are their bodies?”
    “They’ve been moved to Rome. The Italians will release them to us later this morning. They’re hoping to do it quietly, but I doubt they’ll be able to keep a lid on it much longer. Someone in the press is bound to get wind of it soon.”
    “I want them buried as heroes, Ari. They didn’t deserve to die like this. If I hadn’t—”
    “You did what you thought was right, Gabriel. And don’t worry. Those boys will be buried with honor on the Mount of Olives.” Shamron hesitated, then said, “Near your son.”
    Gabriel looked out the window. He was grateful for the Italian effort but feared it was little more than wasted time. He didn’t have to voice this sentiment aloud. Shamron, by his dour expression, knew it to be true. He crushed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.
    “Have you given any thought to how Ivan found her?”
    “I’ve thought of nothing else, Ari—other than getting her back.”
    “Perhaps they followed Irina when you brought her to Italy.”
    “It’s possible . . .”
    “But?”
    “Extremely unlikely. Moscow Station watched Irina for several days before she left Russia. She was clean.”
    “Could they have had a team waiting at the Milan airport and followed you to the villa?”
    “We set up a surveillance-detection route. There’s no way we would have missed a Russian tail.”
    “Maybe they did it electronically.”
    “With a beacon?” Gabriel shook his head. “We checked her out before we ever left the airport. Her luggage contained no transmitters. We did everything by the book, Ari. I suspect Ivan and his friends in Russian intelligence have known my whereabouts for a long time.”
    “So why didn’t he just kill you and be done with it?”
    “I’m sure we’ll know soon enough.”
    The limousine headed onto an exit ramp and a moment later was speeding north along Highway 20. To the left lay Tel Aviv and its suburbs. To the right was a towering gray wall separating Israel from the West Bank. There were some in Israel’s defense and security establishment who referred to it as the Shamron Fence because he had spent years advocating its construction. The separation barrier had helped to drastically reduce acts of terrorism but had caused much damage to the country’s already low standing abroad. Shamron never allowed important decisions to be influenced by international opinion. He operated by a simple maxim: Do what is necessary and worry about cleaning up the mess later. Gabriel would operate by the same doctrine now.
    “Have we gone on the record with the Russians yet?”
    “We summoned the ambassador to the Foreign Ministry last night and read him the riot act. We told him that we believe Ivan Kharkov is responsible for Chiara’s disappearance and made it clear we expect her to be released immediately.”
    “How did the ambassador react?”
    “He said he was certain we were wrong but promised to look into the matter. The formal denial came this morning.”
    “Ivan had nothing to do with it, of course.”
    “Of course. But I’m afraid it gets better. The FSB has offered to help locate Chiara.”
    “Oh, really? And what would they like in return?”
    “All information pertaining to her disappearance, plus the names of everyone who took part in the operation against Ivan in Moscow last summer.”
    “That means Ivan is acting with the Kremlin’s blessing.”
    “Without question. It also means we’ll have to treat the Russian services as adversaries. Fortunately, you have friends in London and Washington. Graham Seymour says the British services will do whatever they can to help. And Adrian Carter has already sent a cable to all his stations and bases regarding Chiara’s abduction. He’ll pass along anything the CIA happens to pick up.”
    “I need complete coverage of all of Ivan’s communications.”
    “You’ve already got it. All relevant NSA intercepts will be turned over to our station chief in Washington.” Shamron paused. “The question is, what does Ivan want? And when are we going to hear from him?”
    The car exited Highway 20 and spiraled down onto a rain-swept avenue in north Tel Aviv. Shamron placed a hand on Gabriel’s arm.
    “This is not the way I wanted you to come back here, my son, but welcome home.”
    Gabriel looked out the window at a passing street sign: SDEROT SHAUL HAMELECH.
    King Saul Boulevard.

37
    KING SAUL BOULEVARD, TEL AVIV
    MI5 HAD the imposing graystone solemnity of Thames