The Defector

condemned to death here, fates had been sealed. On the second floor was the room Lavon and Gabriel had shared. Now, as then, it contained nothing but a pair of narrow beds separated by a chipped nightstand. As Gabriel stood in the doorway, an image flashed in his memory: the watcher and the executioner lying awake in the darkness, one made sleepless by stress, the other by visions of blood. The ancient transistor radio that had filled the empty hours still stood on the table. It had been their link to the outside world. It had told them about wars won and lost, about an American president who resigned in disgrace; and, sometimes, on summer nights, it played music for them. The music normal boys were listening to. Boys who weren’t killing terrorists for Ari Shamron.
    Gabriel tossed his bag onto his old bed—the one nearest the window—and headed downstairs to the cellar. Anton Petrov lay supine across a bare stone floor, Navot, Yaakov, and Mikhail standing over him. His hands and feet were secured, though at this point it was scarcely necessary. Petrov’s skin was ghostly white, his forehead damp with perspiration, his jaw distorted from swelling at the spot where Navot had hit him. The Russian was in desperate need of medical attention. He would get it only if he talked. If not, Gabriel would allow the rounds still lodged in his pelvis and shoulder to poison his body with sepsis. The death would be slow, feverish, and agonizing. It was the death he deserved, and Gabriel was more than prepared to grant it. He crouched at the Russian’s side and spoke to him in German.
    “I believe this is yours.”
    He reached into his coat pocket and removed the plastic bag Navot had given him at the Swiss border. Petrov’s ring was still inside. Gabriel removed it and pressed firmly on the stone. From the base emerged a small stylus, not much larger than a phonograph needle. Gabriel made a show of examining it, then moved it suddenly toward Petrov’s face. The Russian recoiled in fear, twisting his head violently to the right.
    “What’s wrong, Anton? It’s just a ring.”
    Gabriel inched it closer to the soft skin of Petrov’s neck. The Russian was now writhing in terror. Gabriel pressed the stone again, and the needle retreated safely into the base of the ring. He slipped it back into the plastic bag and handed it carefully to Navot.
    “In the interest of full disclosure, we worked on a similar device. But to be honest with you, I’ve never really cared for poisons. They’re for cheap hoods like you, Anton. I’ve always preferred to do my killing with one of these.”
    Gabriel removed the .45 caliber Glock from the waistband of his trousers and pointed it at Petrov’s face. The suppressor was no longer screwed into the end of the barrel. It wasn’t necessary here.
    “One meter, Anton. That’s how I prefer to kill. One meter. That way I can see my enemy’s eyes before he dies. Vyshaya mera : the highest measure of punishment.” Gabriel pressed the barrel of the gun against the base of the Russian’s chin. “A grave without a marker. A corpse without a face.”
    Gabriel used the barrel of the gun to open the front of Petrov’s shirt. The shoulder wound didn’t look good: bone fragments, threads of clothing. No doubt the hip was just as bad. Gabriel closed the shirt and looked directly into Petrov’s eyes.
    “You’re here because your friend Vladimir Chernov betrayed you. We didn’t have to hurt him. In fact, we didn’t even have to threaten him. We just gave him a bit of money, and he told us everything we needed to know. Now it’s your turn, Anton. If you cooperate, you will be given medical attention and treated humanely. If not . . .”
    Gabriel placed the barrel against Petrov’s shoulder and corkscrewed it into the wound. Petrov’s screams echoed off the stone walls of the cellar. Gabriel stopped before the Russian could pass out.
    “Do you understand, Anton?”
    The Russian nodded.
    “If I stay in your presence much longer, I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.” He glanced at Navot. “I’m going to let my friend handle the questioning. Since you tried to kill him with your ring back in Zurich, it only seems fair. Wouldn’t you agree, Anton?”
    The Russian was silent.
    Gabriel stood and headed upstairs without another word. The rest of the team was sprawled in the sitting room in various states of exhaustion. Gabriel’s gaze immediately settled on the newest member of