The English Assassin

Rolfe’s death. Now you want to wage war against Switzerland.”
    “Rolfe wanted those paintings to come to us. Someone took them, and now I want them back.”
    “But your motivation goes beyond the paintings, Gabriel. I turned you into a killer, but in your heart, you’re the restorer. I think you’re doing this because you want to restore Anna Rolfe. If that’s the case, then the next logical question is this: Why does he want to restore Anna Rolfe? And there’s only one logical answer. He has feelings for the woman.” Shamron hesitated. “And that’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time.”

    “I care for her.”
    “If you care for her, you’ll convince her to cancel her appearance in Venice.”
    “She won’t cancel.”
    “If that’s the case, then perhaps we can use it to our advantage.”
    “How so?”
    “I’ve always found deception and misdirection to be useful tactics in a situation like this. Let her give her concert. Just make certain your friend Keller doesn’t make the recital a truly unforgettable experience.”
    “Now, that’s the Ari Shamron I know and love. Use one of the world’s finest musicians as a diversion.”
    “We play the cards we’re dealt.”
    “I’m going to be with her in Venice. I want someone I can trust to handle the Zurich end of things.”
    “Who?”
    “Eli Lavon.”
    “My God, a reunion of the Class of ’72! If I were a few years younger, I’d join you.”
    “Let’s not get carried away. Oded and Mordecai did well in Paris. I want them too.”
    “I see something of myself in Oded.” Shamron held up his stubby bricklayer’s hands. “He has a very powerful grip. If he gets hold of this man, he won’t get away.”

34
    ZURICH
     
    E VA HAD INSISTEDon the expensive flat overlooking the Zürichsee, despite the fact that it was beyond the reach of Gerhardt Peterson’s government salary. For the first ten years of their marriage, they’d made up the shortfall by dipping into her inheritance. Now that money was gone, and it had fallen upon Gerhardt to keep her in the style to which she felt entitled.
    The flat was dark when he finally arrived home. As Peterson stepped through the doorway, Eva’s amiable Rottweiler charged him in the pitch dark and drove his rocklike head into Peterson’s kneecap.
    “Down, Schultzie! That’s enough, boy. Down! Damn you, Schultzie!”
    He fumbled along the wall and switched on the light. The dog was licking his suede shoe.
    “All right, Schultzie. Go away, please. That’s quite enough.”
    The dog trotted off, claws clicking on the marble.

    Peterson limped into the bedroom, rubbing his knee. Eva was sitting up in bed with a hardcover novel open on her lap. An American police drama played silently on the television. She wore a chiffon-colored dressing gown. Her hair was freshly coiffed, and there was a gold bracelet on her left wrist that Peterson didn’t recognize. The money Eva spent on the surface of the Bahnhofstrasse rivaled the funds buried beneath it.
    “What’s wrong with your knee?”
    “Your dog attacked me.”
    “He didn’t attack you. He adores you.”
    “He’s too affectionate.”
    “He’s a man, like you. He wants your approval. If you’d just give him a little attention now and again, he wouldn’t be so exuberant when you come home.”
    “Is that what his therapist told you?”
    “It’s common sense, darling.”
    “I never wanted the damned dog. He’s too big for this flat.”
    “He makes me feel safe when you’re away.”
    “This place is like a fortress. No one can get in here. And the only person Schultzie ever attacks is me.”
    Eva licked the tip of her forefinger and turned the page of her novel, ending the discussion. On the television, the American detectives were breaking down the door of a flat in a poor tenement. As they burst into the room, a pair of suspects opened fire with automatic weapons. The policemen fired back, killing the suspects. Such violence, thought Peterson. He rarely carried a gun and had never fired one in the line of duty.
    “How was Bern?”
    Peterson had lied to her to cover up his visit to see Otto Gessler. He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes.
    “Bern was Bern.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “What are you reading?”
    “I don’t know. A story about a man and a woman.”
    He wondered why she bothered. “How are the girls?”
    “They’re fine.”
    “And Stefan?”
    “He made me promise that you would come into his