The English Girl: A Novel

of his operational charter. And so, at six that evening, he reluctantly drove to central London and slipped into the Israeli Embassy through the back door. The station chief, a battle-scarred careerist named Natan, waited tensely in the foyer. He escorted Gabriel downstairs to the Holy of Holies and then quickly fled, as though he feared being injured by flying debris. The room was unoccupied, but resting upon the table was a tray of tea sandwiches and Viennese butter cookies. There was also a bottle of mineral water, which Gabriel locked in a cabinet. He did so out of habit. Office doctrine dictated that the site of a potentially hostile encounter be cleared of any object that could be used as a weapon.
    For twenty minutes no one else entered the room. Then, finally, there appeared a man with the thick physique of a wrestler. He wore a dark suit that seemed a size too small and a fashionable high-collared dress shirt that left the impression his head was bolted onto his shoulders. His hair had once been strawberry blond in color; now it was silver gray and cropped short to conceal the fact it was falling out at an alarming rate. He stared at Gabriel for a moment through a pair of narrow spectacles, as though he were debating whether to shoot him now or at dawn. Then he walked over to the tray of food and shook his head slowly.
    “Do you think my enemies know?”
    “What’s that, Uzi?”
    “That I am incapable of resisting food. Especially these,” Navot added, snatching one of the butter cookies from the tray. “I suppose it’s genetic. My grandfather loved nothing better than a butter cookie and a good cup of Viennese coffee.”
    “Better to have a problem with sweets than gambling or women.”
    “That’s easy for you to say,” Navot replied resentfully. “You’re like Shamron. You don’t have any weaknesses. You’re incorruptible.” He paused, then added, “You’re perfect.”
    Gabriel could see where this was headed. He remained silent while Navot stared at the butter cookie in his hand as though it were the source of all his problems.
    “I suppose you do have one weakness,” Navot said at last. “You’ve always allowed personal feelings to enter into your decision making. You’ll have to rid yourself of that when you become chief.”
    “This isn’t personal, Uzi.”
    Navot gave an artificial smile. “So you’re not going to deny that Shamron has talked to you about becoming the next chief?”
    “No,” replied Gabriel, “I’m not going to deny it.”
    Navot was still smiling, though barely. “You have one other weakness, Gabriel. You’re honest. Far too honest for a spy.”
    Navot finally sat down and placed his heavy forearms upon the tabletop. The surface seemed to settle beneath the weight. Watching him, Gabriel recalled an unpleasant afternoon, many years earlier, when he had been paired with Navot for a session of silent-killing training. Gabriel lost count of how many times he died that day.
    “How long do I have?” Navot asked.
    “Come on, Uzi. Let’s not do this.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s not going to do either one of us any good.”
    “You must be feeling guilty then.”
    “Not at all.”
    “How long have you been planning to take my job?”
    “You know me better than that, Uzi.”
    “I thought I did.”
    Navot pushed the tray of food away and looked around the room. “Would it kill them to leave me a bottle of water?”
    “I locked it in the cabinet.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I didn’t want you to hit me with it.”
    Navot placed his hand on Gabriel’s elbow and squeezed. Instantly, Gabriel felt his hand go numb.
    “Get it for me,” Navot said. “It’s the least you can do.”
    Gabriel rose and retrieved the bottle. When he sat down again, Navot’s anger seemed to have subsided, but only slightly. He unscrewed the aluminum cap using only his thumb and forefinger and slowly poured several inches of the effervescent water into a clear plastic cup. He offered none to Gabriel.
    “What did I do to deserve this?” he asked, more of himself than of Gabriel. “I’ve been a good chief, a damn good chief. I’ve managed the affairs of the Office with dignity and kept my country out of any major foreign entanglements. Have I been able to shut down the Iranian nuclear program? No, I haven’t. But I didn’t get us into a catastrophic war, either. That’s the first job of the chief, to make certain the prime minister doesn’t go off half-cocked