The English Girl: A Novel

a.m., having passed yet another sleepless night, they departed the dacha in twos and threes and made their way to the train station in Okulovka—all but Christopher Keller, who remained at the dacha alone to keep watch on Pavel Zhirov and the driver.
    The train from Okulovka was late in departing, which was not true of El Al Flight 625. It left Ben Gurion Airport promptly at 1:10 a.m. and landed in St. Petersburg two minutes ahead of schedule, at 8:03 a.m. Its twelve-member flight and cabin crew remained with the aircraft until it had been emptied of its passengers. Then, after clearing customs, they climbed into an unmarked El Al ground services van for the twenty-minute drive to the Astoria Hotel, where they had rooms for the day. One of the flight attendants was a tall woman with dark hair and eyes the color of caramel. After leaving her small rolling bag at the foot of her bed, she walked to a room at the end of the corridor and, ignoring the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the latch, knocked softly. Receiving no answer, she knocked again. This time the door opened a few inches, just wide enough for her to pass, and she slipped inside.
    W hat are you doing here?” asked Gabriel.
    Chiara lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as if to remind her husband, the future chief of Israeli intelligence, that they were in a Russian hotel room and that the Russian hotel room was probably bugged. He indicated to her that the room was clean. Then he repeated the question. His hands were on his hips and his green eyes were narrowed. He was angrier than Chiara had seen him in a very long time.
    “Silly me,” she said, “but I actually allowed myself to think that you would be happy to see me.”
    “How did you manage this?”
    “We needed girls for the flight crew. I volunteered.”
    “And Uzi couldn’t find anyone other than my wife?”
    “Actually, Uzi was against it.”
    “So how did you get on the team?”
    “I went behind Uzi’s back to Shamron,” she said. “I told him that I wanted in on the operation, and that if he didn’t give me what I wanted, I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”
    “Me?”
    She smiled.
    “Clever girl.”
    “I learned from the best.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t want to come to Russia. I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to hold up under the pressure.”
    “I changed my mind.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I wanted to share this with you.” Chiara walked over to the window and peered into the darkness of St. Isaac’s Square. “Does it ever get light here?”
    “This is light.”
    Chiara drew the blind over the window and turned around. In her blue skirt and crisp white blouse, she looked irresistible. Gabriel was no longer angry that she had come to Russia against his wishes. In fact, he was pleased to have her company. It would make the waiting of the next few hours much more bearable.
    “What’s she like?” Chiara asked.
    “Madeline?”
    “Is that what we call her?”
    “It’s the only name she knows,” said Gabriel. “She was . . .”
    “What?”
    “Raised by wolves,” he said.
    “Maybe she’s a wolf, too.”
    “She isn’t.”
    “You’re sure about that?”
    “I’m sure, Chiara.”
    “Because she fooled you once before.”
    Gabriel was silent.
    “I’m sorry, Gabriel, but you must have considered the possibility that she’s still loyal to her service.”
    “I must have,” said Gabriel, unable to keep a trace of irritation out of his voice. “But if she’s clean when she leaves her apartment this afternoon, I’m bringing her in. And then I’m bringing her home.”
    “Where’s home?”
    “England.”
    “She’s going to cause quite a stir.”
    “Quite,” agreed Gabriel.
    “What are you going to do with her?”
    “I’m going to use her to repay a small debt,” replied Gabriel. “And then I’m going to place her in the capable hands of Graham Seymour.”
    “Poor Graham.” Chiara sat on the edge of the bed and removed her pumps.
    “How was the flight?” asked Gabriel.
    “I managed not to injure any of the passengers during the food service.”
    “Well done.”
    “There was a baby in first class that cried all the way from Ankara to Minsk. A few of the passengers were quite upset about it. The mother was mortified.” Chiara paused, then added, “And all I could think was that she was the luckiest woman in the world.”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t have come,” Gabriel said after a moment.
    “I had to come,” Chiara