The Fallen Angel

civilizations can vanish in the blink of an eye. Their antiquities fill our museums, but all too often, we fail to learn from their mistakes. We are tempted to think that we have reached the end of history, that it can never happen again. But history is made every day, sometimes by men of evil. And all too often, history repeats itself.”
    Several of the reporters were now whispering into mobile phones. Gabriel suspected they were informing their editors that His Holiness had just taken a newsworthy departure from what was supposed to be a routine speech of remembrance at Yad Vashem.
    “And so,” the pope resumed, “on this solemn occasion, in this sacred place, we do more than remember the six million who suffered and died in the Holocaust. We renew our bond with their descendants, and we assure them that we will do everything in our power to make certain it never happens again.”
    The pope paused one final time, as if signaling to the reporters that the most important line of his address was yet to come. When he spoke again, his voice was no longer tinged with sorrow, only resolve.
    “To that end,” he said, his arms spread wide, his amplified words echoing through the monuments of Yad Vashem, “we pledge to the people of Israel, our elder brothers, that this time, as you confront a challenge to your existence, the Roman Catholic Church will stand by you. We offer our prayers and, if you are willing to accept it, our counsel. We ask only that you proceed with the utmost caution, for your decisions will affect the entire world. The soil of this sacred city is filled with the remnants of empires that miscalculated. Jerusalem is the city of God. But it is also a gravestone to the folly of man.”
    With that, the audience erupted into a thunderous ovation. Gabriel and the rest of the security detail quickly went to the pope’s side and escorted him to the waiting limousine. As the motorcade headed down the slope of Mount Herzl toward the Old City, the pope handed Gabriel the notes for the address.
    “Add that to your collection.”
    “Thank you, Holiness.”
    “Still think I should have canceled the trip?”
    “No, Holiness. But you can be sure the Iranians are putting a bounty on your head as we speak.”
    “I always knew they would,” he said. “Just make sure no one manages to collect it before I leave Jerusalem.”

40
     
    JERUSALEM
     
    D ONATI AND THE H OLY F ATHER were spending the night near the Jaffa Gate, at the residence of the Latin Patriarch. Gabriel saw them to the door, made a final check of security, then headed westward across Jerusalem through the late-afternoon shadows. Rounding the corner into Narkiss Street, he immediately saw the armored Peugeot limousine parked outside the apartment house at Number 16. Its owner was standing at the balustrade of the third-floor balcony, partially concealed by the drooping limbs of the eucalyptus tree, a sentinel on a night watch without end.
    As Gabriel entered the apartment, he smelled the unmistakable aroma of eggplant with Moroccan spice, the specialty of Shamron’s long-suffering wife, Gilah. She was standing in the kitchen next to Chiara, a flowered apron around her waist. Chiara wore a loose-fitting blouse with an embroidered neckline. Her hair hung about her shoulders, and her lips, when kissed, tasted of honey. She adjusted the knot of Gabriel’s tie before kissing him again. Then she nodded toward the television and said, “It seems you and your friend have caused quite a stir.”
    Gabriel looked at the screen and saw himself, following a few feet behind the pope as he emerged from the Hall of Remembrance at Yad Vashem. A news analyst in London was talking about a wholesale realignment of the Vatican’s policies toward the State of Israel. As Gabriel switched from news channel to news channel, it was more of the same. It seemed His Holiness Pope Paul VII had fundamentally altered the dynamic of the conflict in the Middle East, with the Vatican now squarely on the side of the Israelis in the conflict against Iran and radical Islam. And what made it all the more remarkable, the commentators agreed, was that the Vatican had managed to conceal the Holy Father’s intentions prior to his departure from Rome.
    Gabriel switched off the television and went into the bedroom to change. Then, after accepting two glasses of Shiraz from Chiara, he headed out onto the little terrace. Shamron was in the process of lighting a cigarette. Gabriel