The Messenger

close enough so that her hip pressed against his thigh. He opened his eyes and watched her remove her boots and wriggle out of her jeans. She pressed her palm against his chest. When he pulled the ribbon from her hair, auburn curls tumbled about her face and shoulders. She repeated the question she had posed to him in the ghetto: Why are you here, Gabriel Allon?
    “I was wondering whether we might try this again,” Gabriel said.
    “I don’t need to try it. I tried it once, and I liked it very much.”
    He unwound the silk scarf from her throat and slowly loosened the buttons of her blouse. Chiara leaned down and kissed his mouth. It was like being kissed by Raphael’s Alba Madonna.
    “If you hurt me again, I’ll hate you forever.”
    “I won’t hurt you.”
    “I never stopped dreaming of you.”
    “Good dreams?”
    “No,” she said. “I dreamt only of your death.”

    T HE ONLY TRACE of Gabriel in the apartment was an old sketchpad. He turned to a fresh page and regarded Chiara with a professional dispassion. She was seated at the end of the couch, with her long legs folded beneath her and her body wrapped in a silk bedsheet. Her face was turned toward the window and lit by the setting sun. Gabriel was relieved to see the first lines around Chiara’s eyes. He always feared she was far too young for him and that one day, when he was old, she would leave him for another man. He tugged at the bedsheet, exposing her breast. She held his gaze for a moment, then closed her eyes.
    “You’re lucky I was here,” she said. “I might have been away on assignment.”
    She was a talker. Gabriel had learned long ago it was pointless to ask her to remain silent while posing for him.
    “You haven’t worked since that job in Switzerland.”
    “How do you know about that operation?”
    Gabriel gave her an inscrutable glance over the top of his sketchpad and reminded her not to move.
    “So much for the concept of need to know. It seems you can walk into Operations any time you feel like it and find out what I’m doing.” She started to turn her head, but Gabriel stilled her with a sharp tsk-tsk . “But I shouldn’t be surprised. Have they given you the directorate yet?”
    “Which directorate is that?” Gabriel said, being deliberately obtuse.
    “Special Operations.”
    Gabriel confessed that the post had been offered and accepted.
    “So you’re my boss now,” she pointed out. “I suppose we just violated about a half dozen different Office edicts about fraternization between senior officers and staff.”
    “At least,” said Gabriel. “But my promotion isn’t official yet.”
    “Oh, thank goodness. I wouldn’t want the great Gabriel to get into any sort of trouble because of his sex life. How much longer are we allowed to plunder each other’s bodies before we run into trouble with Personnel?”
    “As long as we like. We’ll just have to go on the record with them at some point.”
    “And what about God, Gabriel? Will you go on the record with God this time?” There was silence, except for the scratching of a charcoal pencil across paper. She changed the subject. “How much do you know about what I was doing in Switzerland?”
    “I know that you went to Zermatt to seduce a Swiss arms merchant who was about to make a deal with someone who didn’t have our best interests at heart. King Saul Boulevard wanted to know when the shipment was leaving and where it was bound.”
    After a long silence he asked her whether she had slept with the Swiss.
    “It wasn’t that kind of operation. I was working with another agent. I just kept the arms dealer entertained in the bar while the other agent broke into his room and stole the contents of his computer. Besides, you know that a bat leveyha isn’t supposed to be used for sex. We hire professionals for that sort of thing.”
    “Not always.”
    “I could never use my body like that. I’m a religious girl.” She smiled at him mischievously. “We got it, by the way. The boat had a mysterious accident near the coast of Crete. The weapons are now on the bottom of the sea.”
    “I know,” Gabriel said. “Close your eyes again.”
    “Make me,” she said, then she smiled and did what he wanted. “Aren’t you going to ask me whether I was with anyone while we were apart?”
    “It’s none of my business.”
    “But you must be curious. I can only imagine what you did to my apartment when you walked through the door.”
    “If you’re suggesting