The Rembrandt Affair

then said, “And neither do you, Ari.”
    “No, I don’t.” Shamron lit another cigarette. “You’ve managed to build an impressive case against Martin Landesmann in a short period of time. But there’s just one problem. You’ll never be able to prove it in a court of law.”
    “Who said anything about a court of law?”
    “What exactly are you suggesting?”
    “That we find a way to convince Martin to make amends for the sins of his father.”
    “What do you need?”
    “Enough money, resources, and personnel to mount an operation on European soil against one of the world’s richest men.”
    “It sounds expensive.”
    “It will be. But if I’m successful, the operation will fund itself.”
    The concept seemed to appeal to Shamron, who still acted as though operational expenditures came from his own pocket. “I suppose the next thing you’re going to request is your old team.”
    “I was getting to that.”
    Shamron studied Gabriel in silence for a moment. “What happened to the tired warrior who sat on this terrace not long ago and told me he wanted to run away with his wife and leave the Office for good?”
    “He met a woman in Amsterdam who’s alive because her father gave Kurt Voss a Rembrandt.” Gabriel paused, then asked, “The only question is, can you convince Uzi to change his mind?”
    “Uzi?” Shamron waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about Uzi.”
    “How are you going to handle it?”
    Shamron smiled. “Did I ever tell you that the prime minister’s grandparents were from Hungary?”

40
    JERUSALEM
    U zi Navot inherited many traditions from the eight men who had served as director before him, including a weekly private breakfast meeting with the prime minister at his Jerusalem office. Navot regarded the sessions as invaluable, for they provided an opportunity to brief his most important client on current operations without having to compete with the heads of Israel’s other intelligence services. Usually, it was Navot who did most of the talking, but on the morning after Gabriel’s pilgrimage to Tiberias the prime minister was curiously expansive. Just forty-eight hours earlier, he had been in Washington for his first summit with the new American president, a former academic and U.S. senator who hailed from the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. As predicted, the encounter had not gone well. Indeed, behind the frozen smiles and posed handshakes a palpable tension had crackled between the two men. It was now clear the close relationship the prime minister had enjoyed with the last occupant of the Oval Office would not be duplicated in the new administration. Change had definitely come to Washington.
    “But none of this comes as a surprise to you, does it, Uzi?”
    “I’m afraid we saw it coming even during the transition,” Navot said. “It was obvious that the special operational bond we had forged with the CIA after 9/11 wasn’t going to carry over.”
    “Special operational bond?” The prime minister treated Navot to a campaign-poster smile. “Spare me the Officespeak, Uzi. Gabriel Allon practically had an office at Langley during the last administration.”
    Navot made no response. He was used to toiling in Gabriel’s long shadow. But now that he had reached the pinnacle of Israel’s intelligence community, he didn’t enjoy being reminded of his rival’s many exploits.
    “I hear Allon’s in town.” The prime minister paused, then added, “I also hear he got into a bit of trouble in Argentina.”
    Navot steepled his forefingers and pressed them tightly to his lips. A trained interrogator would have recognized the gesture as a transparent attempt to conceal discomfort. The prime minister recognized it, too. He also was clearly relishing the fact that he had managed to surprise the chief of his foreign intelligence service.
    “Why didn’t you tell me about Buenos Aires?” the prime minister asked.
    “I didn’t feel it was necessary to burden you with the details.”
    “I like details, Uzi, especially when they involve a national hero.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind, Prime Minister.”
    Navot’s tone displayed a transparent lack of enthusiasm, and his temper was now at a slow simmer. The prime minister had obviously been talking to Shamron. Navot had been expecting something like this from the old man for some time. But how to proceed? With care, he decided.
    “Is there something you wish to say to me, Prime Minister?”
    The prime