Gabriel Allon: The Black Widow Part 45

"Would you have done it?"

"No," answered Dina, to her everlasting credit. "I don't think I would have. In the end it wasn't worth it. He beat us."

"This time," said Natalie.

Yes, thought Dina. This time . . .

Mikhail waited nearly a week before making his first appearance at the farm. The delay was not his idea; the doctors feared his presence might further complicate Natalie's already complicated recovery. His initial visit was brief, a little more than an hour, and entirely professional, save for an intimate exchange in the moonlit garden that escaped the sharp ears of the microphones.

The next night they watched a film-French, Hebrew subt.i.tles-and the night after that, with the approval of Uzi Navot, they went for a pizza in Caesarea. Afterward, while walking in the Roman ruins, Mikhail told Natalie about the worst few minutes of his life. They had occurred, oddly enough, in his homeland, at a dacha many miles east of Moscow. A hostage rescue operation had gone awry, he and two other operatives were about to be killed. But another man had traded his life for theirs, and they all three had survived. One of the operatives had recently given birth to a set of twins. And the other, he said portentously, would soon be the chief of the Office.

"Gabriel?"

He nodded slowly.

"And the woman?"

"It was his wife."

"My G.o.d." They walked in silence for a moment. "So what is the moral of this awful story?"

"There is no moral," answered Mikhail. "It's just what we do. And then we try to forget."

"Have you managed to forget?"

"No."

"How often do you think about it?"

"Every night."

"I suppose you were right after all," said Natalie after a moment.

"About what?"

"I'm more like you than I realized."

"You are now."

She took his hand. "When?" she whispered into his ear.

"That," said Mikhail, smiling, "is entirely up to you."

The following afternoon, when Natalie returned from her training run in the valley, she found Gabriel waiting in the sitting room of the farmhouse. He was dressed in a gray suit and a white open-neck dress s.h.i.+rt; he looked very professional. On the coffee table before him were three files. The first, he said, was the final report of Natalie's team of doctors.

"What does it say?"

"It says," answered Gabriel evenly, "that you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which, given what you went through in Syria and America, is entirely understandable."

"And my prognosis?"

"Quite good, actually. With proper medication and counseling, you will eventually make a full recovery. In fact," Gabriel added, "we are all of the opinion you can leave here whenever you like."

"And the other two files?"

"A choice," he answered obliquely.

"What kind of choice?"

"It concerns your future."

She pointed to one of the files. "What's in that one?"

"A termination agreement."

"And the other?"

"The exact opposite."

A silence fell between them. It was Gabriel who broke it.

"I a.s.sume you've heard the rumors about my pending promotion."

"I thought you were dead."

"It seems the reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated."

"Mine, too."

He smiled warmly. Then his expression turned serious. "Some chiefs are fortunate enough to serve during relatively quiet times. They serve their term, they collect their accolades, and then they go forth into the world to make money. I'm confident I won't be so lucky. The next few years promise to be tumultuous for the Middle East and for Israel. It will be up to the Office to help determine whether we survive in this land." He looked out at the valley, the valley of his youth. "It would be a dereliction of duty if I were to let someone of your obvious gifts slip through my fingers."

He said nothing more. Natalie made a show of thought.

"What is it?" he asked. "More money?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "I was wondering about the Office policy regarding relations.h.i.+ps between coworkers."

"Officially, we discourage it."

"And unofficially?"

"We're Jewish, Natalie. We're natural matchmakers."

"How well do you know Mikhail?"

"I know him in ways only you could understand."

"He told me about Russia."

"Did he?" Gabriel frowned. "That was insecure on his part."

"It was in service of a good cause."

"And what cause was that?"

Natalie picked up the third file, the one with the employment contract.

"Did you bring a pen?" she asked.

77.

PETAH TIKVA, ISRAEL.

THE END WAS NEAR, IT was plain to see. On the Thursday, Uzi Navot was seen lugging several cardboard boxes from his office suite, including a lifetime supply of his beloved b.u.t.ter cookies, a parting gift from the Vienna station chief. The next morning, during the nine a.m. senior staff meeting, he acted as though a great weight had been lifted from his st.u.r.dy shoulders. And that afternoon, before departing for the weekend, he made a slow tour of King Saul Boulevard from the top floor to the underground recesses of Registry, shaking hands, patting shoulders, and kissing a few damp cheeks. Curiously, he avoided the dark, forbidding lair occupied by Personnel, the place where careers went to die.

Navot spent the Sat.u.r.day behind the walls of his residence in the Tel Aviv suburb of Petah Tikva. Gabriel knew this because the movements of the ramsad, the official abbreviation for the head of the Office, were monitored constantly by the operations desk, as were his own. He decided it was better to show up unannounced, thus preserving the element of surprise. He slid from the back of his official SUV into a pouring rain and pressed the call b.u.t.ton of the intercom at the front gate. Twenty long wet seconds elapsed before a voice answered. Unfortunately, it was Bella's.

"What do you want?"

"I need to have a word with Uzi."

"Haven't you done enough already?"

"Please, Bella. It's important."

"It always is."

Another prolonged delay ensued before the locks opened with an inhospitable snap. Gabriel opened the gate and hurried up the garden walk to the front entrance, where Bella awaited him. She wore an elaborate flowing pantsuit of embroidered crushed silk and gold sandals. Her hair was newly coiffed, her face was discreetly but thoroughly made up. She looked as though she were entertaining. She always did. Appearances had always mattered to Bella, which is why Gabriel had never understood her decision to marry a man like Uzi Navot. Perhaps, he thought, she had done it simply out of cruelty. Bella always struck Gabriel as the sort who enjoyed pulling the wings off flies.

Coldly, she shook Gabriel's hand. Her nails were blood red.

"You're looking well, Bella."

"You, too. But then I suppose that's to be expected."

She gestured toward the sitting room, where Navot was working his way through the latest edition of the Economist. The room was a showpiece of contemporary Asian design, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the waterworks and manicured shrubbery in the garden. Navot looked like one of the workmen whom Bella had so terrorized during the long renovation. He wore wrinkled chinos and a stretched-out cotton pullover, and the gray stubble of his hair had encroached on his cheeks and chin. His disheveled appearance surprised Gabriel. Bella had never been one to permit weekend negligence when it came to grooming and dress.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked.

"Hemlock," answered Gabriel.

Frowning, Bella withdrew. Gabriel looked around the large room. It was three times the size of the sitting room of his little apartment in Narkiss Street. Perhaps, he thought, it was time for an upgrade. He sat down directly opposite Navot, who was now staring at a silent television. Earlier that day, the Americans had launched a drone strike on a house in western Iraq where Saladin was thought to be hiding. Twenty-two people had been killed, including several children.

"Think they got him?" asked Navot.

"No," answered Gabriel, watching as a limp body was pulled from the rubble. "I don't think they did."

"Neither do I." Navot switched off the television. "I hear you managed to convince Natalie to join the Office full-time."

"Actually, Mikhail did it for me."

"Think they're serious?"

Gabriel gave a noncommittal shrug. "Love is harder in the real world than in the secret world."

"Tell me about it," murmured Navot. He plucked a low-calorie rice treat from a bowl on the coffee table. "What's this I hear about Eli Lavon coming back?"

"It's true."

"As what?"

"Nominally, he'll oversee the watchers. In truth, I'll use him as I see fit."

"Who gets Special Ops?"

"Yaakov."

"Good call," said Navot, "but Mikhail will be disappointed."

"Mikhail isn't ready. Yaakov is."

"What about Yossi?"

"Head of Research. Dina will be his number two."

"And Rimona?"

"Deputy director for planning."

"A clean sweep. I suppose it's for the best." Navot stared blankly at the darkened television screen.

"I heard a rumor about you the other day when I was in the prime minister's office."

"Really?"

"They say you're moving to California to work for a defense contractor. They say you're going to make a million dollars a year, plus bonuses."