“And he used it to send one message,” Veron added. His meaty hands fumbled through the papers he’d set on the table, a clearly foreign task. He pulled one clear and dropped it at an angle so it slid across the table and came to rest in front of Nurin. “You’ve seen this?”

Nurin glanced at the photograph, then averted his eyes. “Yes, yes. I’ve seen it.”

The room fell silent—two men waiting for an explanation, the third not giving it.

Veron broke the impasse by saying, “We will do whatever you ask, sir. But it would be a great help if we knew who we were dealing with. I must ask again—who is this man?”

Nurin glanced at his subordinates in turn, settling on Veron. “I will put it like this, Oded. In different circumstances, he might well be in your shoes.”

Veron stood very still, almost as if at attention, until Nurin said, “Go, both of you. Find this woman. She is our priority.”

“And the man?” Zacharias asked.

“I don’t think you’ll find him.”

“But if we do?”

Nurin considered it. “If you do … let him run.”

Veron and Zacharias walked out, both clearly unhappy but with jobs to do.

Alone, Nurin’s eyes fell to the photograph in front of him. The question he’d been riding all afternoon came back. Could Slaton still be convinced to carry through? In spite of their fumbling, a chance remained. If things fell perfectly. He reasoned that even if Slaton was the first to reach his wife, the threat was now implicit. Nurin might find a way to push, to manipulate one last mission from the kidon. One last sacrifice for Israel. There were alternatives, of course—Veron and his DA squad. That was a last resort, and one Nurin didn’t like, but he would issue the order if necessary. The pursuit of Dr. Ibrahim Hamedi was the most important operation of his tenure, indeed the most important in decades. There was time for one more mission, and it had to be in Geneva. The engineer of Qom would be vulnerable. The Iranians, of course, knew it as well. Farzad Behrouz, Nurin’s counterpart in Tehran, would be on high alert for a last try. Even expecting it.

But then other concerns came to mind. Concerns of a more personal nature.

Nurin looked at the photo on the table with more than a shred of anxiety. It showed the katsa, bloody and glassy-eyed in death. He understood that the photograph was no more than posturing. He was less sure, however, about the attached text message.

HEADING TO GENEVA. DO NOT PURSUE CHRISTINE.

IF SHE IS HARMED IN ANY WAY, DEAR DIRECTOR,

YOU WILL BE NEXT.

*   *   *