“How?” Her voice was uncharacteristically flat and direct—as if she was in doctor mode.

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ll make it happen.”

“Anton was trying to help me.”

“I know, I figured that much out. He wanted to ruin this whole Mossad scheme.”

She nodded. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“No.”

Christine’s face came alight, and for the first time she looked at him with something near hope.

“He’s alive, but there’s a bullet lodged near his spine. He’s in the hospital and in serious condition, but there’s a good chance he’ll pull through.”

She was silent for a time. “You want to hear my story, don’t you?”

“Only when you’re ready.”

“A debriefing—isn’t that what they call it in your line of work?”

“Christine, please don’t—”

“No, no,” she interrupted. “I should tell you everything. I know that.”

And she did, beginning with a mundane physician’s conference, and ending with the Stockholm to Riga Passage and a stolen sailboat anchored in a remote cove. She included Bloch’s account of Mossad’s failed mission in Iran and the loss of four men, including Yaniv Stein whom Slaton had known well. She gave the abduction attempt particular emphasis, and when she recounted the details of Bloch being shot her voice wavered. But she carried on. Christine explained that three men had been involved, and by her descriptions Slaton was sure he’d seen them all—one on a slab in the morgue, and the other two at the Renaissance Tea Room. Without a doubt, all Mossad. Without a doubt, all dead.

Slaton responded with his own story, beginning with the call for help Bloch had made from her phone, and ending with Magnussen Air Charters. When he was done, he paused long enough to refill their cups.

“You killed two men?” she asked.

“That wasn’t my plan—but yes.”

“And you shot a policeman?”

“One round in his leg. I had to put him on the ground because he was about to be killed.”

She laughed nervously. “I would not believe that from anyone else on God’s earth. Why do I trust you so unfailingly?”

He didn’t answer.

“This assassination Mossad is pursuing—where is it to take place?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She nodded.

“Geneva. Six days from today.”

Christine went silent, and Slaton had an urge to change tack. Looking around the cabin, he said, “Tell me again where you got this boat.”

“I stole it.”

“From who?”

“How should I know?”

He waited patiently.