Christine pitched a heavy sigh, and said, “It was at a private dock near the marina. I saw a moving truck at the house above—a crew was hauling out some clothing and books, boxes of pots and pans. It seemed like a nice house, well-kept. I figured the owners were moving south for the winter, maybe to a place in France or Spain. If that was the case, the boat wasn’t going anywhere. I figured it would probably just sit there until somebody from the marina came and hauled it out for dry storage in a month or so. After the movers drove off, I waited until dark. There were no locks, so it was easy. I pulled two mooring lines and she was mine.”

“You’re right—the boat probably won’t be missed anytime soon. That was a good move.”

“No, David. I did it, but it was not a good move. It was grand theft, or whatever they call it here. I stole someone’s boat. I’m using their food and fuel and supplies, and it’s not right. I know how I’d feel if it was my boat.”

“Even if the person who stole it was facing what you were?”

“That doesn’t justify it.”

Slaton recognized an argument he wasn’t going to win. He also sensed an irregular edge to her tone. Christine was a doctor, typically steady under pressure. He’d even seen her handle situations like this before. Something had his wife uncharacteristically rattled.

She gripped her mug with both hands, and after a full minute picked up with, “What are we going to do, David? We can’t just keep running from Mossad and the Swedish police and … and whoever else wants to ruin our lives.”

“We think of a way out.”

“Well, you’ll have to do it because I don’t understand what’s going on. This whole thing is like a damned game, nothing but smoke and mirrors. Mossad actually thinks that by kidnapping me they’ll force you into one last assassination? Does that make sense?”

“If you understand how people like Nurin think—maybe. But you have a point. There’s something more going on here.”

He remembered Nurin’s words. Think about it and everything will make sense … Do this one job and it will be your last. The more Slaton thought about it, the more confusing everything seemed. He had sent Nurin a message saying he would go to Geneva, all along knowing there was only one obvious course—to find Christine. Yet now that he had, it seemed a tenuous victory. Even if he could protect her and evade Mossad in the days ahead, what would happen next week or next year?

Try as he might, Slaton could not find an answer.

*   *   *

Not everyone at SÄPO was an idiot.