Nir slid the glass open, and once he and Imri had both slipped inside, he gently closed the door behind them. He clicked his com twice and then twisted on a small penlight. The two operatives began walking through the Airbnb rental.

“Entry acknowledged,” Liora said. Nir had no doubt that the rest of his analyst team surrounded her, following the action and ready to jump in at a moment’s notice.

Well, not quite the rest of the team.

Nicole had committed to working Milan Fashion Week, so he’d cut her from the op. When he told her he was going ahead without her, she was understanding. She was understanding about a lot of things these days. Some of it was due to the healing of their relationship during a recent operation in the United Arab Emirates. But much of her changed attitude came from what she called her “new relationship with Jesus.”

After her experience in Iran, she was a wreck. She spent some time with her twin brother, Christiaan, a former drug addict who had kicked his habit by going to a church or a religious 12-step program or something. Nir wasn’t totally sure what. He just knew Nicole had escaped to Cape Town a basket case and come back a new person. And whether it was Jesus, seeing Christiaan, or spending some time in her home hemisphere where the water circles the drain counterclockwise, he didn’t care. He was just happy that she was happy.

Nir and Imri made their way between the living area and kitchen toward the two bedrooms. Outside, but close by, his Kidon ops team waited. Yaron Eisenbach—still Nir’s second and an old-school agent who had more operations under his belt in his mid-forties than most have in a full career—was down the beach to the left keeping watch. Right of the condo was a massive Russian Jew named Dima Aronov, who most called Drago after the Soviet boxer in Rocky IV. In an SUV four blocks away sat Doron Mizrahi. In his late twenties with a shaved head and a bushy beard, his Millennial perspective on life was both a deep well of cultural insight for the team and a constant source of irritation.

The man softly gliding through this expensively decorated beachside condominium with Nir was on his rookie operation. After one of the team’s members was determined no longer fit for active procedures following a gunshot wound during the operation in the UAE, the Kidon team had sought a replacement. Three of the guys sent to Nir never made it past the initial interview. The fourth had accidentally shot Dima in the chest with a SIM round during a training exercise, and the Russian had personally led him off the course by his ear.