Ultimately, it would be a positive for Alicia. Through the connections Nir would make for her, many more paintings with the Alicia Marcos signature would find their way into expensive beach homes and luxury yachts. Currently, she wasn’t exactly a starving artist, but Nicole knew she wasn’t rolling in money either. The early 2000s-era Nissan she drove up in made that clear.

Quit trying to justify yourself, Nicole. Remember, the Hebrew midwives lied to save those babies, and God blessed them. Sometimes a wrong word uttered for the right reason can be a good thing.

That thought brought to mind the conversation about motives she’d had with Nir a couple of weeks ago, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had a mission—and she had to be cool about it.

Leaning forward, then taking on a conspiratorial tone, Nicole said, “My jeweler guy, as you call him, and I were walking down the Via Monte Napoleone in Milan when we saw one of your pieces—the Marilyn, the one with the Oakley sunglasses. It was displayed in a gallery window.”

“Oh, that was Gallo Milano. My friend Matteo Franco showed it for me there. It sold five days ago.”

“Nir will be disappointed, because he loved the piece. He was blown away, not just by its beauty but by the creativity of materials.” Nicole reached across the table and touched her friend’s hand. “When Nir saw your painting, the wheels in his brain started turning. That’s just the way he is. He’s like a business ninja. Long story short, for a ten percent finder’s fee from each piece you sell, he thinks he can make you a millionaire by this time next year. And that’s just the beginning.”

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

ONE DAY LATER

MOSSAD HEADQUARTERS, TEL AVIV, ISRAEL—OCTOBER 15, 2020—09:15 / 9:15 A.M. IDT

He’ll get us all killed,” Yaron said. Although his ops second was short and stocky, his standing body dominated the table.

“I’m sitting right here,” Lahav said, looking like he’d walked out of computer nerd central casting, complete with thick black plastic glasses and a mostly full pocket protector. “If you have something to say, say it to me.”

Yaron turned toward the man and leaned over the table, his face red with anger. “You are going to get us all killed,” he said, emphasizing each word with a point of his index finger.

Lahav pretended to turn a crank as he slowly raised a finger of his own. Yaron started to climb across the table toward him, but Dima and Doron grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled him back down to his chair. The fourth member of Nir’s Kidon team, Imri, remained calmly seated at the farthest side of the table away from Nir, watching the events with amusement.