“Granted,” said Shamron, “but it will have to suffice.” He lapsed into a contemplative silence. “So what happens when you see an Arab man, mid-thirties, entering the apartment house at Number 56?” He allowed the question to hang on the air for a moment, then answered it himself. “You and Dina will make a determination whether it could be him. If you make such a determination, you’ll send a flash to King Saul Boulevard over the secure link. Then you’ll transmit the video. If we’re satisfied, we’ll give you the order to go. You and Yaakov will leave Fidelity and head toward the Place de la Préfecture by motorcycle—Yaakov driving, of course, you on the back. You’ll find someplace to wait. Perhaps you’ll just park in the square or have a beer in a sidewalk café. If he stays for some time, you’ll have to keep moving. It’s a busy part of town that stays up late. You’re both experienced operatives. You know what to do. When Dina sees Khaled step out that door, she’ll signal you by radio. You need to be back on the boulevard St-Rémy in no more than thirty seconds.”

Shamron slowly crushed out his cigarette.

“I don’t care if it’s broad daylight,” he said evenly. “I don’t care if he’s with a friend. I don’t care if the act is witnessed by a crowd of people. When Khaled al-Khalifa steps out of that apartment house, I want you to put him on the ground and be done with it.”

“The escape route?”

“Up the boulevard Notre-Dame, over the avenue du Prado. Head east at high speed. The Ayin will leave a car for you in the parking lot of the Vélodrome. Then get to Geneva as quickly as possible. We’ll put you in a flat there and move you when it’s safe.”

“When do we leave Sardinia?”

“Now,” Shamron said. “Head due north, toward Corsica. On the southwest corner of the island is the port of Propriano. The Marseilles ferry leaves from there. You can shadow it across the Mediterranean. It’s nine hours from Propriano. Slip into the port after dark and register with the harbormaster. Then make contact with the watchers and establish the link with the surveillance camera.”

“And you?”

“The last thing you need in Marseilles is an old man looking over your shoulder. Rami and I will leave you here. We’ll be back in Tel Aviv by tomorrow evening.”

Gabriel picked up the satellite image of the boulevard St-Rémy and studied it carefully.

“Aleph, Bet, Ayin, Qoph,” said Shamron. “It will be just like the old days.”

“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “What on earth could go wrong?”

YAAKOV AND DINA waited aboard Fidelity while Gabriel took Shamron and Rami ashore. Rami leapt onto the quay and held the dinghy steady while Shamron climbed slowly out.