A WEEK AFTER CHIARA’S DEPARTURE GABRIEL drove to Tiberias for dinner at the Shamrons. Yonatan was there, along with his wife and three young children. So was Rimona and her husband. They both had just come off duty and were still in uniform. Shamron, surrounded by his family, seemed happier than Gabriel had seen him in years. After supper he led Yonatan and Gabriel onto the terrace. A bright three-quarter moon was reflected in the calm surface of the Sea of Galilee. Beyond the lake, black and shapeless, loomed the Golan Heights. Shamron liked it best on his terrace, because it faced east toward his enemies. He was content to sit quietly and say nothing for a time while Gabriel and Yonatan talked pessimistically about the matsav—the situation. After a while, Shamron gave Yonatan a look that said he needed to speak to Gabriel privately. “I get the message, Abba,” Yonatan said, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“He is a colonel in the IDF,” Gabriel said, when Yonatan had gone. “He doesn’t like when you treat him like that.”

“Yonatan has his line of work, and we have ours.” Shamron adroitly shifted the focus from his personal problems to Gabriel’s. “How’s Leah?”

“I’m taking her to the Mount of Olives tomorrow to see Dani’s grave.”

“I assume her doctor has approved this outing?”

“He’s coming with us, along with half the staff of the Mount Herzl Psychiatric Hospital.”

Shamron lit a cigarette. “Have you heard from Chiara?”

“No, and I don’t expect to. Do you know where she is?”

Shamron looked theatrically at his wristwatch. “If the operation is proceeding as planned, she’s probably sipping brandy in a ski lodge in Zermatt with a certain Swiss gentleman of questionable character. This gentleman is about to ship a rather large consignment of arms to a Lebanese guerrilla group that doesn’t have our best interests at heart. We’d like to know when that shipment is leaving port and where it’s going.”

“Please tell me Operations isn’t using my former fiancée as bait in a honey trap.”

“I’m not privy to the details of the operation, only the overarching goals. As for Chiara, she’s a girl of high moral character. I’m sure she’ll play hard to get with our Helvetian friend.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry,” Shamron said. “Soon you’ll be the one deciding how we use her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The prime minister would like a word with you. He has a job he’d like you to take.”

“Javelin-catcher?”

Shamron threw back his head and laughed, then suffered a long, spasmodic fit of coughing.

“Actually, he wants you to be the next director of Operations.”