The Scorpion nodded. “The next step was to arrange for the kidnapping. That’s where I should have figured it out because there were French footprints all over it and I never bothered to check it out. The snatch took place in Paris. Back in Peshawar you told me the data came from the rue des Saussaies, the Sûreté and the SDECE, all French intelligence agencies. And you set it up with the oldest trick in the book. Recruiting an amateur like Kelly for what she thought was one organization, in this case, the Mossad, and actually running her for another, namely your own little op within the CIA,” the Scorpion finished.

Harris sat like a sphinx, not giving anything away. “What makes you think she thought she was working for the Israelis?” he asked drily.

“In a minute. First let’s talk about why you chose Kelly. The bit about the Israelis comes out of that. You needed a beautiful blond because of Abdul Sa’ad’s slimy little fantasies. Someone you could place in the right place at the right time. Then, because of who Kelly was, Max Ormont’s daughter. Ormont’s family came from France originally. I should have spotted it sooner. The name ‘Ormont’ translated from French into Yiddish is ‘Goldberg!’

“Max achieved the American dream. He married a beautiful wealthy shicksa and made millions in oil. But he didn’t want his WASP friends, not to mention his Arab business partners, to know he was born Jewish. And here was Kelly, rebelling against her father and going to France and maybe Israel to try to find her roots.

“It must have been like taking candy from a baby to recruit her for the Israelis. Did you share your little Zionist dreams with her? Run off to a kibbutz and make the desert bloom?” the Scorpion sneered.

“Go on, finish it,” Harris growled.

His eyes glittered with anticipation. He wanted to hear it told, the Scorpion realized, like an actor anxious for a critic’s review.

“That’s all of it. You used the little fish Kelly to catch a bigger fish, me. And me to catch Abdul Sa’ad. And Abdul Sa’ad’s fall to catch Braithwaite and then Nuruddin and the Russians, who thought it was their op all along and never knew that you were the one who knocked over the first domino and set them all toppling. It was brilliant, Bob, a four-star performance. And the only thing left to ask is ‘Why?’

“Why did you do it, Bob? Or should I ask, how much?” the Scorpion finished.

Harris straightened up. An odd gleam of pride came into his eyes, like a teacher watching his best pupil win a prize. He raised his eyebrow in acknowledgement, as if it were a checkered flag.

“Six million dollars, Scorpion. That’s a little better than civil service pay,” Harris said, a winning smile breaking across his face.