“A change of scenery.”

“Why?”

“Did you happen to see the news today?”

“Allon?”

Yaakov nodded.

“My condolences,” said the Iranian.

“Spare me, Reza.”

“He was going to be the chief, was he not?”

“One heard rumors to that effect.”

“So now I suppose Uzi will keep his job. He’s a good man, Uzi, but he’s no Gabriel Allon. Uzi got all the credit for blowing up our enrichment facilities, but everyone knows it was Allon who inserted those sabotaged centrifuges into our supply chain.”

“What centrifuges?”

Reza Nazari smiled. It was a professional smile, careful, discreet. He was a small, slight man with deeply set brown eyes and a closely trimmed beard, a man of the desk rather than the field, a man of moderation—or so he had claimed when he made his initial approach to the Office two years earlier, during a working visit to Istanbul. He said he wanted to spare his country another disastrous war, that he wanted to serve as a bridge between the Office and forward-thinking men like himself inside VEVAK. The bridge had not come cheap. Nazari had been paid more than a million dollars, a staggering sum by Office standards. In exchange, he had supplied a steady stream of high-grade intelligence that had given Israel’s politicians and military leaders an unprecedented window on Iranian intentions. Nazari was so valuable that the Office had created a bolt-hole for his family in the event his treachery were ever discovered. Unbeknownst to Nazari, the escape procedures had been activated earlier that day.

“We were closer to a weapon than you realized,” Nazari was saying. “If Allon hadn’t blown up those four enrichment facilities, we could have had a weapon within a year. But we rebuilt those facilities and added a few more. And now . . .”

“You’re close again.”

Nazari nodded. “But that doesn’t seem to bother your friends in America. The president wants his deal. It’s legacy time, as they say.”

“The president’s legacy is of no concern to the Office.”

“But you share his conclusion that a nuclear Iran is inevitable. Uzi has no appetite for a military confrontation. Allon was another story, though. He would have flattened us if he had the chance.” The Iranian shook his head slowly. “One wonders why he was following that car in London.”

“Yes,” said Yaakov. “One wonders.”

A road sign floated past Nazari’s window: CZECH REPUBLIC 42 KM. He looked at his watch again.

“Why didn’t we meet in our usual place?”

“We have a little surprise for you, Reza.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“Something to show our appreciation for everything you’ve done.”

“How much farther?”

“Not far.”

“I have to be back at my hotel by midnight at the latest.”

“Don’t worry, Reza. No pumpkins.”