“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because I’m curious by nature.”

“No,” said Nazari, again after a hesitation. “My wife knows nothing.”

“Maybe you should tell her.”

Gabriel accepted a mobile phone from Mikhail and offered it to Nazari. The Iranian stared at the device, uncomprehending.

“Go ahead, Reza. Call her.”

“What have you done?”

“We’ve pulled the fire alarm.”

“What does that mean?”

It was Yaakov who explained. “Do you remember the bolt-hole we created for you and your family, Reza? The bolt-hole that wasn’t necessary because you were never the real thing?”

Panic spread like wildfire across the Iranian’s face.

“But you never mentioned any of that to your wife,” Yaakov continued. “In fact, you left the bolt-hole in place, just in case things went sideways for you at VEVAK and you needed a port in the storm. All we had to do was pull the fire alarm and they—”

“Where are they?” Nazari interrupted.

“I can tell you where they aren’t, Reza, and that’s the Islamic Republic of Iran.”

A dangerous calm settled into Nazari’s sunken eyes. They moved slowly from Yaakov to Gabriel.

“You just made a mistake, my friend. A man such as yourself knows well the hazards in targeting innocent family members.”

“That’s one of the great things about being dead, Reza. I’m no longer bound by a guilty conscience.” Gabriel paused, then added, “It clarifies my thinking.” He withdrew the mobile phone. “The question is,” he asked, “have I clarified your thinking, too?”

Nazari’s gaze moved from Gabriel’s face to the fire. The dangerous calm was gone. It had been replaced by hopelessness, a realization he had no choice but to place himself at the mercy of a mortal enemy.

“What do you want from me?” he asked finally.

“I want you to save your family. And yourself.”

“And how might I do that?”

“By helping me find Eamon Quinn and Alexei Rozanov.”

“It’s not possible, Allon.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Boss.”

“I’m the boss now,” said Gabriel. “And you’re working for me.”

They spent the next hour going over everything again from the beginning. Particular attention was paid to the details of the bank account in Geneva and the circumstances of Nazari’s last meeting with Alexei Rozanov in Copenhagen. The precise date, the name of the restaurant, the time and manner of their arrival, the names of the hotels where they had stayed.

“And your next meeting?” asked Gabriel.

“We have nothing planned.”

“Who usually initiates contact?”

“That depends on the state of play. If Alexei has something to discuss, he makes contact and suggests a venue. And if I need to see him—”

“How do you make contact with him?”

“In a way that you and the NSA can’t monitor.”

“You drop a chatty e-mail to a harmless-looking account?”

“Sometimes,” said Nazari, “the simple ways are best.”

“What’s Rozanov’s address?”