“And dark?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s gray in places, isn’t it? At the temples, to be precise.”

“Yes, his temples are gray.”

“And now the eyes. They’re green, aren’t they. Abnormally so.”

“His eyes are very green.”

“He has a special talent, this man?”

“Many.”

“He has the ability to restore paintings?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re absolutely certain you never heard a name?”

“I told you. He called himself Ben.”

“Yes, I know, but did he ever refer to himself by any other name?”

“No, never.”

“You’re sure, Sarah?”

“Positive. He called himself Ben.”

“It’s not his real name, Sarah. His name is Gabriel Allon. And he is a murderer of Palestinians. Now please tell me what happened after he arrived at the house in Georgetown.”

THERE WAS a sign at the entrance of the track leading to the chalet. It read PRIVATE. The security gate was three hundred yards into the trees. Gabriel and Navot moved on one side of the track, Mikhail and Yaakov on the other. The snow had been deep along the edge of road coming up the gorge, but in the trees there was much less. Seen through the night-vision goggles, it glowed ghostly luminous green while the trunks of the pine and fir were dark and distinct. Gabriel crept forward, careful to avoid fallen limbs that might have cracked beneath the weight of his step. It was deathly silent in the forest. He was aware of his own heart banging against his rib cage and the sound of Navot’s footfalls behind him. He held his Beretta in both hands. He wore no gloves.

Fifteen minutes after entering the trees, he glimpsed the house for the first time. There were lights burning in the ground-floor windows, and a single window was illuminated on the second story. The guards were sheltering in the warmth of one of the jeeps. The engine was running and the headlights were doused. The gate was open.

“Do you have a clean shot, Mikhail?”

“Yes.”

“Which one is best from your angle?”

“The driver.”

“It’s nearly fifty yards, Mikhail. Can you get him cleanly?”

“I can get him.”

“A head shot, Mikhail. We need to do it quietly.”

“I have the shot.”

“Line it up and wait for my signal. We shoot together. And God help us if we miss.”

“SO ALLON asked you to help him?”

“Yes.”

“And you agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Instantly?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re evil. And I hate you.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“You wanted the truth.”

“What happened next?”

“I quit my job at the Phillips Collection and moved to London.”

GABRIEL TOOK careful aim at the man in the passenger seat.

“Are you ready, Mikhail?”

“Ready.”

“Two shots, on my mark, in five, four, three, two…”