Gabriel squeezed the trigger twice. Four holes appeared almost simultaneously in the windshield of the jeep. He sprinted up the track through the knee-deep snow, Navot at his heels, and approached the jeep cautiously with the Beretta in his outstretched hands. Mikhail had managed two fatal head shots on the driver, but Gabriel’s man had been hit in the cheek and upper chest and was still semiconscious.

Gabriel shot him twice through the passenger-side window, then stood motionless for an instant, scanning the terrain for any sign their presence had been detected. It was Navot who noticed the guard coming out of the trees at the left side of the house and Mikhail who dropped him with a single head shot that sprayed blood and brain tissue across the virgin snow. Gabriel turned and headed across the clearing toward the chalet, with the other three men at his back.

“TELL ME ABOUT this man Julian Isherwood.”

“Julian is a dear sweet man.”

“He is a Jew?”

“Never came up.”

“Julian Isherwood is a longtime agent of Israeli intelligence?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“So after leaving the Phillips Collection you went immediately to work as Julian Isherwood’s assistant director?”

“That’s correct.”

“But you were a complete amateur. When were you trained?”

“At night.”

“Where?”

“At a country house south of London.”

“Where was this country house?”

“Surrey, I think. I never caught the name of the village.”

“It was a permanent Israeli safe house?”

“A rental. Very temporary.”

“There were other people there besides Allon?”

“Yes.”

“They used other people to help train you?”

“Yes.”

“Give me some of their names.”

“The people who came from Tel Aviv never gave me their names.”

“And what about the other members of Allon’s London team?”

“What about them?”

“Give me their names.”

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“Give me their names, Sarah.”

“Please, don’t.”

He hit her hard enough to knock her from her chair. She hung there a moment, the handcuffs carving into her wrists, while he screamed at her for names.

“Tell me their names, Sarah. All of them.”

“There was a man named Yaakov.”

“Who else?”

“Yossi.”

“Give me another name, Sarah.”

“Eli.”

“Another.”

“Dina.”

“Another.”

“Rimona.”

“And these were the same people who followed you in Saint Bart’s?”

“Yes.”

“Who was the man who first approached you on the beach at Saline?”

“Yaakov.”

“Who was the woman who left the message in the bathroom for you at the restaurant in Saline?”

“Rimona.”

“Who was girl with the limp who came to Le Tetou restaurant right before you went to the restroom?”

“Dina.”

“They’re all Jews, these people.”

“Would that come as a surprise to you?”

“And what about you, Sarah? Are you a Jew?”

“No, I’m not a Jew.”

“Then why did you help them?”

“Because I hate you.”

“Yes, and look what it’s gotten you.”