Shamron seemed to have lost interest in his cigarette. He slipped it back into the case and asked Gabriel about his plans.

“I have some unfinished business, starting with the van Gogh. I promised Hannah Weinberg I’d get it back for her. It’s a promise I intend to keep, regardless of my newfound notoriety.”

“Do you know where it is?”

Gabriel nodded. “I inserted a beacon into the stretcher during the restoration,” he said. “The painting is in Zizi’s mansion on the Île de la Cité.”

“After everything you’ve been through with the French, you’re planning to steal a painting in Paris?” Shamron shook his head. “It would be easier for you to break into the house of your friend the American president than one of Zizi’s mansions.”

Gabriel dismissed the old man’s concerns with a Shamronian wave of his hand.

“And then?”

Gabriel was silent.

“Ronit has decided to come home,” Shamron said, “but I get the feeling you’re about to leave us again.”

“I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

“I hope you’ve made a decision about Chiara.”

“We’re going to marry as soon as possible.”

“When are you planning to break the news to Leah?”

Gabriel told him.

“Take Gilah with you,” Shamron said. “They spent a great deal of time together when you were in the field. Leah needs a mother at a time like this. Gilah is the ultimate mother.”

GABRIEL AND CHIARA spent the night at the villa in a room facing the lake. In the morning they all gathered for breakfast on the sunlit terrace, then went their separate ways. Yonatan headed north to rejoin his unit; Rimona, who had returned to duty at Aman, went south to rejoin hers. Gilah came with Gabriel and Chiara. They dropped Lavon at the dig at Tel Megiddo, then continued on to Jerusalem.

It was late morning when they arrived at the Mount Herzl Psychiatric Hospital. Dr. Bar-Zvi, a rabbinical-looking man with a long beard, was waiting for them in the lobby. They went to his office and spent an hour discussing the best way to tell Leah the news. Her grasp on reality was tenuous at best. For years images of Vienna had played ceaselessly in her memory, like a loop of videotape. Now she tended to drift back and forth between past and present, often within the span of a few seconds. Gabriel felt obligated to tell her the truth but wanted it to be as painless as possible.

“She seems to respond to Gilah,” the doctor said. “Perhaps we should talk to her alone before you do.” He looked at his watch. “She’s outside in the garden right now. It’s her favorite place. Why don’t we do it there.”