“A witness saw Ari’s car accelerate suddenly an instant before the bomb went off. Rami or the driver must have seen something that made them suspicious. The armor plating withstood the force of the blast, but the car was thrown into the air. Apparently it rolled at least twice.”

“Who did this? Was it Hamas? Islamic Jihad? The Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades?”

“There’s been a claim by the Brotherhood of Allah.”

“The same people who did the Vatican?”

“Yes, Gilah.”

“Do you believe them?”

“It’s early,” Gabriel said. “What have the doctors told you?”

“He’s going to be in surgery for at least another three hours. They say we’ll be able to see him when he comes out, but only for a minute or two. They’ve warned me he won’t look good.”

Gilah studied him for a moment, then looked up at the television again. “You’re worried he’s not going to live, aren’t you, Gabriel?”

“Of course I am.”

“Don’t worry,” said Gilah. “Shamron is indestructible. Shamron is eternal.”

“What did they tell you about his injuries?”

She recited them calmly. The inventory of damaged organs, head trauma, and broken bones made clear to Gabriel that Shamron’s survival was by no means assured.

“Ari came through it the best of the three,” Gilah said. “Apparently Rami and the driver were hurt much worse. Poor Rami. He’s been standing guard over Ari for years. And now this.”

“Where’s Yonatan?”

“He was on duty in the north tonight. He’s on his way.”

Shamron’s only son was a colonel in the Israel Defense Force. Ronit, his wayward daughter, had moved to New Zealand in order to get away from her domineering father. She was living there on a chicken farm with a gentile. It had been years since she and Shamron had spoken.

“Ronit’s coming, too,” Gilah said. “Who knows? Maybe something good can come out of all this. Ronit’s absence has been very hard on him. He blames himself, as well he should. Ari’s very hard on his children. But then you know that, don’t you, Gabriel?”