Gilah stared directly into Gabriel’s eyes for a moment, then looked suddenly away. For years she had thought him a deskman of some sort who knew much about art and spent a great deal of time in Europe. Like the rest of the country she had learned the true nature of his work by reading the newspapers. Her demeanor toward him had changed since his unmasking. She was quiet around him, careful never to upset him, and incapable of looking him too long in the eye. Gabriel had seen behavior like Gilah’s before, as a child, whenever people had entered the Allon home. Death had left its mark on Gabriel’s face, just as Birkenau had stained the face of his mother. Gilah couldn’t gaze long into his eyes because she feared what she might see there.

“He wasn’t well before this. He’s been hiding it, of course—even from the prime minister.”

Gabriel wasn’t surprised. He knew Shamron had been covertly battling various ailments for years. The old man’s health, like almost every other aspect of his life, was a closely held secret.

“Is it the kidneys?”

Gilah shook her head. “The cancer is back.”

“I thought they got it all.”

“So did Ari,” she said. “And that’s not all. His lungs are a mess from the cigarettes. Tell him not to smoke so much.”

“He never listens to me.”

“You’re the only one he listens to. He loves you like a son, Gabriel. Sometimes I think he loves you more than Yonatan.”

“Don’t be silly, Gilah.”

“He’s never happier than when you’re sitting on the terrace together in Tiberias.”

“We’re usually arguing.”

“He likes arguing with you, Gabriel.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

On the television cabinet ministers and security chiefs were arriving at the Prime Minister’s Office for an emergency session. Under ordinary circumstances Shamron would have been among them. Gabriel looked at Gilah. She was pulling at the torn leather of Shamron’s jacket. “It was Ari, wasn’t it?” she asked. “It was Ari who dragged you into this life…after Munich.”

Gabriel looked at the emergency lights flashing on the television screen and nodded absently.

“You were in the army?”

“No, I’d finished with the army. I was studying at the Bezalel Academy of Art by then. Ari came to see me a few days after the hostages had been killed. No one knew it then, but Golda had already given the order to kill everyone involved.”

“Why did he select you?”

“I spoke languages, and he saw things in my army fitness reports—qualities he thought would make me suitable for the kind of work he had in mind.”

“Killing at close range, face-to-face. That’s how you did it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Gilah.”

“How many?”

“Gilah.”

“How many, Gabriel?”

“Six,” he said. “I killed six of them.”