“It’s one of the great mysteries inside the Office,” Gabriel said. “There are all sorts of wild theories about how it happened, but he always refused to tell us the truth.”

“It was the night of the bombing in Vienna. Ari was in a hurry to get to King Saul Boulevard. As he was climbing into his car, the coat got caught on the door, and he tore it.” She ran her finger along the wound. “I tried to fix it for him many times, but he would never let me. It was for Leah and Dani, he said. He’s been wearing a ripped coat all these years because of what happened to your wife and son.”

The telephone rang. Gabriel brought the receiver to his ear and listened in silence for a moment. “I’ll be right there, sir,” he said a moment later, then rang off.

“That was the prime minister. He wants to see me right away. I’ll come back when I’m finished.”

“Don’t worry, Gabriel. Yonatan will be here soon.”

“I’ll be back, Gilah.”

His tone was too forceful. He kissed her cheek apologetically and stood. Gilah seized his arm as he moved toward the door. “Take this,” she said, holding out Shamron’s coat. “He would have wanted you to have it.”

“Don’t talk like he’s not going to make it.”

“Just take the jacket and go.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “You mustn’t keep the prime minister waiting.”

Gabriel went into the corridor and hurried to the elevators. You mustn’t keep the prime minister waiting. It was what Gilah always said to Shamron whenever he left her.

A CAR AND security detail were waiting downstairs in the drive. It took them only five minutes to reach the Prime Minister’s Office at 3 Kaplan Street. The guards took Gabriel into the building through an underground entrance and shepherded him upstairs, into the large unexpectedly plain office on the top floor. The room was in semidarkness; the prime minister was seated at his desk in a pool of light, dwarfed by the towering portrait of the Zionist leader Theodore Herzl that hung on the wall at his back. It had been more than a year since Gabriel had been in his presence. In that time his hair had turned from silver to white, and his brown eyes had taken on the rheumy look of an old man. The meeting of the Security Cabinet had just broken up, and the prime minister was alone except for Amos Sharret, the new director-general of the Office, who was seated tensely in a leather armchair. Gabriel shook his hand for the first time. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Amos said. “I wish the circumstances were different.”

Gabriel sat down.

“You’re wearing Shamron’s jacket,” the prime minister said.

“Gilah insisted I take it.”