Yossi saw to Zizi’s personnel. He focused on the relatively small team that worked inside Zizi’s Geneva headquarters, along with companies wholly owned or controlled by AAB. Most of his time, though, was devoted to Zizi’s large personal entourage. Their photographs soon covered the wall above Yossi’s workspace and stood in stark contrast to those of bin Shafiq’s terror network. New photographs arrived each day as Yossi monitored Zizi’s frenetic movements around the globe. Zizi arriving for a meeting in London. Zizi consulting with German automakers in Stuttgart. Zizi enjoying the view of the Red Sea from his new hotel in Sharm el-Sheik. Zizi conferring with the king of Jordan about a possible construction deal. Zizi opening a desalination plant in Yemen. Zizi collecting a humanitarian award from an Islamic group in Montreal whose Web site, Yossi pointed out, contained an open call for the destruction of the State of Israel.

As for Gabriel’s corner of the room, it was a sanctuary from the realms of terror and finance. His wall was covered not with the faces of terrorists or business executives but with dozens of photographs of French Impressionist prints. And while Lavon and Yossi spent their days digging through dreary ledger sheets and computer printouts, Gabriel could often be seen leafing through old catalogs, Impressionist monographs, and press clippings describing Zizi’s exploits on the world art scene.

By the end of the tenth day, Gabriel had decided how he was going to slip an agent into Jihad Incorporated. He walked over to Yossi’s collage of photographs and gazed at a single image. It showed a gaunt, gray-haired Englishman, seated next to Zizi six months earlier at the Impressionist and Modern Art auction at Christie’s in New York. Gabriel removed the photograph and held it up for the others to see. “This man,” he said. “He has to go.” Then he called Adrian Carter on a private secure number at Langley and told him how he planned to penetrate the House of Zizi. “All you need now is a painting and a girl,” Carter said. “You find the painting. I’ll get you the girl.”

GABRIEL LEFT King Saul Boulevard a little earlier than usual and drove to Ein Kerem. There were still security guards posted outside the intensive care unit of the Hadassah Medical Center, but Shamron was alone when Gabriel entered his room. “The prodigal son has decided to pay me a visit,” he said bitterly. “It’s a good thing we’re a desert people. Otherwise you would put me on an ice floe and cast me out to sea.”

Gabriel sat down next to the bed. “I’ve been here at least a half dozen times.”

“When?”

“Late at night when you’re asleep.”

“You hover over me? Like Gilah and the doctors? Why can’t you come during the day like a normal person?”

“I’ve been busy.”