When the Wrath of God unit was formally disbanded, neither Gabriel nor Lavon wanted anything more to do with intelligence work or killing. Gabriel took refuge in Venice to heal paintings while Lavon fled to Vienna, where he opened a small investigative bureau called Wartime Claims and Inquiries. Operating on a shoestring budget, he managed to track down millions of dollars’ worth of looted Holocaust assets and played a significant role in prying a multibillion-dollar settlement from the banks of Switzerland. Lavon’s activities earned him few friends, and in 2003 a bomb exploded inside his office, seriously wounding him and killing two of his employees. Lavon never attempted to rebuild in Vienna, choosing instead to return to Israel and pursue his first love, archaeology. He now served as an adjunct professor at Hebrew University and regularly took part in digs around the country. And twice a year he returned to the Office academy to lecture the new recruits on the fine art of physical surveillance. Invariably, one would ask Lavon about his work with the legendary assassin Gabriel Allon. Lavon’s response never varied: “Gabriel who?”

By training and temperament, Lavon was prone to handle delicate objects with care. That was especially true of the single sheet of paper he accepted in the sitting room of a suite at the Ambassade Hotel. He examined it for several moments in the half-light before placing it on the coffee table and peering curiously at Gabriel and Chiara over his gold half-moon reading glasses.

“I thought you two were hiding out from Shamron in the deepest corner of Cornwall. How in the world did you get this?”

“Is it real?” asked Gabriel.

“Absolutely. But where did it come from?”

Gabriel gave Lavon an account of the investigation thus far, beginning with Julian Isherwood’s unannounced appearance on the cliffs of Lizard Point and ending with the story of Lena Herzfeld. Lavon listened intently, his brown eyes darting back and forth between Gabriel and Chiara. At the conclusion, he studied the document again and shook his head slowly.

“What’s wrong, Eli?”

“I’ve spent years searching for something like this. Leave it to you to stumble on it by accident.”

“Something like what, Eli?”

“Proof of his guilt. Oh, I found scraps of corroborating evidence scattered across the graveyards of Europe, but nothing as damning as this.”

“You recognize the name?”

“Kurt Voss?” Lavon nodded his head slowly. “You might say that SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Voss and I are old friends.”

“And the signature?”

“To me, it’s as recognizable as Rembrandt’s.” Lavon glanced down at the document. “Whether you ever manage to find Julian’s painting, you’ve already made a major discovery. And it needs to be preserved.”

“I’d be more than happy to entrust it to your capable hands, Eli.”

“I assume there’s a price involved.”

“A small one,” said Gabriel.

“What’s that?”

“Tell me about Voss.”