“But then the American girl would be dead.” She shook her head. “No, Gabriel, you did the right thing, no matter what they’re saying about you now in London and Amsterdam. When the storm is over, they’ll come to their senses and thank you.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Gilah.”

“Go sit with him. I think he’s a little depressed. It’s not easy to grow old.”

“Tell me about it.”

He poured himself a glass of red wine and carried it out onto the balcony. Shamron was seated in a wrought-iron chair beneath the stripped awning, watching rainwater dripping from the leaves of the eucalyptus tree. Gabriel plucked the cigarette from his fingertips and tossed it over the balustrade onto the wet sidewalk.

“It’s against the law in this country to litter,” Shamron said. “Where have you been?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m having you followed?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I know you’re having me followed. Therefore it is merely a statement of fact.”

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean you’re safe. You have far too many enemies to wander around without bodyguards—and far too many enemies to be working in plain view in an artist’s studio overlooking the walls of the Old City.”

“Chiara wouldn’t let me work in the apartment.” Gabriel sat down in the chair next to Shamron. “Are you angry because I’m working in a studio near the Old City, or are you angry because I’m working and it’s not for you?”

Shamron pointedly lit another cigarette but said nothing.

“The restoration helps, Ari. It always helps. It makes me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Killing three men in Hyde Park. Killing a man on the lawn of Westminster. Killing Ishaq in a field in Essex. Shall I go on?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Shamron. “And when this Rembrandt is finished? What then?”

“I’m lucky to be alive, Ari. I hurt everywhere. Let me heal. Let me enjoy life for a few days before you begin hounding me about coming back to the Office.”

Shamron smoked his cigarette and watched the rain in silence. Devoutly secular, he marked the passage of time not by the Jewish festivals but by the rhythms of the land—the day the rains came, the day the wildflowers exploded in the Galilee, the day in early autumn when the cool winds returned. To Gabriel, he seemed to be wondering how many more such cycles he would be witnessing.

“Our ambassador in London received a rather humorous letter from the British Home Office this morning,” he said.

“Let me guess,” said Gabriel. “They would like me to testify before the commission of inquiry into the kidnapping and recovery of Elizabeth Halton.”