It had rained steadily all week, a contingency for which they had not planned, but by midmorning Saturday the sun was shining brightly and the newly washed air was scented with stone pine and jasmine and eucalyptus. They slept late and ate a leisurely breakfast on the balcony, then packed a few things into an overnight bag and set out for the Galilee.
Gabriel drove down the Bab al-Wad to the Coastal Plain, then north to the Valley of Jezreel. They stopped there for a few minutes to collect Eli Lavon from the dig atop Tel Megiddo, then continued on to Tiberias. Shamron’s honey-colored villa was just a few miles north of the city, on a ledge overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Two dozen cars lined the steep drive, and in the forecourt was a large American Suburban with diplomatic license plates. Adrian Carter and Sarah Bancroft were standing at the balustrade of Shamron’s terrace, chatting with Uzi Navot and Bella.
“Gilah never told me Carter was coming,” Chiara said.
“She must have forgotten to mention it.”
“How do you forget to mention that the deputy director of the CIA is coming all the way from Washington? And what is Sarah doing here?”
“Gilah’s old, Chiara. Give her a break.”
Gabriel climbed out before she could pose another question, then retrieved the overnight bag from the trunk and led her up the steps. Gilah was standing in the entrance hall as they came inside. The large rooms had been emptied of their furniture and several round tables put in their place. Chiara stared at the place settings and the flower arrangements, then walked past Gilah and stepped on the terrace, where a hundred white chairs stood in neat rows around a chuppah hung with flowers. She spun round, mouth open, and looked at Gabriel.
“What’s going on here?”
Gabriel held up the overnight bag and said, “I’m going to take this up to our room.”
“Gabriel Allon, come back here.”
She followed quickly after him and chased him down the corridor to their room. As she stepped inside, she saw the dress laid out on the bed.
“My God, Gabriel, what have you done?”
“Made amends for all my mistakes, I hope.”
She threw her arms around him and kissed him, then ran a hand through her hair.
“It’s a mess. What am I going to do?”
“We brought a hair stylist from Tel Aviv. A very good one.”
“What about my family?”
He looked at his watch. “We flew them out of Venice aboard a charter. They landed at Ben-Gurion twenty minutes ago. We’re bringing them up here by helicopter.”
“And the rings?”
He pulled a small jewelry box from his coat pocket and opened it.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “You thought of everything.”
“Weddings are operations.”
“No, they’re not, you dolt.” She slapped his arm playfully. “What time is the ceremony?”
“Whenever you want it to be.”
“What time is sundown?”
“Five-oh-eight.”
“We’ll start at five-oh-nine.” She kissed him again. “And don’t be late.”