He smiled warmly. Then his expression turned serious. “Some chiefs are fortunate enough to serve during relatively quiet times. They serve their term, they collect their accolades, and then they go forth into the world to make money. I’m confident I won’t be so lucky. The next few years promise to be tumultuous for the Middle East and for Israel. It will be up to the Office to help determine whether we survive in this land.” He looked out at the valley, the valley of his youth. “It would be a dereliction of duty if I were to let someone of your obvious gifts slip through my fingers.”
He said nothing more. Natalie made a show of thought.
“What is it?” he asked. “More money?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I was wondering about the Office policy regarding relationships between coworkers.”
“Officially, we discourage it.”
“And unofficially?”
“We’re Jewish, Natalie. We’re natural matchmakers.”
“How well do you know Mikhail?”
“I know him in ways only you could understand.”
“He told me about Russia.”
“Did he?” Gabriel frowned. “That was insecure on his part.”
“It was in service of a good cause.”
“And what cause was that?”
Natalie picked up the third file, the one with the employment contract.
“Did you bring a pen?” she asked.
77
PETAH TIKVA, ISRAEL
THE END WAS NEAR, IT was plain to see. On the Thursday, Uzi Navot was seen lugging several cardboard boxes from his office suite, including a lifetime supply of his beloved butter cookies, a parting gift from the Vienna station chief. The next morning, during the nine a.m. senior staff meeting, he acted as though a great weight had been lifted from his sturdy shoulders. And that afternoon, before departing for the weekend, he made a slow tour of King Saul Boulevard from the top floor to the underground recesses of Registry, shaking hands, patting shoulders, and kissing a few damp cheeks. Curiously, he avoided the dark, forbidding lair occupied by Personnel, the place where careers went to die.
Navot spent the Saturday behind the walls of his residence in the Tel Aviv suburb of Petah Tikva. Gabriel knew this because the movements of the ramsad, the official abbreviation for the head of the Office, were monitored constantly by the operations desk, as were his own. He decided it was better to show up unannounced, thus preserving the element of surprise. He slid from the back of his official SUV into a pouring rain and pressed the call button of the intercom at the front gate. Twenty long wet seconds elapsed before a voice answered. Unfortunately, it was Bella’s.
“What do you want?”
“I need to have a word with Uzi.”
“Haven’t you done enough already?”
“Please, Bella. It’s important.”
“It always is.”
Another prolonged delay ensued before the locks opened with an inhospitable snap. Gabriel opened the gate and hurried up the garden walk to the front entrance, where Bella awaited him. She wore an elaborate flowing pantsuit of embroidered crushed silk and gold sandals. Her hair was newly coiffed, her face was discreetly but thoroughly made up. She looked as though she were entertaining. She always did. Appearances had always mattered to Bella, which is why Gabriel had never understood her decision to marry a man like Uzi Navot. Perhaps, he thought, she had done it simply out of cruelty. Bella always struck Gabriel as the sort who enjoyed pulling the wings off flies.
Coldly, she shook Gabriel’s hand. Her nails were blood red.
“You’re looking well, Bella.”
“You, too. But then I suppose that’s to be expected.”
She gestured toward the sitting room, where Navot was working his way through the latest edition of the Economist. The room was a showpiece of contemporary Asian design, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the waterworks and manicured shrubbery in the garden. Navot looked like one of the workmen whom Bella had so terrorized during the long renovation. He wore wrinkled chinos and a stretched-out cotton pullover, and the gray stubble of his hair had encroached on his cheeks and chin. His disheveled appearance surprised Gabriel. Bella had never been one to permit weekend negligence when it came to grooming and dress.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“Hemlock,” answered Gabriel.
Frowning, Bella withdrew. Gabriel looked around the large room. It was three times the size of the sitting room of his little apartment in Narkiss Street. Perhaps, he thought, it was time for an upgrade. He sat down directly opposite Navot, who was now staring at a silent television. Earlier that day, the Americans had launched a drone strike on a house in western Iraq where Saladin was thought to be hiding. Twenty-two people had been killed, including several children.
“Think they got him?” asked Navot.
“No,” answered Gabriel, watching as a limp body was pulled from the rubble. “I don’t think they did.”
“Neither do I.” Navot switched off the television. “I hear you managed to convince Natalie to join the Office full-time.”
“Actually, Mikhail did it for me.”
“Think they’re serious?”
Gabriel gave a noncommittal shrug. “Love is harder in the real world than in the secret world.”
“Tell me about it,” murmured Navot. He plucked a low-calorie rice treat from a bowl on the coffee table. “What’s this I hear about Eli Lavon coming back?”
“It’s true.”
“As what?”
“Nominally, he’ll oversee the watchers. In truth, I’ll use him as I see fit.”
“Who gets Special Ops?”
“Yaakov.”
“Good call,” said Navot, “but Mikhail will be disappointed.”
“Mikhail isn’t ready. Yaakov is.”
“What about Yossi?”
“Head of Research. Dina will be his number two.”
“And Rimona?”
“Deputy director for planning.”
“A clean sweep. I suppose it’s for the best.” Navot stared blankly at the darkened television screen.
“I heard a rumor about you the other day when I was in the prime minister’s office.”
“Really?”
“They say you’re moving to California to work for a defense contractor. They say you’re going to make a million dollars a year, plus bonuses.”
“When searching for the truth,” said Navot philosophically, “the last place one should look is the prime minister’s office.”
“My source says Bella has already picked out the house.”
Navot scooped a handful of the rice treats from the bowl. “And what if it’s true? What difference does it make?”
“I need you, Uzi. I can’t do this job without you.”
“What would you call me? What would I actually do?”
“You’ll run the place and see to the politics while I run the ops.”
“A manager?”
“You’re better with people than I am, Uzi.”
“That,” said Navot, “is the understatement of the year.”
Gabriel gazed out the window. The rain was lashing Bella’s garden.
“How can you go to California at a time like this? How can you leave Israel?”
“You’re one to talk. You lived abroad for years, and you socked away plenty of money restoring all those paintings, too. It’s my turn now. Besides,” Navot added, “you don’t really need me.”
“I’m not making this offer out of the goodness of my heart. My motives are purely selfish.” Gabriel lowered his voice and added, “You’re the closest thing to a brother I have, Uzi. You and Eli Lavon. Things are going to get rough. I need you both at my side.”
“Is there no depth to which you won’t stoop?”
“I learned from the best, Uzi. So did you.”
“Sorry, Gabriel, but it’s too late. I’ve already accepted the job.”