The Black Widow

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.”

“Tell them you’ve had a change of heart. Tell them your country needs you.”

Navot nibbled thoughtfully at the rice treats, one by one. It was, thought Gabriel, an encouraging sign.

“Has the prime minister approved it?”

“He didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Where will my office be?”

“Across the hall from mine.”

“Secretary?”

“We’ll share Orit.”

“The minute you try to cut me out of something,” warned Navot, “I walk. I get to talk to you whenever and wherever I please.”

“You’ll be sick of me in no time.”

“That much I believe.”

The rice treats were gone. Navot exhaled heavily.

“What’s wrong, Uzi?”

“I’m just wondering how I’m going to tell Bella that I’ve turned down a million-dollar-a-year job in California to stay at the Office.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” said Gabriel. “You’ve always been good with people.”

78 JERUSALEM

WHEN GABRIEL RETURNED TO Narkiss Street, he found Chiara dressed in a dark professional pantsuit and the children strapped into their carry seats. Together, they made the short drive across West Jerusalem to the Mount Herzl Psychiatric Hospital. In the old days, before his remarriage, before his unwanted celebrity, Gabriel had slipped in and out of the facility unnoticed, usually late at night. Now he arrived with all the subtlety of a visiting head of state, a circle of bodyguards protecting him, Raphael wriggling in his grasp. Chiara walked silently at his side, Irene in her arms, her heels clattering over the paving stones of the forecourt. He did not envy her this moment. He took her hand and squeezed it tightly while Raphael tugged at his earlobe.

In the lobby waited a rotund, rabbinical-looking doctor in his late fifties. He had approved of the visit — in fact, Gabriel reminded himself, it was the doctor who had suggested it in the first place. Now he didn’t seem so certain it was a good idea.

“How much does she know?” asked Gabriel as his son reached for the doctor’s spectacles.