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assassin’s hand
    wrapped around Ostrovsky’s upper arm. “Poor Boris barely gives him a look after they bump into each
    other. I don’t think he ever knew what hit him.”
    “He didn’t,” Gabriel said. “He walked straight into the Basilica and followed your instructions as
    though there was nothing out of the ordinary. Even as he was dying, he didn’t seem to realize why.”
    Lavon looked at the photograph of the assassin again. “I stand by what I said as we were leaving the
    Basilica. Ostrovsky was clean. I didn’t see anyone following him. And there’s no way I could have
    missed someone who looks like this.”
    “Maybe Ostrovsky was clean, but we weren’t.”
    “You’re suggesting they were watching the watchers?”
    “Exactly.”
    “But how did they know we were going to be there?”
    “Ostrovsky’s probably been under watch in Moscow for months. When he came to Rome, he made
    contact with our embassy on an insecure line. Someone from the other side picked up the call, either here
    in Rome or from a listening post in Moscow. The assassin is a real pro. He knew we wouldn’t go near
    Ostrovsky without sending him on a surveillance detection run. And he did what real pros are trained to
    do. He ignored the target and watched us instead.”
    “But how did he get to the Vatican ten minutes before Ostrovsky?”
    “He must have been following me . I missed him, Eli. It’s my fault Ostrovsky died a miserable death
    on the floor of the Basilica.”
    “It makes sense, but it’s not something your average run-of-the-mill Russian gangster could pull off.”
    “We’re not dealing with gangsters. These are professionals.”
    Lavon handed the photographs back to Gabriel. “Whatever it was Boris intended to tell you, it must
    have been important. Someone needs to find out who this man is and whom he’s working for.”
    “Yes, someone should.”
    “I could be wrong, Gabriel, but I think King Saul Boulevard already has a candidate in mind for the
    job.”
    Lavon handed him a slip of paper.
    “What’s this?”
    “A message from Shamron.”
    “What does it say?”
    “It says your honeymoon is now officially over.”
    10 BEN-GURION AIRPORT, ISRAEL
    There is a VIP reception room at Ben-Gurion Airport that few people know and where even fewer
    have set foot. Reached by an unmarked door near passport control, it has walls of Jerusalem limestone,
    furnishings of black leather, and a permanent odor of burnt coffee and male tension. When Gabriel entered
    the room the following evening, he found it occupied by a single man. He had settled himself at the edge
    of his chair, with his legs slightly splayed and his large hands resting atop an olive-wood cane, like a
    traveler on a rail platform resigned to a long wait. He was dressed, as always, in a pair of pressed khaki
    trousers and a white oxford cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His head was bullet-
    shaped and bald, except for a monkish fringe of white hair. His ugly wire-framed spectacles magnified a
    pair of blue eyes that were no longer clear.
    “How long have you been sitting there?” Gabriel asked.
    “Since the day you returned to Italy,” replied Ari Shamron.
    Gabriel regarded him carefully.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “I’m just wondering why you’re not smoking.”
    “Gilah told me I have to quit-or else .”
    “That’s never stopped you before.”
    “This time she means it.”
    Gabriel kissed Shamron on the top of the head. “Why didn’t you just let someone from Transport
    pick me up?”
    “I was in the neighborhood.”
    “You live in Tiberias! You’re retired now, Ari. You should be spending time with Gilah to make up
    for all those years when you were never around.”
    “I’m never going to retire!” Shamron thumped the arm of his chair for emphasis. “As for Gilah, she
    was the one who suggested I come here to wait for you. She told me to get out of the house for a few
    hours. She said I