by Daniel Silva
“So you send me after Yusef, your own agent. You tell me he’s vulnerable to an approach by a woman. It was in his file. I watch him for two days, he’s with two different women. Were they Office too?”
“They were Yusef’s girls. Yusef never had much trouble finding women on his own.”
“I ask Jacqueline to help me. It’s supposed to be a quick job. But Yusef takes an interest in her. Yusef wants to keep seeing her. I tell you to pull her out. But you force me to keep her in.”
Shamron folded his arms, set his jaw. Clearly he wanted to see how much of it Gabriel had figured out on his own.
“Yusef tells his people he thinks he’s being watched. He also tells them about a French girl he’s been seeing. He tells them he thinks she might be an Israeli agent. Tariq is ecstatic. Tariq has been waiting for this. He tells Yusef to recruit the girl under false pretenses for a mission. They know Jacqueline will bite, because they know she’s Office.”
“Bravo, Gabriel.”
“Did she know?”
“Jacqueline?”
“Yes, Jacqueline! Did she know the truth?”
“Of course not. She’s in love with you. She would never have agreed to deceive you.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Tell me something, Gabriel. If I had come to Cornwall and asked you to come out of retirement to serve as bait for Tariq, would you actually have done it? Of course not.”
“So you put my life on the line. And Jacqueline’s!”
“I’m sorry about what happened in New York. It went much further than I ever anticipated.”
“But he was already dying. Why didn’t you just let the tumor kill Tariq?”
“Because his organization would have carried on without him. It would have been more dangerous and unpredictable than before. And because my organization was in shambles. The Office needed a coup to restore the confidence of the government and the people of Israel.”
“What if the government and the people found out exactly how you pulled off this great coup?”
“The prime minister knows everything.”
“And the people?”
“Don’t get any ideas about running to the newspapers.”
“Why? Because I might end up like Benjamin Stone?”
Shamron said nothing.
Gabriel shook his head. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you? You’d kill me too if I got in your way. And you wonder why you can’t sleep at night.”
“Someone has to do these things, Gabriel! If not me, who? If our enemies think the Office is weak, then our enemies will test us. They might kill a few Jews whenever they felt like it. The Syrians might come rolling out of those hills again and try to drive us into the sea. Another Hitler might get the idea that he can exterminate my people while the world stands by and does nothing. I may embarrass you from time to time. I may use methods that you find distasteful, but secretly you’re glad I’m here. It helps you sleep at night.”
“Why?” said Gabriel. “Why lie to me after all these years? Why not play it straight? Why engage in such an elaborate deception?”
Shamron managed a weak smile. “Did I ever tell you about the night we kidnapped Eichmann?”
“I’ve heard the story a hundred times.”
“Never the whole story, though.” Shamron closed his eyes and winced slightly, as if the memory were painful. “We knew the bastard rode the same bus home every night. All we had to do was grab him as he stepped off. We’d practiced it a hundred times. During the drills I was able to perform the snatch in twelve seconds. But that night, as I climbed out of the car, I tripped. Eichmann nearly got away from us because I tripped. Do you know why I tripped, Gabriel? I tripped because I had forgotten to tie my shoelaces. I got him of course. But I learned a valuable lesson that night. Leave absolutely nothing to chance.”
“So it was no accident Yusef walked past my table tonight in Tel Aviv?” Gabriel asked. “You sent him there so I would see him. You wanted me to know the truth.”
Shamron inclined his head a fraction of an inch. Indeed.
It was four o’clock in the morning by the time Gabriel returned to the flat in Jerusalem. On the table was a large Office envelope. Inside were three smaller packets: one containing an airline ticket for the morning flight to London, another containing three passports of different nationalities, and a third filled with American dollars and British pounds. Gabriel placed the smaller envelopes in the larger one and carried it into the bedroom, where he packed his remaining possessions into his rucksack. The flight wasn’t for another five hours. He thought about sleeping, knew he couldn’t. He thought about driving up to Herzliya. Jacqueline. None of it had been real. Only Jacqueline. He went into the kitchen and made coffee. Then he stepped out onto the balcony and waited for dawn.
EPILOGUE
PORT NAVAS, CORNWALL
Something made Peel wake up. He rolled onto his side, snatched the torch from his bedside table, and shone it at his watch: 3:15 A.M. He switched off the light and lay awake in the darkness, listening to the wind moaning in the eaves and his mother and Derek quietly quarreling in the room next door.
He could hear only snatches of their conversation, so he closed his eyes, remembering something about the blind hearing better than the sighted. “Having trouble with the new play,” Derek was saying. “Can’t seem to find my way into the first act . . . hard with a child in the house . . . back to London to be with his father . . . time alone together . . . lovers again . . .” Peel squeezed his eyes tightly, refusing to permit the tears to escape onto his cheeks.
He was about to cover his ears with his pillow when he heard a sound outside on the quay: a small car, rattling like an oxcart with a broken wheel. He sat, threw off his blankets, placed his feet on the cold wood floor. He carried his torch to the window and looked out: a single red taillight, floating along the quay toward the oyster farm.
The car vanished into the trees, then appeared a moment later, only now Peel was staring directly into the headlights. It was an MG, and it was stopping in front of the old foreman’s cottage. Peel raised his torch, aimed it at the car, and flashed the light twice. The lights of the MG winked back. Then the engine died, and the lights went dark.
Peel climbed back into bed and pulled his blankets beneath his chin. Derek and his mother were still quarreling, but he didn’t really care. The stranger was back in Port Navas. Peel closed his eyes and soon was asleep.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book could not have been written without the generous assistance of David Bull. He truly is one of the world’s finest art restorers, and I was privileged to spend many enjoyable hours in his company. He gave freely of his time and expertise, and allowed me to wander through his studio and through his memories as well. For that I am eternally grateful. A special thanks to David’s talented wife, Teresa Longyear; to Lucy Bisognano, formerly of the National Gallery conservation staff, who tried to teach me the basics of X-ray analysis; and to Maxwell Anderson, director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, for his friendship and assistance. It goes without saying that they bear no responsibility for errors, omissions, or dramatic license.
Wolf Blitzer, a friend and colleague from my days at CNN, generously helped fill in some blanks in my research on the Israeli intelligence community. Louis Toscano, author of Triple Cross, a groundbreaking book on the Vanunu affair, read my manuscript and offered his keen insights. Glenn Whidden answered all my questions on the art of audio surveillance, as did a former head of the CIA’s Office of Technical Services.
Ion Trewin, the managing director of Weidenfeld & Nicolson in London, read my manuscript and, as always, offered wise counsel. Andrew Neil opened his home to us and shared some of his remarkable experiences in the world of London newspaper publishing. Ernie Lyles answered all my questions on semi-automatic hand-guns and made me a decent shot with a Glock and a Browning.
A special thanks to Peter and Paula White for an enchanting week in W
est Cornwall and a memorable boat trip up Helford Passage. Also, to the staffs of the venerable London art supplies shop L. Cornelissen & Son and the Hotel Queen Elizabeth in Montreal. And to Phyllis and Bernard Jacob, for their love, support, and a day roaming the streets of Brooklyn that I will never forget.
Among the dozens of nonfiction books I consulted while preparing this manuscript, several proved particularly helpful: Every Spy a Prince, by Dan Raviv and Yossi Melman; Gideon’s Spies, by Gordon Thomas; Israel: A History and The Holocaust: A History of the Jews of Europe During the Second World War, by Martin Gilbert; The Gun and the Olive Branch, by David Hirst; By Way of Deception, by Victor Ostrovsky and Clair Hoy; The Hit Team, by David B. Tinnin with Dag Christensen; My Home, My Land, by Abu Iyad; The Quest for the Red Prince, by Michael Bar-Zohar and Eitan Haber; The Palestinians , by Jonathan Dimbleby; Arafat, by Alan Hart; and The Holocaust and the Jews of Marseille, by Donna F. Ryan.
Finally, to the talented group of professionals at Random House and Penguin-Putnam. And of course none of this would have been possible without my wife, Jamie Gangel, and my children, Lily and Nicholas.
THE ENGLISH ASSASSIN
Daniel Silva
A SIGNET BOOK
Praise for
The English Assassin
“Abundant action.”
—The Washington Post
“A cloak-and-dagger tale [that] moves at a brisk clip, with clean, lucid exposition and characters who are thoughtfully drawn.”
—The New York Times
“The plot is rich, multilayered, and compelling with issues as timely as the daily headlines and problems as old as humankind…. Silva maintains tension and suspense.”
—The Denver Post
“Enthralling…a thriller that entertains as well as enlightens.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“Smooth and compelling.”
—Detroit Free Press
“Silva’s sophisticated treatment, polished prose, an edgy mood, and convincing research give his plot a crisp, almost urgent quality.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Silva knows how to plot…. [He] will draw you in—and you’ll learn something at the same time.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“Thrilling…a good cinematic story.”
—St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“In the style of authors like Frederick Forsyth and Ken Follett, this is a book that opens with a scene that grabs your attention and never lets go…highly imaginative fiction set against a nonfiction background…. You will want to read this one straight through once you’ve started.”
—New York Law Journal
“Cleverly crafted…engrossing…an intelligent thriller of the old school and one that will satisfy Silva’s fans and earn him many new ones.”
—Chattanooga Times–Free Press
“Silva, who writes with the atmospheric grace and whiplash tension of Le Carré, brings something special to the spy thriller: a multifaceted, believable hero whose sideline, spying, is only as intriguing as his regular job, restoring Old Masters…. [Allon’s] investigation leads to the English assassin, a rogue terrorist whose casual killings (his send-off gift to his lovers is explosives in their luggage) are breathtakingly orchestrated. Silva makes a stunning contribution to the spy thriller.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“The spy novel is alive and well and Daniel Silva is among those who are nursing it back to life…. The fast-paced plot and multiple twists—not to mention multiple villains and semivillains—are the backbone of Silva’s tales. Those of us who have doted on the spy novel for decades have a new light to watch.”
—The Sunday Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA)
“[A] spine-tingling plot…. Fueled by intense, fast, and unrelenting action, Silva’s latest follows spies, sellers, lovers, and historians to a chilling climax.”
—Library Journal
“A page-turner from start to finish. While his body count rivals that of early Ludlum, Silva is a more polished storyteller…. He’s got the ‘legs’ to last a long time.”
—BookBrowser
“Enticingly juggles parallel plots involving art fraud, secret Swiss banking, and the surprisingly cutthroat world of classical concert performance.”
—The Raleigh News & Observer
“Silva writes superbly suspenseful thrillers, and he makes excellent use of today’s headlines.”
—American Libraries
Praise for Daniel Silva
and His Previous Thrillers
“Silva builds tension with breathtaking double and triple turns of plot.”
—People
“Each plot-twisting segment is marked by almost unbearable tension…. Silva’s unsmiling prose urges you on like a silencer poking at the small of your back.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“A terrific thriller…. One of the best-drawn fictional assassins since The Day of the Jackal.”
—The San Francisco Examiner
“A strong, driving pace…its two main characters cannot be denied.”
—Chicago Tribune
“[A] fast-moving, bang-bang thriller.”
—Los Angeles Daily News
“A thrill-a-minute surefire bestseller…[that] rips Middle East strife from the headlines.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A master writer of espionage.”
—The Cincinnati Enquirer
“In the style of authors like Frederick Forsyth and Ken Follet.”
—New York Law Journal
“At the forefront of his generation of foreign intrigue specialists.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A writer who brings new life to the international thriller.”
—Newsday
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
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Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a G. P. Putnam’s Sons edition.
Copyright © Daniel Silva, 2002
REGISTERED TRADEMARK-MARCA REGISTRADA
ISBN: 978-1-1012-0971-4
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To Phyllis Grann, finally,
and as always, for my wife, Jamie,
and my children, Lily and Nicholas
gnome1 (nm) n.Folklore any of a race of small, misshapen, dwarflike beings, supposed to dwell in the earth and guard its treasures
WEBSTER’S NEW WORLD DICTIONARY
“Suppressing the past is a tradition in Switzerland.”
JEAN ZIEGLER
THE SWISS, THE GOLD, AND THE DEAD
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
THE PRESENT
1 LONDON ZURICH
2 VITORIA, SPAIN
3 ZURICH
4 ZURICH
5 ZURICH
6 NIDWALDEN, SWITZERLAND
7 CORSICA
8 COSTA DE PRATA, PORTUGAL
9 COSTA DE PRATA, PORTUGAL
10 STUTTGART ZURICH
11 ZURICH
12 CORSICA
PART TWO
13 ROME
14 ROME
15 PARIS
16 PARIS
17 PARIS
18 PARIS
19 LONDON
20 LONDON
21 LYONS
22 COSTA DE PRATA, PORTUGAL