Moscow Rules (35 page)

about her husband’s illicit arms dealing. You performed that task admirably. Indeed, your operation was

in keeping with the best traditions of your service. But in the end, you vastly overstepped your authority.

You had no right to discuss a break-in operation in the heart of Moscow. Nor were you authorized to enter

into an agreement to secure the defection of Elena Kharkov. In fact, you had no right to even
discuss
the

subject of defection with her.”

“What was I supposed to do, Ari? Tell her thanks but no thanks? Tell her we really weren’t

interested after all in getting our hands on her husband’s most precious secrets?”

“No, Gabriel, but you could have at least
consulted
your superiors first.”

“There wasn’t time to consult my superiors. Ivan was tearing Saint-Tropez to pieces looking for

her.”

“And what do you think he’s going to do if you take Elena and the children away from him? Raise the

white flag of surrender and roll up his networks?” Shamron answered his own question with a slow shake

of his bald head. “Ivan Kharkov is a powerful man with powerful friends. Even if you somehow manage

to get Elena and those computer disks-and, in my humble opinion, that remains an open question- Ivan

will retaliate and retaliate hard. Diplomats will be expelled en masse. Already testy political relations

between Russia and the West will go into the deep freeze. And there could be financial repercussions as

well-repercussions the West does not need in a time of global economic uncertainty.”

“Diplomatic
sanctions
? When was the last time the great Ari Shamron ever let the threat of

diplomatic sanctions deter him from doing what was right?”

“More times than you’ll ever know. But I’m not concerned only with the diplomatic fallout. Ivan

Kharkov has proven himself to be a man of violence and he’ll lash back at us with violence if you steal

his wife and children. He has access to the most dangerous weapons systems in the world, along with

nuclear, biological, and chemical agents. It doesn’t take a devious mind to concoct a scenario under

which Ivan and his former KGB hoods could put those weapons in the hands of our enemies.”

“They already are,” Gabriel said. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“And if they sprinkle a few vials of polonium around Tel Aviv? And if a few thousand innocent

people die as a result? What would you say then?”

“I would say that it’s our job to make sure that never happens. And I would remind you of your own

words: that our decisions should never be based on fear but what is in the long-term security interests of

the State of Israel. Surely you’re not suggesting that it isn’t in our interests to take down Ivan Kharkov? He

has more blood on his hands than Hezbollah, Hamas, and al-Qaeda combined. And he’s been operating

his little shop of horrors with the full blessing, cooperation, and protection of the Kremlin. I say we let the

Russians impose their diplomatic sanctions. And then we hit back, hard enough so that it hurts.”

Shamron stuck a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and ignited it with his old Zippo lighter.

Gabriel glanced at Navot and Carter. Their eyes were averted, like accidental witnesses to a public

marital spat.

“Is it your intention to personally reignite the Cold War?” Shamron blew a stream of smoke toward

the ceiling. “Because that is exactly what you’re asking for.”

“The Russians have already done that. And if Ivan Kharkov wants to get in line with the rest of the

psychotics who wish to do us harm, then let him.”

“Ivan will come after more than just Israel. He’ll come after
you
and everything you hold dear.” For

Adrian Carter’s benefit, they had been speaking English. Now Shamron switched to Hebrew and lowered

his voice a few decibels. “Is that really what you want at this stage of your life, my son? Another

determined enemy who wishes you dead?”

“I can look after myself.”

“And what about your new wife? Can you look after her, too? Every second of every day?” Shamron

gazed theatrically around the room. “Isn’t this where you brought Leah after the bombing of the Gare de

Lyon?” Greeted by Gabriel’s silence, Shamron pressed his case. “The Palestinians were able to get to

your wife not once but twice, Gabriel- first in Vienna, then fifteen years later at the psychiatric hospital

where you’d tucked her away in England. They were good, the Palestinians, but they’re children

compared to the Russians. I suggest you keep that in mind before you declare a shooting war against Ivan

Kharkov.”

Shamron placed the cigarette in the ashtray, confident he had prevailed, and picked up his cup and

saucer. In his large, liver-spotted hands, they looked like pieces of a child’s toy tea set.

“What about Eichmann?” Gabriel asked quietly. He had spoken in Hebrew, though at the mention of

the murderer’s name Adrian Carter’s head perked up a bit, like a student roused from a slumber during a

dull lecture.

“What
about
Eichmann?” Shamron asked stubbornly in return.

“Did you consider the diplomatic consequences before plucking him from that bus stop in

Argentina?”

“Of course we did. In fact, we debated long and hard about whether or not to take him. We were

afraid the world would condemn us as criminals and kidnappers. We were afraid there would be severe

fallout that our young and vulnerable state wasn’t prepared to withstand.”

“But, in the end, you took that bastard down. You did it because it was the right thing to do, Ari.

Because it was the
just
thing to do.”

“We
did
it because we had no other choice, Gabriel. If we’d requested extradition, the Argentines

would have refused and tipped off Eichmann. And then we would have lost him forever.”

“Because the police and security services were protecting him?”

“Correct.”

“Just like the FSB and the Kremlin are protecting Ivan.”

“Ivan Kharkov isn’t Adolf Eichmann. I shouldn’t think I’d need to explain the difference to you. I lost

most of my family to Eichmann and the Nazis. So did you. Your mother spent the war in Birkenau and she

bore Birkenau’s scars until the day she died. You bear them now.”

“Tell that to the thousands who’ve died in the wars that have been stoked by Ivan’s guns.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Gabriel. If Ivan were to stop selling the warlords guns today,

someone else would do it for him tomorrow.” Shamron lifted his hand toward Carter. “Who knows?

Perhaps it will be your good friend Adrian. He and his government poured weapons into the Third World

whenever it suited their needs. And we’ve been known to sell to some pretty atrocious customers

ourselves.”

“Congratulations, Ari.”

“For what?”

“Achieving a new personal low,” Gabriel said. “You have just compared our country to the worst

man in the world in order to win an argument.”

Gabriel could see that Shamron’s resistance was beginning to weaken. He decided to press his

advantage before the old warrior could reinforce his defenses.

“I’m doing this, Ari, but I can’t do it without your support.” He paused, then added, “Or your help.”

“Who’s stooping to personal lows now?”

“I learned from the master.”

Shamron tamped out his cigarette and regarded Gabriel through the remnants of the smoke. “Have

you given any thought to where you’re going to put her?”

“I was thinking about letting her move into the apartment in Narkiss Street with Chiara and me, but

we really don’t have enough room for her
and
the children.”

Shamron, by his dour expression, let it be known he didn’t find the remark even faintly amusing.

“Resettling Elena Kharkov in Israel is completely out of the question. When Russia finally permitted its

Jews to immigrate to Israel, a large number of non-Jewish Russians slipped into the country with them,

including several serious organized crime figures. You can be certain that any number of these fine fellow

countrymen of yours would be more than willing to kill Elena on Ivan’s behalf.”

“I never contemplated keeping her in Israel, Ari. She would have to go to America.”

“Drop her in Adrian ’s lap? Is that your solution? We’re not talking about resettling some KGB

colonel who’s used to living on government wages. Elena Kharkov is an extremely wealthy woman. She’s

grown accustomed to a lifestyle few of us can even contemplate. She’ll become a problem. Most

defectors eventually do.”

Shamron looked to Adrian Carter for affirmation, but Carter knew better than to inject himself into

the middle of a family quarrel and maintained a mandarin silence. Shamron removed his glasses and

absently polished them against his shirtfront.

“At the moment, the long-term emotional well-being of Elena and her children is the least of your

problems. The first thing you have to do is devise some way of getting her back into Russia,
alone,

without Ivan becoming suspicious.”

Gabriel dropped an envelope on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” Shamron asked.

“Elena’s ticket home to Moscow.”

Shamron slipped on his spectacles and removed the letter from the envelope. He had no trouble

reading it; Russian was one of his many languages. When he had finished, he inserted the letter back into

the envelope, carefully, as though trying not to leave fingerprints.

“It’s not a bad start, Gabriel, but what about the rest of it? How are you going to get her into that

apartment without Ivan’s private security service sounding the alarm? And how are you going to get her

out of the country safely after she’s stolen those disks? And how are you going to keep Ivan occupied

while you kidnap his children?”

Gabriel smiled. “We’re going to steal his airplane.”

Shamron dropped Elena’s letter on the coffee table.

“Keep talking, my son.”

It did not take long for Shamron to fall under Gabriel’s spell. He sat motionless in his chair, his

hooded eyes half closed, his thick arms folded across his chest. Adrian Carter sat next to him, his face

still an inscrutable blank mask. Unable to protect himself from the encroachment of Shamron’s smoke, he

had decided to fill the room with some of his own and was now puffing rhythmically on a pipe that reeked

of burning leaves and wet dog. Gabriel and Navot sat side by side on the couch like troubled youth. Navot

was rubbing the raw spot on the bridge of his nose where Bella’s spectacles pinched him.

At the conclusion of Gabriel’s briefing, it was Carter who spoke first. He did so after banging his

pipe on the edge of the ashtray, like a judge trying to bring an unruly court to order. “I’ve never regarded

myself as having any particular insights into the French, but, based on our last meeting, I’m confident

they’ll play ball with you.” He cast an apologetic glance at Shamron, who loathed the use of American

sports metaphors when discussing sensitive operational details. “French law gives the security services

wide latitude, especially when dealing with foreigners. And the French have never been adverse to

bending those laws a little bit more when it suits their purposes.”

“I don’t like operating with the French services,” Shamron said. “They annoy me.”

“I volunteer to take the point on this one, Ari. Thanks to Gabriel, the French and I have something of

a relationship.”

Shamron’s eyes moved to Gabriel. “I don’t suppose I have to ask who’s going to serve as Elena’s

chaperone.”

“She won’t do it unless I go with her.”

“Why did I know that was going to be your answer?”

Carter was slowly reloading his pipe. “He can go in on his American passport. The Russians

wouldn’t dare to touch him.”

“I suppose that depends on what sort of Russians you’re talking about, Adrian. There are all different

sorts. First you have your run-of-the-mill FSB thugs like the ones Gabriel encountered in Lubyanka. Then

there are the private thugs who work for people like Ivan. I doubt very much that they’ll be intimidated by

a passport, even an American one.”

Shamron’s gaze moved from Carter to Gabriel.

“Do I need to remind you, Gabriel, that your friend Sergei made it clear that they knew exactly who

you were and what would happen if you ever set foot in Russia again?”

“I’m just going along for the ride. It’s Elena’s show. All she has to do is walk into the House on the

Embankment, grab Ivan’s files, and walk out again.”

“What could possibly go wrong with a plan like that?” Shamron asked sardonically of no one in

particular. “How many of your brave associates do you intend to take along with you on this venture?”

Gabriel recited a list of names. “We can send them in as El Al crew and cabin staff. Then we’ll all

fly out of Moscow together when it’s over.”

Adrian Carter was puffing on his freshly loaded pipe and nodding his head slowly. Shamron had

settled once more into his Buddha-like pose and was staring at Navot, who was staring back at him in

return.