"Actually, it was Eli."
Shamron gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "As someone who's devoted your life to preservation of paintings, have you no misgivings about protecting the identity of a man who has stolen billions of dollars' worth of art?"
"If Durand hadn't given that list of names and account numbers to Hannah Weinberg, we would never have been able to break Martin. The list was Martin's undoing."
"So the end justifies the means?"
"You've made deals with people who are far worse than a professional art thief, Ari. Besides, Maurice Durand might come in handy the next time the Office needs to steal something. If I were Uzi, I'd stick him in my back pocket along with Martin Landesmann."
"He sends his regards, by the way."
"Uzi?"
"Landesmann," said Shamron, clearly enjoying the look of surprise on Gabriel's face. "He was wondering whether the two of you might meet on neutral territory for a quiet dinner."
"I'd rather take your place at the interservice operational review. But tell him thanks for the offer."
"I'm sure he's going to be disappointed. He says he has a great deal of respect for you. Apparently, Martin's become quite philosophical about the entire affair."
"How long before he tries to dissolve our partnership?"
"Actually, his efforts commenced not long after the explosions at the Iranian plants. Martin believes he's lived up to his end of the deal and would like to be released from any further obligations. What he doesn't quite understand is that our relationship is just beginning. Eventually, the Iranians will try to rebuild those enrichment plants. And we plan to make sure Martin is there to offer them a helping hand."
"Will the Iranians trust him?"
"We've given them no reason not to. As far as the mullahs are concerned, we tampered with the centrifuges while they were in transit. Which means Martin is going to pay dividends for years, and Uzi will be the primary beneficiary. No matter what happens for the rest of his term, Uzi will go down as one of the greatest directors in Office history. And all because of you."
Shamron scrutinized Gabriel. "It doesn't bother you that Uzi is getting all the credit for your work?"
"It wasn't my work, Ari. It was a team effort. Besides, after everything I've done to make Uzi's life miserable, he deserves to have a little glory thrown his way."
"The glory is yours, Gabriel. It's quite possible you've derailed the Iranian program for years. And in the process you've also managed to restore three remarkable women."
"Three?"
"Lena, Zoe, and Hendrickje. All in all, not bad for a few months' work." Shamron paused, then added, "Which leaves only you."
Gabriel made no response.
"I suppose this is the part where you tell me you're going to retire again?" Shamron shook his head slowly. "Maybe for a while. But then another Martin will come along. Or a new terrorist will carry out another massacre of innocents. And you'll be back on the field of battle."
"You're sure about that, Ari?
"Your mother named you Gabriel for a reason. You're eternal. Just like me."
Gabriel gazed silently at the purple thrift glowing atop the cliffs in the late-afternoon sun. Shamron seemed to sense that this time it was different. He looked around the terrace of the cafe and smiled reflectively.
"Do you remember the afternoon we came here a long time ago? It was after Tariq killed our ambassador and his wife in Paris."
"I remember, Ari."
"There was a girl," Shamron said after a long pause. "The one with all the earrings and bracelets. She was like a human wind chime. Do you remember her, Gabriel? She reminded me of—"
Shamron stopped himself. Gabriel seemed not to be listening anymore. He was staring at the cliffs, lost in memory.
"I'm sorry, Gabriel. I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize, Ari. I'll carry Leah and Dani with me for the rest of my life."
"You've given enough, Gabriel. Too much. I suppose it's fitting it should all end here."
"Yes," said Gabriel distantly, "I suppose it is."
"Can I at least give you a ride back to your cottage?"
"No," said Gabriel. "I'll walk."
He shouldered his rucksack and stood. Shamron remained seated, one final act of defiance.
"Learn from my mistakes, Gabriel. Take good care of your wife. And if you're fortunate enough to have children, take good care of them, too."
"I will, Ari."
Gabriel bent down and kissed Shamron's forehead, then started across the terrace.
"There's one more thing," Shamron called out in Hebrew.
Gabriel stopped and turned around.
"Put that gun at the small of your back where it belongs."
Gabriel smiled. "It's already there."
"I never saw a thing."
"You never did, Abba."
Gabriel left without another word. Shamron saw him one last time, as he made his way swiftly along the cliffs of Kynance Cove. Then Gabriel vanished into the fire of the setting sun and was gone.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The Rembrandt Affair is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in the story are the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The statistics regarding art theft cited in the novel are accurate, as are the accounts of the theft of Leonardo's Mona Lisa in 1911 and Corot's Le Chemin de Sevres in 1998. The Portrait of a Young Woman that appears in the pages of The Rembrandt Affair could never have been stolen, for it does not exist. If there was such a painting, it would look markedly like Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels, oil on canvas, 101.9 by 83.7 centimeters, which hangs in Room 23 of the National Gallery in London.
There is no art gallery on the Herengracht called De Vries Fine Arts, though many dealers in Amsterdam and The Hague were all too happy to do a brisk trade with their German occupiers during the Second World War. The story of Lena Herzfeld and her family is fictitious, but, sadly, the details of the Holocaust in Holland cited during her "testimony" are not. Of the 140,000 Jews who resided in the Netherlands at the time the roundups began, only 25,000 managed to find a place to hide. Of those, one-third were either betrayed or arrested, oftentimes by their own countrymen. The famous Hollandsche Schouwburg theater did in fact serve as a detention center, and there was indeed a creche across the street for young children. Several hundred young lives were saved due to the courage of the staff and the Dutch Resistance, one of the few bright spots on the otherwise bleak landscape of the Holocaust in the Netherlands.
The assistance given to fugitive Nazi war criminals by the Roman Catholic Church has been well documented. So, too, has the shameful wartime behavior of Switzerland's banks. Less well known, however, is the role played by Swiss high-technology firms in secretly supplying aspiring nuclear powers with the sophisticated equipment required to produce highly enriched uranium. In his authoritative book, Peddling Peril, proliferation expert David Albright describes how, in the 1990s, CIA operatives "witnessed Swiss government officials helping suppliers send sensitive goods to Pakistan, making a mockery of the official Swiss policy to maintain strict export control laws." Furthermore, Albright writes, "the Swiss government demonstrated an unwillingness to take action to disrupt these activities or to work with the CIA." Quite the opposite, in the summer of 2006, Swiss prosecutors threatened to bring criminal charges against several CIA officers involved in bringing down the global nuclear-smuggling network of A. Q. Khan. Only the intervention by officials at the highest levels of the American government convinced Bern to rethink its position.