The prime minister spent a moment in quiet deliberation, then looked at Gabriel. “There’s no doubt this man Ludwig Vogel is really Radek?”

“None whatsoever, Prime Minister.”

He turned to Shamron. “And we’re certain the Americans aren’t going to get cold feet?”

“The Americans are anxious to resolve this matter as well.”

The prime minister looked down at the documents before rendering his decision.

“I made the rounds in Europe last month,” he said. “While I was in Paris, I visited a synagogue that had been torched a few weeks earlier. The next morning there was an editorial in one of the French newspapers that accused me of picking the scabs of anti-Semitism and the Holocaust whenever it suited my political purposes. Perhaps it’s time to remind the world why we inhabit this strip of land, surrounded by a sea of enemies, fighting for our survival. Bring Radek here. Let him tell the world about the crimes he committed in order to hide the Shoah. Maybe it will silence, once and for all, those who contend that it was a conspiracy, invented by men like Ari and myself to justify our existence.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “This isn’t about politics, Prime Minister. It’s about justice.”

The prime minister smiled at the unexpected challenge. “True, Gabriel, itis about justice, but justice and politics often go hand in hand, and when justice can serve the needs of politics, there is nothing immoral about it.”

Lev, having lost in the first round, attempted to snatch victory in the second by seizing control of the operation. Shamron knew his aim remained the same: killing it. Unfortunately for Lev, so did the prime minister.

“It was Gabriel who brought us to this point. Let Gabriel bring it home.”

“With all due respect, Prime Minister, Gabriel is akidon, the best ever, but he is not an operational planner, which is exactly what we need.”

“His operational plan sounds fine to me.”

“Yes, but can he prepare and execute it?”

“He’ll have Shamron looking over his shoulder the entire time.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lev said acidly.

The prime minister stood; the others followed suit.

“Bring Radek back here. And whatever you do, don’t even think about making a mess in Vienna. Get him cleanly, no blood, no heart attacks.” He turned to Lev. “Make certain they have every resource they need to get the job done. Don’t think you’ll be safe from the shit because you voted against the plan. If Gabriel and Shamron go down in flames, you’ll go down with them. So no bureaucratic bullshit. You’re all in this together. Shalom. ”

THE PRIME MINISTER seized Shamron’s elbow on the way out the door and backed him into a corner. He placed one hand on the wall, above Shamron’s shoulder, and blocked any possible route of escape.

“Is the boy up to it, Ari?”

“He’s not a boy, Prime Minister, not anymore.”

“I know, but can he do it? Can he truly convince Radek to come here?”

“Have you read his mother’s testimony?”

“I have, and I know what I’d do in his position. I’m afraid I’d put a bullet in the bastard’s brain, like Radek did to so many others, and call it a day.”

“Would such an action be just, in your opinion?”

“There’s the justice of civilized men, the kind of justice that is dispensed in courtrooms by men in robes, and then there is the justice of the Prophets.God’s justice. How can one render justice for crimes so enormous? What punishment would be appropriate? Life in prison? A painless execution?”

“The truth, Prime Minister. Sometimes, the best revenge is the truth.”

“And if Radek doesn’t accept the deal?”

Shamron shrugged. “Are you giving me instructions?”

“I don’t need another Demjanuk affair. I don’t need a Holocaust show trial that turns into an international media circus. It would be better if Radek simply faded away.”

“Faded away, Prime Minister?”

The prime minister exhaled heavily into Shamron’s face.

“Are you certain it’s him, Ari?”

“Of this, there is no doubt.”

“Then, if the need arises, put him down.”

Shamron looked toward his feet but saw only the bulging midsection of the prime minister. “He shoulders a heavy burden, our Gabriel. I’m afraid I put it there back in ’72. He’s not up for an assassination job.”

“Erich Radek put that burden on Gabriel long before you came along, Ari. Now Gabriel has an opportunity to lose some of it. Let me make my wishes plain. If Radek doesn’t agree to come here, tell the prince of fire to put him down and let the dogs lap up his blood.”

MIDNIGHT IN THE First District, a dead calm, a silence only Vienna can produce, a stately emptiness. Kruz found it reassuring. The feeling didn’t last long. It was rare that the old man telephoned him at home, and never had Kruz been dragged from bed in the middle of the night for a meeting. He doubted the news would be good.

He looked down the length of the street and saw nothing out of the ordinary. A glance into his rearview mirror confirmed that he had not been followed. He climbed out and walked to the gate of the old man’s imposing graystone house. On the ground floor, lights burned behind drawn curtains. A single light glowed on the second level. Kruz rang the bell. He had the feeling of being watched, something almost imperceptible, like a breath on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing.

He reached out toward the bell again, but before he could press it, a buzzer sounded and the deadbolt lock snapped back. He pushed open the gate and crossed the forecourt. By the time he reached the portico, the door was swinging open and a man was standing in the threshold with his suit jacket open and his tie loose. He made no effort to conceal the black leather shoulder holster containing a Glock pistol. Kruz was not alarmed by the sight; he knew the man well. He was a former Staatspolizei officer named Klaus Halder. It was Kruz who had hired him to serve as the old man’s bodyguard. Halder usually accompanied the old man only when he went out or was expecting visitors to the house. His presence at midnight was, like the telephone call to Kruz’s house, not a good sign.

“Where is he?”

Halder looked wordlessly toward the floor. Kruz loosened the belt of his raincoat and entered the old man’s study. The false wall was moved aside. The small, capsulelike lift was waiting. He stepped inside and, with a press of a button, sent it slowly downward. The doors opened a few seconds later, revealing a small subterranean chamber decorated in the soft yellow and gilt of the old man’s baroque tastes. The Americans had built it for him so that he could conduct important meetings without fear the Russians were listening in. They’d built the passage, too, the one reached by way of a stainless-steel blast door with a combination lock. Kruz was one of the few people in Vienna who knew where the passage led and who had lived in the house at the other end.

The old man was seated at a small table, a drink before him. Kruz could tell he was uneasy, because he was twisting the glass, two turns to the right, two to the left. Right, right, left, left. A strange habit, thought Kruz. Menacing as hell. He reckoned the old man had picked it up in a previous life, in another world. An image took shape in Kruz’s mind: a Russian commissar chained to an interrogation table, the old man seated on the other side, dressed head to toe in black, twisting his drink and gazing at his quarry with those bottomless blue eyes. Kruz felt his heart lurch. The poor bastards were probably shitting themselves even before things got rough.

The old man looked up, the twisting stopped. His cool gaze settled on Kruz’s shirtfront. Kruz looked down and saw that his buttons were misaligned. He had dressed in the dark so as not to wake his wife. The old man pointed toward an empty chair. Kruz fixed his shirt and sat down. The twisting started again, two turns to the right, two to the left. Right, right, left, left.