The Black Widow (Gabriel Allon #16) - Daniel Silva Page 0,155
switched off her computer and packed away her notes, the two women sat in silence for a long time as night fell heavily over the valley.
“I owe you an apology,” said Dina at last.
“For what?”
“For talking you into it. I shouldn’t have. I was wrong.”
“If not me,” said Natalie, “then who?”
“Someone else.”
“Would you have done it?”
“No,” answered Dina, to her everlasting credit. “I don’t think I would have. In the end it wasn’t worth it. He beat us.”
“This time,” said Natalie.
Yes, thought Dina. This time . . .
Mikhail waited nearly a week before making his first appearance at the farm. The delay was not his idea; the doctors feared his presence might further complicate Natalie’s already complicated recovery. His initial visit was brief, a little more than an hour, and entirely professional, save for an intimate exchange in the moonlit garden that escaped the sharp ears of the microphones.
The next night they watched a film—French, Hebrew subtitles—and the night after that, with the approval of Uzi Navot, they went for a pizza in Caesarea. Afterward, while walking in the Roman ruins, Mikhail told Natalie about the worst few minutes of his life. They had occurred, oddly enough, in his homeland, at a dacha many miles east of Moscow. A hostage rescue operation had gone awry, he and two other operatives were about to be killed. But another man had traded his life for theirs, and they all three had survived. One of the operatives had recently given birth to a set of twins. And the other, he said portentously, would soon be the chief of the Office.
“Gabriel?”
He nodded slowly.
“And the woman?”
“It was his wife.”
“My God.” They walked in silence for a moment. “So what is the moral of this awful story?”
“There is no moral,” answered Mikhail. “It’s just what we do. And then we try to forget.”
“Have you managed to forget?”
“No.”
“How often do you think about it?”
“Every night.”
“I suppose you were right after all,” said Natalie after a moment.
“About what?”
“I’m more like you than I realized.”
“You are now.”
She took his hand. “When?” she whispered into his ear.
“That,” said Mikhail, smiling, “is entirely up to you.”
The following afternoon, when Natalie returned from her training run in the valley, she found Gabriel waiting in the sitting room of the farmhouse. He was dressed in a gray suit and a white open-neck dress shirt; he looked very professional. On the coffee table before him were three files. The first, he said, was the final report of Natalie’s team of doctors.
“What does it say?”
“It says,” answered Gabriel evenly, “that you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which, given what you went through in Syria and America, is entirely understandable.”
“And my prognosis?”
“Quite good, actually. With proper medication and counseling, you will eventually make a full recovery. In fact,” Gabriel added, “we are all of the opinion you can leave here whenever you like.”
“And the other two files?”
“A choice,” he answered obliquely.
“What kind of choice?”
“It concerns your future.”
She pointed to one of the files. “What’s in that one?”
“A termination agreement.”
“And the other?”
“The exact opposite.”
A silence fell between them. It was Gabriel who broke it.
“I assume you’ve heard the rumors about my pending promotion.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“It seems the reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”
“Mine, too.”
He smiled warmly. Then his expression turned serious. “Some chiefs are fortunate enough to serve during relatively quiet times. They serve their term, they collect their accolades, and then they go forth into the world to make money. I’m confident I won’t be so lucky. The next few years promise to be tumultuous for the Middle East and for Israel. It will be up to the Office to help determine whether we survive in this land.” He looked out at the valley, the valley of his youth. “It would be a dereliction of duty if I were to let someone of your obvious gifts slip through my fingers.”
He said nothing more. Natalie made a show of thought.
“What is it?” he asked. “More money?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I was wondering about the Office policy regarding relationships between coworkers.”