The Black Widow (Gabriel Allon #16) - Daniel Silva Page 0,47

deliberation, it was in the same language, the language of her dreams. She would stay, she said, but only if he told her why she was being asked to join their exclusive club.

“Shwaya, shwaya,” said Gabriel. It was an Arabic expression that, in this context, meant little by little. Then, without providing Natalie an opening to object, he told her about the man called Saladin. Not the son of a Kurdish soldier of fortune who united the Arab world and reclaimed Jerusalem from the Crusaders, but the Saladin who in the span of a few days had shed infidel and apostate blood in Paris and Amsterdam. They did not know his real name, they did not know his nationality, though his nom de guerre surely was no accident. It suggested he was a man of ambition, a man of history who had visions of using mass murder as a means of unifying the Arab and Islamic world under the black flag of ISIS and the caliphate. His ultimate goals notwithstanding, he was clearly a terrorist mastermind of considerable skill. Under the noses of Western intelligence, he had built a network capable of delivering powerful vehicle-borne explosive devices to carefully chosen targets. Perhaps his tactics would remain the same, or perhaps he had bigger plans. Either way, they had to kill the network.

“And nothing kills a network faster,” said Gabriel, “than to offer its leader a buyout.”

“A buyout?” asked Natalie.

Gabriel was silent.

“Kill him? Is that what you mean?”

“Kill, eliminate, assassinate, liquidate—you choose the word. I’m afraid they’ve never mattered much to me. I’m in the business of saving innocent lives.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Kill someone? Don’t worry, we’re not asking you to become a soldier or a special operative. We have plenty of men in black who are trained to do that sort of work.”

“Like you.”

“That was a long time ago. These days I wage war against our enemies from the comfort of a desk. I am a boardroom hero now.”

“That’s not what they wrote about you in Haaretz.”

“Even the respectable Haaretz gets it wrong every now and then.”

“So do the spies.”

“You object to the business of espionage?”

“Only when spies do reprehensible things.”

“Such as?”

“Torture,” she answered.

“We don’t torture anyone.”

“What about the Americans?”

“Let’s leave the Americans out of this for now. But I’m wondering,” he added, “whether you would have any philosophical or moral objection to taking part in an operation that would result in someone’s death.”

“This might come as a shock to you, Mr. Allon, but I’ve never pondered that question before.”

“You’re a doctor, Natalie. You’re trained to save lives. You swear an oath. Do no harm. Just yesterday, for example, you treated a young man who was responsible for the deaths of two people. Surely, that must have been difficult.”

“Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“The answer is no,” she said. “I would not have any philosophical or moral objection to taking part in an operation that results in the death of the man responsible for the attacks in Paris and Amsterdam, as long as no innocent lives are lost in the process.”

“It sounds to me, Natalie, as though you’re referring to the American drone program.”

“Israel uses air strikes, too.”

“And some of us disagree with that strategy. We prefer special operations to air power whenever possible. But our politicians have fallen in love with the idea of so-called clean warfare. Drones make that possible.”

“Not for the people on the receiving end.”

“That’s true. Far too many innocent lives have been lost. But the best way to ensure that doesn’t happen is good intelligence.” He paused, then added, “Which is where you come in.”

“What are you asking me to do?”

He smiled. Shwaya, shwaya . . .

She had not touched her food, none of them had, so before going any further Gabriel insisted they eat. He did not heed his own counsel, for truth be told he had never been much of a lunch person. And so while the others partook of the buffet, courtesy of an Office-approved caterer in Tel Aviv, he spoke of his childhood in the valley—of the Arab raids from the hills of the West Bank, of the Israeli reprisals, of the Six-Day War, which took his father, of the Yom Kippur War, which took his belief that Israel was invulnerable. The founding generation believed that a Jewish state in the historical land of Palestine would bring progress and stability to the Middle East. Yet all around Israel, in the frontline states and in the Arab