The Black Widow

When Gabriel offered no reply, Fareed frowned. The Jordanian didn’t like diktats. But he also wasn’t in the mood for a quarrel with the man who in all likelihood would be running the Office for a very long time.

“I won’t be treated like a domestic servant. Do you understand me? I get enough of that from the Americans. Too often, they think of us as a branch office of Langley.”

“I would never dream of it, Fareed.”

“Very well.” He gave a concierge smile. “Then please tell me how the GID can be of service.”

“You can start by giving me everything you’ve got on Jalal Nasser.”

“And then?”

“Stay away from him. Jalal belongs to me now.”

“He’s all yours. But no collateral damage.” The Jordanian patted the back of Gabriel’s hand. “His Majesty doesn’t like collateral damage. And neither do I.”

When Gabriel arrived at King Saul Boulevard, he found Uzi Navot alone in his office joylessly consuming a lunch of steamed white fish and wilted gray-green vegetables. He was using a pair of lacquered chopsticks rather than a knife and fork, which slowed his rate of intake and, theoretically, made the unappetizing meal more satisfying. It was Bella, his demanding wife, who had inflicted this indignity upon him. Bella kept track of every scrap of food that entered her husband’s mouth and monitored his weight with the care of a geologist watching a rumbling volcano. Twice each day, when he rose and before he crawled exhausted into his bed, Navot was made to stand upon Bella’s precise bathroom scale. She recorded the fluctuations in a leather-bound logbook and punished or rewarded him accordingly. When Navot had been good for an appropriate period of time, he was allowed a meal of stroganoff, goulash, schnitzel, or one of the other heavy Eastern European dishes he craved. And when he was bad, it was boiled fish and chopsticks. Clearly, thought Gabriel, watching him, Navot was paying the price for a dietary infidelity.

“It sounds to me as if you and Fareed really hit it off,” he said after Gabriel described his visit to Amman. “The only thing Fareed ever gave me is candy and baklava. Bella can always tell when I’ve been to see him. It’s rarely worth the trip.”

“I tried to give back the pearls, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Make sure you go on the record with Personnel. Heaven knows you’re completely incorruptible, but we wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about your newfound love affair with the GID.”

Navot pushed away his plate. Nothing edible remained. Gabriel was surprised he hadn’t eaten the chopsticks and the paper sleeve in which they had been presented.

“Do you really think that Fareed will back off Jalal Nasser?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Which means Jordanian intelligence is going to have a front-row seat on your operation.”

“With an obstructed view.”

Navot smiled. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to penetrate Saladin’s network. I’m going to find out who he really is and where he’s operating. And then I’m going to drop a very large bomb on his head.”

“That means sending an agent into Syria.”

“Yes, Uzi, that’s where ISIS is.”

“The new caliphate is a forbidden kingdom. If you send an agent in there, he’ll be lucky to come out again with his head still attached to his shoulders.”

“She,” said Gabriel. “Saladin clearly prefers women.”

Navot shook his head gravely. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s too dangerous not to, Uzi.”

After a belligerent silence, Navot asked, “One of ours or one of theirs?”

“Ours.”

“Languages?”

“French and Arabic. And I want someone who has something to offer. ISIS already has plenty of losers.” Gabriel paused, then asked, “Do you know anyone like that, Uzi?”

“I might,” said Navot.

One of the many improvements he had made to the director’s suite was a high-tech video wall upon which the global news channels flickered day and night. At present, it was filled with images of human misery, much of it emanating from the shattered remnants of an ancient land called Syria. Navot watched the screen for a long moment before twirling the combination lock of his private safe. He removed two items, a file and an unopened box of Viennese butter cookies. He handed the file to Gabriel. The cookies he kept for himself. By the time Gabriel looked up again, they were gone.

“She’s perfect.”

“Yes,” agreed Navot. “And if anything happens to her, it’s on your head, not mine.”

16 JERUSALEM