“Excuse me, but are you Wadal Zwaiter?”
“No! Please, no!”
“It takes a very cool customer not to respond to his real name in a situation like that,” Shamron said. “And an even cooler one not to reach for his gun when confronted with a man who’s about to kill him. Either way, if it’s truly Khaled, he’ll identify himself, and your mind will be at peace when you pull the trigger.”
Shamron pushed his spectacles onto his forehead. “I want Fidelity in Marseilles by nightfall. Are you going to be on it?”
“WE’LL USE THE Wrath of God model,” Shamron began. “Aleph, Bet, Ayin, Qoph. It has two advantages. It will seem familiar to you and it works.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Out of necessity, we’ve made some minor alterations and combined some of the roles, but once the operation is set in motion, it will feel the same to you. You, of course, are the Aleph, the gunman. The Ayin teams, the watchers, are already moving into place. If Khaled comes to that flat, two of the watchers will switch to the role of Bet and cover your escape route.”
“And Yaakov?”
“You two seem to have established something of a rapport. Yaakov will be your deputy team leader. On the night of the hit, should we be so fortunate, he will be your driver.”
“What about Dina?”
“Qoph,” Shamron said. “Communications. She’ll consult with King Saul Boulevard on the identification of the target. She’ll also serve as Yaakov’s bat leveyha. You’ll remain concealed on the boat until the hit. When Khaled is down, everyone leaves town by separate routes and makes their way out of the country. You and Yaakov will travel to Geneva and fly home from there. Dina will take the boat out of port. Once she’s out in open waters, we’ll put a team aboard and bring it home.”
Shamron spread a map of central Marseilles over the table. “A slip has been reserved for you here”-he tapped the map with his stubby forefinger-“on the east side of the old port, along the Quai de Rive-Neuve. The boulevard St-Rémy is here”-another tap-“six streets to the east. It runs from the Place de la Préfecture, south to the Jardin Pierre Puget.”
Shamron placed a satellite photograph of the street atop the map.
“It is, quite frankly, a perfect street for us to operate. Number 56 is located here, on the east side of the street. It has only one entrance, which means that we won’t miss Khaled if he comes. As you can see from the photograph, the street is busy-lots of traffic, people on the sidewalks, shops and offices. The entrance to Number 56 is visible from this large esplanade in front of the Palais de Justice. The park is home to a colony of derelicts. We’ve got a pair of watchers there now.”
Shamron adjusted the angle of the photograph.
“But here’s the best feature, the payage parking lot in the median. This space here is now occupied by a car rented by one of the watchers. We have five other cars. At this moment they’re all being fitted with miniature high-resolution cameras. The cameras transmit their images by scrambled wireless signal. You have the only decoder.”
Shamron nodded at Yaakov, who pressed a button. A large plasma-screen television rose slowly from the entertainment console.
“You’ll keep watch on the entrance from here,” Shamron said. “The watchers will rotate the cars at irregular intervals in case Khaled or one of his men keeps an eye on the payage. They’ve worked out the timing, so that when one car leaves, the next can pull into the same space.”
“Ingenious,” Gabriel murmured.
“Actually, it was Yaakov’s suggestion. He’s done this sort of thing in places where it’s much more difficult to conceal the surveillance teams.” Shamron lit a cigarette. “Show him the computer program.”
Yaakov sat down in front of a laptop computer and typed in a command. A virtual animation of the boulevard St-Rémy and the surrounding streets appeared on the screen.
“Because they know your face, you can’t leave the boat until the night of the hit. That means you can’t familiarize yourself with the neighborhood. But at least you can do it here. Technical created this so you can walk the boulevard St-Rémy from right here in the salon of Fidelity.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Granted,” said Shamron, “but it will have to suffice.” He lapsed into a contemplative silence. “So what happens when you see an Arab man, mid-thirties, entering the apartment house at Number 56?” He allowed the question to hang on the air for a moment, then answered it himself. “You and Dina will make a determination whether it could be him. If you make such a determination, you’ll send a flash to King Saul Boulevard over the secure link. Then you’ll transmit the video. If we’re satisfied, we’ll give you the order to go. You and Yaakov will leave Fidelity and head toward the Place de la Préfecture by motorcycle-Yaakov driving, of course, you on the back. You’ll find someplace to wait. Perhaps you’ll just park in the square or have a beer in a sidewalk café. If he stays for some time, you’ll have to keep moving. It’s a busy part of town that stays up late. You’re both experienced operatives. You know what to do. When Dina sees Khaled step out that door, she’ll signal you by radio. You need to be back on the boulevard St-Rémy in no more than thirty seconds.”
Shamron slowly crushed out his cigarette.
“I don’t care if it’s broad daylight,” he said evenly. “I don’t care if he’s with a friend. I don’t care if the act is witnessed by a crowd of people. When Khaled al-Khalifa steps out of that apartment house, I want you to put him on the ground and be done with it.”
“The escape route?”
“Up the boulevard Notre-Dame, over the avenue du Prado. Head east at high speed. The Ayin will leave a car for you in the parking lot of the Vélodrome. Then get to Geneva as quickly as possible. We’ll put you in a flat there and move you when it’s safe.”
“When do we leave Sardinia?”
“Now,” Shamron said. “Head due north, toward Corsica. On the southwest corner of the island is the port of Propriano. The Marseilles ferry leaves from there. You can shadow it across the Mediterranean. It’s nine hours from Propriano. Slip into the port after dark and register with the harbormaster. Then make contact with the watchers and establish the link with the surveillance camera.”
“And you?”
“The last thing you need in Marseilles is an old man looking over your shoulder. Rami and I will leave you here. We’ll be back in Tel Aviv by tomorrow evening.”
Gabriel picked up the satellite image of the boulevard St-Rémy and studied it carefully.
“Aleph, Bet, Ayin, Qoph,” said Shamron. “It will be just like the old days.”
“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “What on earth could go wrong?”
YAAKOV AND DINA waited aboard Fidelity while Gabriel took Shamron and Rami ashore. Rami leapt onto the quay and held the dinghy steady while Shamron climbed slowly out.
“This is the end,” Gabriel said. “The last time. After this, it’s over.”
“For both of us, I’m afraid,” Shamron said. “You’ll come home, we’ll grow old together.”
“We’re already old.”
Shamron shrugged. “But not too old for one last fight.”
“We’ll see.”
“If you get the shot, don’t hesitate. Do your duty.”
“To whom?”
“To me, of course.”
Gabriel brought the dinghy around and headed out into the harbor. He looked over his shoulder once and glimpsed Shamron standing motionless on the quay with his arm raised in a gesture of farewell. When he turned a second time the old man was gone. Fidelity was already under way. Gabriel opened the throttle and followed after it.