The Messenger by Daniel Silva

tonight, he told me he was going back to the Prime Minister’s Office to do a bit of work.” Gabriel sat down and took Gilah’s hand. “They hit him at a traffic signal on King George Street.”
    “A suicide bomber?”
    “We think there were two men. They were in a van and disguised as haredi Jews. The bomb was abnormally large.”
    She looked up at the television mounted high on the wall. “I can see that from the pictures. It’s remarkable anyone survived.”
    “A witness saw Ari’s car accelerate suddenly an instant before the bomb went off. Rami or the driver must have seen something that made them suspicious. The armor plating withstood the force of the blast, but the car was thrown into the air. Apparently it rolled at least twice.”
    “Who did this? Was it Hamas? Islamic Jihad? The Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades?”
    “There’s been a claim by the Brotherhood of Allah.”
    “The same people who did the Vatican?”
    “Yes, Gilah.”
    “Do you believe them?”
    “It’s early,” Gabriel said. “What have the doctors told you?”
    “He’s going to be in surgery for at least another three hours. They say we’ll be able to see him when he comes out, but only for a minute or two. They’ve warned me he won’t look good.”
    Gilah studied him for a moment, then looked up at the television again. “You’re worried he’s not going to live, aren’t you, Gabriel?”
    “Of course I am.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Gilah. “Shamron is indestructible. Shamron is eternal.”
    “What did they tell you about his injuries?”
    She recited them calmly. The inventory of damaged organs, head trauma, and broken bones made clear to Gabriel that Shamron’s survival was by no means assured.
    “Ari came through it the best of the three,” Gilah said. “Apparently Rami and the driver were hurt much worse. Poor Rami. He’s been standing guard over Ari for years. And now this.”
    “Where’s Yonatan?”
    “He was on duty in the north tonight. He’s on his way.”
    Shamron’s only son was a colonel in the Israel Defense Force. Ronit, his wayward daughter, had moved to New Zealand in order to get away from her domineering father. She was living there on a chicken farm with a gentile. It had been years since she and Shamron had spoken.
    “Ronit’s coming, too,” Gilah said. “Who knows? Maybe something good can come out of all this. Ronit’s absence has been very hard on him. He blames himself, as well he should. Ari’s very hard on his children. But then you know that, don’t you, Gabriel?”
    Gilah stared directly into Gabriel’s eyes for a moment, then looked suddenly away. For years she had thought him a deskman of some sort who knew much about art and spent a great deal of time in Europe. Like the rest of the country she had learned the true nature of his work by reading the newspapers. Her demeanor toward him had changed since his unmasking. She was quiet around him, careful never to upset him, and incapable of looking him too long in the eye. Gabriel had seen behavior like Gilah’s before, as a child, whenever people had entered the Allon home. Death had left its mark on Gabriel’s face, just as Birkenau had stained the face of his mother. Gilah couldn’t gaze long into his eyes because she feared what she might see there.
    “He wasn’t well before this. He’s been hiding it, of course—even from the prime minister.”
    Gabriel wasn’t surprised. He knew Shamron had been covertly battling various ailments for years. The old man’s health, like almost every other aspect of his life, was a closely held secret.
    “Is it the kidneys?”
    Gilah shook her head. “The cancer is back.”
    “I thought they got it all.”
    “So did Ari,” she said. “And that’s not all. His lungs are a mess from the cigarettes. Tell him not to smoke so much.”
    “He never listens to me.”
    “You’re the only one he listens to. He loves you like a son, Gabriel. Sometimes I think he loves you more than