Page 48 of The Collector
Rimona was contemplating something on a tablet computer. She wore a dark two-piece suit, the unofficial uniform of the Israeli espiocrat, and a pair of fashionable pumps. The demands of the job appeared to have melted a few kilos from her generous figure. Or perhaps her weight loss was intentional, thought Gabriel, part of an overall image reboot—like the new way she was wearing hersandstone-colored hair or the subtle change in her makeup. Somewhere under her suit of armor was the little girl whose left hip Gabriel had bandaged when she fell off her scooter while careening down her famous uncle’s treacherously steep drive. But you would never know that, either.
Her silence was intentional, a shopworn technique used by Office operatives since time immemorial to make adversaries feel uncomfortable. Gabriel decided to seize the initiative.
“Yaakov seemed rather surprised to see me.”
“I’m sure he was.” She looked up from the screen and regarded him through a pair of cat-eyed spectacles, another new addition to her look. “I was hoping to keep your visit private, but my meeting with Yaakov ran longer than expected.”
“Sounds like you have a real mess on your hands.”
She didn’t bite. “Yaakov would have never discussed an ongoing operation with someone who lacked the proper clearances. Such a violation of basic Office principles would have led to his immediate dismissal.”
“Am I allowed to ask whether you two are playing nicely, or is that classified, too?”
“As you might imagine, Yaakov and I have had our ups and downs.”
“He assured me that he was thrilled by your appointment.”
“He’s a liar by trade. We all are,” she added.
“I hope I didn’t leave you with a problem.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“How much longer is he planning to stick around?”
“Yaakov will be leaving the Office in a few weeks to pursue opportunities in the private sector.”
“Who gets Special Ops?”
“Mikhail. I’m giving Yossi my old job at Collections. Dina will take over as head of Research.”
“It sounds as though you have your team in place.”
“Who are we kidding? They’reyourteam,” said Rimona. “I just made a few minor adjustments.”
Gabriel surveyed his old office. “More than a few.”
“You cast a long shadow. For a month or so after you left, we all sat around staring at one another, wondering how we were going to carry on without you. The only way we could deal with it—”
“Was to pretend I didn’t exist.”
“Wedidkeep your old chalkboard, though. It’s still downstairs in 456C. It’s like Churchill’s underground war rooms down there.” Rimona gestured toward the seating arrangement. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Perhaps we should do this standing.”
Her expression darkened. Girl with a volcanic temper. Her voice had a razor’s edge. “How did my uncle know that you met with Sergei Morosov?”
“Because I told him.”
“And did you also tell my uncle to tellmeabout it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why did you do that?”
“To make you angry enough to take out a contract on my life.”
“You succeeded.” She placed a hand to her forehead as though taking her temperature. She was definitely running hot. “Why didn’t you simply request authorization to meet with your old source?”
