JК
The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 204 из 209Do you remember Baruch? The terrible beating he took from the Hezbollah before we pulled him out? After a few months, he almost looked likehimself again.”
“Baruch was ugly to begin with.”
“This is true. You were beautiful once. Me, I could do with a beating. It might actually improve my looks.”
“I’m sure I could find several eager volunteers.”
Shamron’s face set into an iron grimace. For a moment, he seemed a little less like a weary old man and more like the Sabra warrior who had pulled Gabriel from the womb of the Betsal’el School of Art thirty years earlier.
“They’d look worse than you when I was finished with them.”
Gabriel sat down and poured coffee for them both.
“Did we manage to keep it all a secret?”
“There were some rumors at King Saul Boulevard -rumors about unexplained movement of personnel and strange expenses incurred in Venice and Zurich. Somehow, these rumors reached the prime minister’s office.”
“Does he know?”
“He suspects, and he’s pleased. He says that if it’s true, he doesn’t want to know.”
“And the paintings?”
“We’ve been working quietly with a few art-restitution agencies and the American Department of Justice. Of the sixteen paintings you discovered in Rolfe’s safe-deposit box, nine have been returned to the heirs of their rightful owners, including the one that belonged to Julian’s father.”
“And the rest?”
“They’ll reside in the Israel Museum, just as Rolfe wished, until their owners can be located. If they can’t be found, they’ll hang there forever.”
“How’s Anna?”
“We still have a team with her. Rami is about to lose his mind. He says he’ll do anything to get off her detail. He’s ready to volunteer for patrol duty in Gaza.”
“Any threats?”
“None yet.”
“How long should we keep her under protection?”
“As long as you want. It was your operation. I’ll leave that decision to you.”
“At least a year.”
“Agreed.”
Shamron refilled his cup and lit one of his evil Turkish cigarettes. “She’s coming to England next week, you know. The Albert Hall. It’s the last stop on her tour.”
“I know, Ari. I can read the papers too.”
“She asked me to give you this.” He slid a small envelope across the tabletop. “It’s a ticket to the performance. She asked that you come backstage after the show to say hello.”
“I’m in the middle of a restoration right now.”
“You or a painting?”
“A painting.”
“Take a break.
“Baruch was ugly to begin with.”
“This is true. You were beautiful once. Me, I could do with a beating. It might actually improve my looks.”
“I’m sure I could find several eager volunteers.”
Shamron’s face set into an iron grimace. For a moment, he seemed a little less like a weary old man and more like the Sabra warrior who had pulled Gabriel from the womb of the Betsal’el School of Art thirty years earlier.
“They’d look worse than you when I was finished with them.”
Gabriel sat down and poured coffee for them both.
“Did we manage to keep it all a secret?”
“There were some rumors at King Saul Boulevard -rumors about unexplained movement of personnel and strange expenses incurred in Venice and Zurich. Somehow, these rumors reached the prime minister’s office.”
“Does he know?”
“He suspects, and he’s pleased. He says that if it’s true, he doesn’t want to know.”
“And the paintings?”
“We’ve been working quietly with a few art-restitution agencies and the American Department of Justice. Of the sixteen paintings you discovered in Rolfe’s safe-deposit box, nine have been returned to the heirs of their rightful owners, including the one that belonged to Julian’s father.”
“And the rest?”
“They’ll reside in the Israel Museum, just as Rolfe wished, until their owners can be located. If they can’t be found, they’ll hang there forever.”
“How’s Anna?”
“We still have a team with her. Rami is about to lose his mind. He says he’ll do anything to get off her detail. He’s ready to volunteer for patrol duty in Gaza.”
“Any threats?”
“None yet.”
“How long should we keep her under protection?”
“As long as you want. It was your operation. I’ll leave that decision to you.”
“At least a year.”
“Agreed.”
Shamron refilled his cup and lit one of his evil Turkish cigarettes. “She’s coming to England next week, you know. The Albert Hall. It’s the last stop on her tour.”
“I know, Ari. I can read the papers too.”
“She asked me to give you this.” He slid a small envelope across the tabletop. “It’s a ticket to the performance. She asked that you come backstage after the show to say hello.”
“I’m in the middle of a restoration right now.”
“You or a painting?”
“A painting.”
“Take a break.