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delicate mission?"
    Gabriel made a show of contemplation, but his mind was already made up. He scooped up the passport with a smooth movement of his hand and slipped it into his coat pocket. Gabriel had the hands of a conjurer and a magician's sense of misdirection. The passport was there; the passport was gone. Next, Shamron reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a mid-sized manila envelope. Inside, Gabriel found an airline ticket and an expensive Swiss-made wallet of black leather. He opened the wallet: Israeli driver's license, credit cards, membership to an exclusive Tel Aviv health club, a checkout card for a local video store, a substantial amount of currency in euros and shekels.
    "What do I do for a living?"
    "You own an art gallery. Your business cards are in the zippered compartment."
    Gabriel found the cards and removed one:
    landau art gallery sheinkin street, Tel Aviv
    "Does it exist?"
    "It does now."
    The last item in the envelope was a gold wristwatch with a black
    leather band. Gabriel turned over the watch and read the engraving on the back. for Ehud from Hannah with love.
    "Nice touch," Gabriel said.
    "I've always found it's the little things."
    The watch, the airline tickets, and the wallet joined the passport in Gabriel's pocket. The two men stood. As they walked outside, the long-haired girl in the bronze-colored wrap came quickly to Shamron's side. Gabriel realized she was the old man's bodyguard.
    "Where are you going?"
    "Back to Tiberias," Shamron replied. "If you pick up something interesting, send it to King Saul Boulevard through the usual channels."
    "Whose eyes?"
    "Mine, but that doesn't mean little Lev won't have a peek, so use appropriate discretion."
    In the distance, a church bell tolled. Shamron stopped in the center of the campo, next to thepozzo, and took one last look around. "Our first ghetto. God, how I do hate this place."
    "It's too bad you weren't in Venice in the sixteenth century," Gabriel said. "The Council of Ten would never have dared to lock the Jews away here."
    "But I was here," Shamron said with conviction. "I was always here. And I remember it all."
    MUNICH
    Detective Axel Weiss of the Munich Kriminal Polizei was waiting outside Adalbertstrasse 68 two days later, dressed in civilian clothes and a tan raincoat. He shook Gabriel's hand carefully, as though he were feeling its density. A tall man with a narrow face and a long nose, Weiss's dark complexion and short-cropped black hair gave him the appearance of a Doberman pinscher. He released Gabriel's hand and patted him fraternally on the shoulder.
    "It's a pleasure to meet you, Herr Landau, though I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances. Let me take you somewhere comfortable to talk before we go up to the apartment."
    They set off down the rain-soaked pavement. It was late afternoon, and the lights of Schwabing were slowly coming up. Gabriel never liked German cities at night. The detective stopped in front
    of a coffeehouse and peered through a fogged window. Wood floors, round tables, students and intellectuals hunched over books. "This will do," he said. Then he opened the door and led Gabriel to a quiet table in the back.
    "Your people at the consulate tell me you own an art gallery."
    "Yes, that's right."
    "In Tel Aviv?"
    "You know Tel Aviv ?"
    The detective shook his head. "It must be very hard for you now--with the war and all."
    "We make do. But then, we always have."
    A waitress appeared. Detective Weiss ordered two coffees.
    "Something to eat, Herr Landau?"
    Gabriel shook his head. When the waitress was gone, Weiss said, "Do you have a card?"
    He managed to pose the question in an offhand way, but Gabriel could tell his cover story was being probed. His work had left him incapable of seeing things as they appeared to be. When he viewed paintings, he saw not only the surface but the underdrawings and layers of base paint. The same was true of the people he met in his work for Shamron and the situations he