“Are you suggesting the Vatican Press Office might have issued an inaccurate bollettino?”

“You and Luigi collaborated on quite a few misleading statements over the years.”

“But our motives were always pure.”

Chiara placed her wineglass on the bone-white tablecloth and rotated it slowly. “Why do you suppose he wants to see you?”

“It can’t be good.”

“What did General Ferrari say?”

“As little as possible.”

“How unlike him.”

“He might have mentioned that it had something to do with the selection of the next supreme pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church.”

The wineglass went still. “The conclave?”

“He didn’t go into specifics.”

Gabriel nudged his phone to life and checked the time. He had been forced at long last to part company with his beloved BlackBerry Key2. His new device was an Israeli-made Solaris, customized to his unique specifications. Larger and heavier than a typical smartphone, it had been built to withstand remote attack from the world’s most sophisticated hackers, including the American NSA and Israel’s Unit 8200. All of Gabriel’s senior officers carried one, as did Chiara. It was her second. Raphael had tossed her first Solaris from the terrace of their apartment in Jerusalem. For all its inviolability, the device had not been designed to survive a fall of three floors and a collision with a limestone walkway.

“It’s late,” he said. “We should rescue your parents.”

“We don’t have to rush. They love having the children around. If it were up to them, we would never leave Venice.”

“King Saul Boulevard might notice my absence.”

“The prime minister, too.” She was silent for a moment. “I must admit, I’m not looking forward to going home. I’ve enjoyed having you to myself.”

“I only have two years left on my term.”

“Two years and one month. But who’s counting?”

“Has it been terrible?”

She made a face. “I never wanted to play the role of the complaining wife. You know the type, don’t you, Gabriel? They’re so annoying, those women.”

“We always knew it would be difficult.”

“Yes,” she said vaguely.

“If you need help …”

“Help?”

“An extra pair of hands around the house.”

She frowned. “I can manage quite well on my own, thank you. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“Two years will go by in the blink of an eye.”

“And you promise you won’t let them talk you into a second term?”

“Not a chance.”

Her face brightened. “So how do you plan to spend your retirement?”

“You make it sound as though I should start looking for an assisted-living facility.”

“You are getting on in years, darling.” She patted the back of his hand. It didn’t make him feel any younger. “Well?” she asked.

“I plan to devote my final years on this earth to making you happy.”

“So you’ll do anything I want?”

He regarded her carefully. “Within reason, of course.”

She cast her eyes downward and picked at a loose thread in the tablecloth. “I had coffee with Francesco yesterday.”

“He didn’t mention it.”

“I asked him not to.”

“That explains it. And what did you talk about?”

“The future.”

“What does he have in mind?”

“A partnership.”

“Francesco and me?”

Chiara made no reply.

“You?”

She nodded. “He wants me to come to work for him. And when he retires in a few years …”

“What?”

“Tiepolo Restoration will be mine.”

Gabriel recalled the words Tiepolo had spoken while standing over the tomb of Tintoretto. Today you’re on holiday, but one day you’ll die in Venice … He doubted this scheme had been hatched over coffee yesterday.

“A nice Jewish girl from the ghetto will be caring for the churches and scuole of Venice? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Rather remarkable, isn’t it?”

“And what will I do?”

“I suppose you can spend your days wandering the streets of Venice.”

“Or?”

She smiled beautifully. “You can work for me.”

This time it was Gabriel who looked down. His phone was aglow with an incoming message from King Saul Boulevard. He turned the device over. “It might be controversial, Chiara.”

“Working for me?”

“Leaving Israel the minute my term is over.”

“Do you intend to run for a seat in the Knesset?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Write a book about your exploits?”

“I’ll leave that chore to someone else.”

“So?”

He made no reply.

“If you stay in Israel, you’ll be within easy reach of the Office. And if there’s a crisis, they’ll drag you back in to right the ship, just like they did to Ari.”

“Ari wanted back in. I’m different.”

“Are you really? Sometimes I’m not so sure about that. In fact, you’re getting more like him every day.”

“What about the children?” he asked.

“They adore Venice.”

“School?”

“Believe it or not, we have several very fine ones.”

“They’ll turn into Italians.”

She frowned. “A pity, that.”

Gabriel exhaled slowly. “Have you seen Francesco’s books?”

“I’ll knock them into shape.”

“The summers here are dreadful.”

“We’ll go to the mountains or sail the Adriatic. It’s been years since you’ve sailed, darling.”

Gabriel had run out of objections. In truth, he thought it was a marvelous idea. If nothing else, it would keep Chiara occupied during the final two years of his term.

“Do we have a deal?” she asked.

“I believe we do, provided we come to terms on my compensation package, which will be exorbitant.”

He signaled the waiter for the check. Chiara was pulling at the loose thread in the tablecloth again.

“There’s one thing that’s bothering me,” she said.

“About uprooting the children and moving to Venice?”

“The Vatican bollettino. Luigi always remained by Lucchesi’s side late into the evening. And when Lucchesi went to the chapel to pray and meditate before bed, Luigi always went with him.”

“True.”

“So why was Cardinal Albanese the one who found the body?”

“I suppose we’ll never know.” Gabriel paused. “Unless I have lunch with Luigi in Rome tomorrow.”

“You can go on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Take me with you.”

“What about the children?”

“My parents can look after them.”

“And who’s going to look after your parents?”