Читать книгу The New Girl - Daniel Silva - Страница 16

AT THE CENTER OF THE esplanade was a blue reflecting pool, around which several young Orthodox boys, payess flying, played a noisy game of tag. They were speaking not in Hebrew but in French. So were their wigged mothers and the two black-shirted hipsters who eyed Sarah approvingly from a table at a brasserie called Chez Claude. Indeed, were it not for the worn-out khaki-colored buildings and the blinding Middle Eastern sunlight, Sarah might have imagined she was crossing a square in the twentieth arrondissement of Paris.

Suddenly, she realized someone was calling her name, with the emphasis on the second syllable rather than the first. Turning, she spotted a petite dark-haired woman waving to her from across the square. The woman approached with a slight limp.

Sarid, Sarid, Sarid …

Dina kissed Sarah on both cheeks. “Welcome to the Israeli Riviera.”

“Is everyone here French?”

“Not everyone, but more are coming every day.” Dina pointed toward the far end of the square. “There’s a little place called La Brioche right over there. I recommend the pain au chocolat. They’re the best in Israel. Order enough for two.”

Sarah walked to the café. She made a few moments of small talk in fluent French with the woman behind the counter before ordering an assortment of pastries and two coffees, a café crème and an espresso.

“Sit anywhere you like. Someone will bring your order.”

Sarah went outside. Several tables stood along the edge of the square. At one sat Mikhail. He caught Sarah’s eye and nodded toward the man of late middle age sitting alone. He wore a dark gray suit and white dress shirt. His face was long and narrow at the chin, with wide cheekbones and a slender nose that looked as though it had been carved from wood. His dark hair was cropped short and shot with gray at the temples. His eyes were an unnatural shade of green.

Rising, he extended his hand, formally, as though meeting Sarah for the first time. She held it a moment too long. “I’m surprised to see you in a place like this.”

“I go out in public all the time. Besides,” he added with a glance toward Mikhail, “I have him.”

“The man who broke my heart.” She sat down. “Is he the only one?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“How many?”

His green eyes searched the square. “Eight, I believe.”

“A small battalion. Who have you managed to offend this time?”

“I imagine the Iranians are a bit miffed at me. So is my old friend in the Kremlin.”

“I read something in the newspapers about you and the Russians a couple of months ago.”

“Did you?”

“Your name came up during that spy scandal in Washington. They said you were aboard the private plane that took Rebecca Manning from Dulles Airport to London.”

Rebecca Manning was the former MI6 Head of Station in Washington. She now reported for work each morning at Moscow Center, headquarters of the SVR, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service.

“There was also a suggestion,” Sarah went on, “that you were the one who killed those three Russian agents they found on the C&O Canal in Maryland.”

A waiter appeared with their order. He placed the espresso in front of Gabriel with inordinate care.

“What’s it like to be the most famous man in Israel?” asked Sarah.

“It has its drawbacks.”

“Surely, it isn’t all bad. Who knows? If you play your cards right, you might even be prime minister one day.” She tugged at the sleeve of his suit jacket. “I must say, you look the part. But I think I like the old Gabriel Allon better.”

“Which Gabriel Allon was that?”

“The one who wore blue jeans and a leather jacket.”

“We all have to change.”

“I know. But sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock.”

“Where would you go?”

She thought about it for a moment. “The night we had dinner together in that little place in Copenhagen. We sat outside in the freezing cold. I told you a deep, dark secret I should have kept to myself.”

“I don’t remember it.”

Sarah plucked a pain au chocolat from the basket. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Gabriel held up a hand.

“Maybe you haven’t changed, after all. In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a bite of food during the daytime.”

“I make up for it after the sun goes down.”

“You haven’t gained an ounce since I saw you last. I wish I could say the same.”

“You look wonderful, Sarah.”

“For a woman of forty-three?” She added a packet of artificial sweetener to her coffee. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your number.”

“I was out of pocket when you called.”

“I called several times. I also left you about a dozen text messages.”

“I had to take certain precautions before responding.”

“With me? Whatever for?”

Gabriel offered a careful smile. “Because of your relationship with a certain high-profile member of the Saudi royal family.”

“Khalid?”

“I didn’t realize you two were on a first-name basis.”

“I insisted on it.”

Gabriel was silent.

“You obviously disapprove.”

“Only with some of your recent acquisitions. One in particular.”

“The Leonardo?”

“If you say so.”

“You’re dubious about the attribution?”

“I could have painted a better Leonardo than that one.” He looked at her seriously. “You should have come to me when he approached you about working for him.”

“And what would you have told me?”

“That his interest in you was no accident. That he was well aware of your ties to the CIA.” Gabriel paused. “And to me.”

“You would have been right.”

“I usually am.”

Sarah picked at her pastry. “What do you think of him?”

“As you might imagine, Crown Prince Khalid bin Mohammed is of particular interest to the Office.”

“I’m not asking the Office, I’m asking you.”

“The CIA and the Office were far less impressed with Khalid than the White House and my prime minister. Our concerns were confirmed when Omar Nawwaf was killed.”

“Did Khalid order his murder?”

“Men in Khalid’s position don’t have to give a direct order.”

“‘Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?’”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “A perfect example of a tyrant making his wishes abundantly clear. Henry spoke the words, and a few weeks later Becket was dead.”

“Should Khalid be removed from the line of succession?”

“If he is, it’s likely someone worse will take his place. Someone who will undo the modest social and religious reforms he’s put in place.”

“And if you learned of a threat to Khalid? What would you do?”

“We hear things all the time. Much of it from the mouth of the crown prince himself.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your client is the target of aggressive collection by the Office and Unit 8200. Not long ago, we managed to hack into the supposedly secure phone he carries around. We’ve been listening to his calls and reading his texts and e-mails ever since. The Unit also managed to activate the phone’s camera and microphone, so we’ve been able to listen to many of his face-to-face conversations as well.” Gabriel smiled. “Don’t look so surprised, Sarah. As a former CIA officer, you should have realized that once you went to work for a man like Khalid bin Mohammed, you could expect no zone of privacy.”

“How much do you know?”

“We know that six days ago, the crown prince placed a number of urgent calls to the French National Police concerning an incident that took place in the Haute-Savoie, not far from the Swiss border. We know that later that same night, the crown prince was driven under police escort to Paris, where he met with a number of senior French officials, including the interior minister and the president. He remained in Paris for seventy-two hours before traveling to New York. There he had a single appointment.”

Gabriel removed a BlackBerry from the breast pocket of his jacket and tapped the screen twice. A few seconds later Sarah heard the sound of two people conversing. One was the future king of Saudi Arabia. The other was the director of the Nadia al-Bakari Collection at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

“Do you know how to reach him?”

“Who?”

“The man who produced this painting without so much as a photograph to guide his hand. The man whose name should be right there.”

Gabriel tapped PAUSE. “I had breakfast with my prime minister this morning and told him in no uncertain terms that I want nothing to do with this.”

“And what did your prime minister say?”

“He asked me to reconsider.” Gabriel returned the BlackBerry to his pocket. “Send a message to your friend, Sarah. Choose your words carefully to protect my identity.”

Sarah removed her iPhone from her handbag and typed the message. A moment later the device pinged.

“Well?”

“Khalid wants to see us tonight.”

“Where?”

Sarah posed the question. When the response arrived, she handed the phone to Gabriel.

He stared gloomily at the screen. “I was afraid he was going to say that.”