The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(105)



“And a Monet.” Gabriel fixed Sarah with a reproachful stare. “He’s too old for you.”

“He’s the youngest man I’ve been on a date with in a long time. Besides, have you ever seen him without his clothes on?”

“Have you?”

Sarah looked away.

“Is there nothing I can do to talk you out of this?”

“Why would you try?”

“Because it’s probably unwise for you to get involved with a man who used to kill people for a living.”

“If you can overlook Christopher’s past, why can’t I?”

“Because I’ve never considered moving to London to live with him.” Gabriel exhaled slowly. “What do you intend to do for work?”

“This might come as a shock to you, darling, but money isn’t exactly an issue. My father left me quite well off. That said, I would like something to do.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A gallery, perhaps.”

Gabriel smiled. “There’s a nice one in Mason’s Yard in St. James’s. It specializes in Italian Old Masters. The owner’s been talking about retiring for a couple of years. He’s looking for someone to take over the business.”

“How are his finances?” asked Sarah with justified concern.

“Thanks to his association with a certain Russian businessman, they’re quite good.”

“Christopher told me all about the operation.”

“Did he?” asked Gabriel, annoyed. “And did he tell you about Olivia Watson, too?”

Sarah nodded. “And about Morocco. I’m only sorry I wasn’t invited.”

“Olivia’s gallery is in Bury Street,” warned Gabriel. “It’s possible you might bump into her.”

“And Christopher will bump into Mikhail the next time we . . .” Sarah left the thought unfinished.

“It could get a bit incestuous.”

“It could, but we’ll manage somehow.” Sarah smiled with a sudden sadness. “We always do, don’t we, Gabriel?”

Just then, his BlackBerry vibrated. The distinctive pulse told him it was an urgent message from King Saul Boulevard.

“Anything serious?” asked Sarah.

“The Allegiance Council just appointed Khalid the new crown prince.”

“That was fast.” Suddenly, Sarah’s iPhone was vibrating, too. She smiled as she read the message.

“If that’s Keller, tell him I want a word.”

“It isn’t Keller, it’s Khalid.”

“What does he want?”

She handed Gabriel the phone. “You.”





82

Tiberias


In his first official act after regaining the post of crown prince, Khalid bin Mohammed severed ties with the Russian Federation and expelled all Russian citizens from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The regional analysts applauded his restraint. The old Khalid, they said, might have acted rashly. But the new Khalid had displayed the acumen and prudence of an experienced statesman. Clearly, they speculated, a wiser voice was whispering in his ear.

At home, he moved quickly to undo the damage of his uncle’s brief reign—and some of his own damage as well. He released the jailed women’s rights activists and supporters of democratic reform. He even freed a popular blogger who, like Omar Nawwaf, had criticized him personally. As the dreaded Mutaween withdrew from Riyadh’s streets, life returned. A new cinema opened its doors. Young Saudis filled cafés late into the night.

But for the most part, Khalid’s actions were characterized by a newfound caution. His royal court, while filled with loyalists prepared to do his bidding, contained several old-guard traditionalists, suggesting to Middle East observers he intended to return to the Al Saud practice of ruling by consensus. Where the old Khalid had been a man in a hurry, the new Khalid seemed to favor incrementalism over haste. “Shwaya, shwaya” became something of an official mantra. Still, he was not a ruler to be trifled with, as a prominent reformer discovered after heckling Khalid during a public appearance. The one-year prison sentence made it clear there were limits to KBM’s tolerance for dissent. Khalid was an enlightened despot, said the observers, but he was a despot nonetheless.

His personal conduct changed as well. He sold his superyacht and his palace in France, and returned several billion dollars to the men he had imprisoned at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. He also parted company with much of his art collection. He entrusted the sale of Salvator Mundi to Isherwood Fine Arts of Mason’s Yard in London. Sarah Bancroft, formerly of the Museum of Modern Art in New York, was listed as the dealer of record.

His wife, Asma, appeared at his side in public, but Princess Reema, his daughter, was nowhere to be seen. A rumor circulated that she was enrolled at an exclusive school in Switzerland. It was soon put to rest, however, by an explosive exposé in the German newsmagazine Der Spiegel. Based in part on the reporting of Omar Nawwaf, it detailed the series of events that had led to KBM’s dramatic fall from grace and his eventual restoration. Khalid, after several days of silence, offered a tearful confirmation of the report’s authenticity.

Which prompted, mainly in the West, yet another great reassessment. Perhaps the Russians, for all their recklessness, had actually done them a favor. Perhaps it was time to forgive the youthful prince and welcome him back into the fold. From Washington to Wall Street, and from Hollywood to Silicon Valley, there arose a great clamor as all those who had shunned him suddenly pleaded with him to return. One man, however, had stood by him when no one else would. And it was this man’s invitation, on a sultry summer’s evening in June, that Khalid accepted.

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