The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(14)

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” murmured Gabriel.

“Khalid assured me you would be safe,” replied Sarah.

“Did he? And what if one those nice Saudi security guards is loyal to another faction of the royal family? Or better yet, what if he’s a secret member of al-Qaeda?”

Sarah’s phone pinged with an incoming message.

“Who’s it from?”

“Who do you think?”

“Is he in one of those Range Rovers?”

“No.”

“So who are they?”

“Our ride, apparently. Khalid says one of them is an old friend of yours.”

“I don’t have any Saudi friends,” said Gabriel. “Not anymore.”

“Maybe I should go first.”

“An unveiled American blonde? It might send the wrong message.”

The Gulfstream’s forward cabin door had a built-in airstair. Gabriel lowered it and, trailed by the four bodyguards, descended to the tarmac. A few seconds later the door of one of the Range Rovers opened and a single figure emerged. Dressed in a plain olive-drab uniform, he was tall and angular, with small dark eyes and an aquiline nose that gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. Gabriel recognized him. The man worked for the Mabahith, the secret police division of the Saudi Interior Ministry. Gabriel had once spent a month at the Mabahith’s central interrogation facility in Riyadh. The man with the bird-of-prey face had handled the questioning. He was not a friend, but nor was he an enemy.

“Welcome to Saudi Arabia, Director Allon. Or should I say welcome back? You’re looking much better than when I saw you last.” He grasped Gabriel’s hand tightly. “I trust your wound healed well?”

“It only hurts when I laugh.”

“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“A man in my position needs one.”

“Mine, too. Business is quite brisk, as you might imagine.” The Saudi glanced at Gabriel’s bodyguards. “Are they armed?”

“Heavily.”

“Please instruct them to return to the aircraft. Don’t worry, Director Allon. My men will take very good care of you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The bodyguards reluctantly complied with Gabriel’s order. A moment later Sarah appeared in the cabin door, her blond hair moving in the desert wind.

The Saudi frowned. “I don’t suppose she has a veil.”

“She left it in New York.”

“Not to worry. We brought one, just in case.”



The highway was smooth as glass and black as an old vinyl record album. Gabriel had only the vaguest idea of its direction; the throwaway phone he had slipped into his pocket before leaving Tel Aviv read no service. After leaving the air base, they had passed through miles of wheat fields—Ha’il was the breadbasket of Saudi Arabia. Now the land was harsh and unforgiving, like the brand of Islam practiced by Wahhab and his intolerant followers. Surely, thought Gabriel, it was no accident. The cruelty of the desert had influenced the faith.

From his vantage point in the Range Rover’s rear passenger-side seat he could see the speedometer. They were traveling in excess of one hundred miles per hour. The driver was from the Mabahith, as was the man seated next to him. One Range Rover was in front of them, the other two were trailing. It had been a long time since Gabriel had seen another car or truck. He supposed the road had been closed.

“I can’t breathe. I actually think I’m beginning to lose consciousness.”

Gabriel looked across the backseat toward the black lump that was Sarah Bancroft. She was cloaked in the heavy black abaya that the senior Mabahith man had tossed over her a few seconds after her feet touched Saudi soil.

“The last time I wore one of these things was the night the Zizi operation fell apart. Do you remember, Gabriel?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

“I don’t know how Saudi women wear these things when it’s a hundred and twenty degrees in the shade.” She was fanning herself. “Khalid once showed me a photograph from the sixties of unveiled Saudi women walking around Riyadh in skirts.”

“It was like that all over the Arab world. Everything changed after 1979.”

“That’s exactly what Khalid says.”

“Is that right?”

“The Soviets invaded Afghanistan, and Khomeini seized power in Iran. And then there was Mecca. A group of Saudi militants stormed the Grand Mosque and demanded the Al Saud give up power. They had to bring in a team of French commandos to end the siege.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“The Al Saud felt threatened,” said Sarah, “so they trimmed their sails accordingly. They promoted the spread of Wahhabism to counter the influence of the Shiite Iranians and allowed hard-liners at home to enforce religious edicts strictly.”

“That’s a rather charitable view, don’t you think?”

“Khalid is the first to admit mistakes were made.”

“How magnanimous of him.”

The Range Rovers turned onto an unpaved track and followed it into the desert. Eventually, they came to a checkpoint, through which they passed without slowing. The camp appeared a moment later, several large tents standing at the foot of a towering rock formation.