The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(36)

Khalid glanced over his shoulder at Gabriel. “Does he always drive like this?”

“Only when a life is at stake.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“The last place on earth you should be.”

Khalid looked approvingly around the interior of the Bentley. “At least you hired a decent car for the ride.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Good,” said Gabriel. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”



Keller spent the next half hour tearing around the West End of London—through Knightsbridge and Belgravia and Chelsea and Earl’s Court—until Gabriel was certain no one was following them. Only then did he instruct Keller to make his way to Kensington Palace Gardens. A diplomatic enclave, the street was blocked to normal traffic. Keller’s Bentley flowed through the checkpoint without scrutiny and turned into the forecourt of a redbrick Victorian building, above which flew the blue-and-white flag of the State of Israel.

Khalid stared out the window in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

With his silence, Gabriel made it clear he was.

“Do you know what will happen if I so much as set foot in there?”

“You’ll be murdered by a fifteen-member hit team and chopped into little pieces.”

Khalid stared at Gabriel with a look of genuine alarm.

“Just kidding, Khalid. Now get out of the car.”





25

Kensington, London


Khalid’s simple disguise did not fool the embassy security staff or the ambassador, who happened to be leaving for a diplomatic reception as Israel’s legendary spy chief came bursting into the chancellery with the de facto ruler of Saudi Arabia at his side. “I’ll explain later,” said Gabriel quietly in Hebrew, and the ambassador was heard to mutter, “You’re damn right you will.”

Downstairs, Gabriel placed Khalid’s new mobile phone in a signal-blocking box known as a beehive before opening the station’s vaultlike door. Moshe Cohen, the new chief, was waiting on the other side. His eyes settled first on his director-general, then, in astonishment, on the crown prince of Saudi Arabia.

“What in God’s name is—”

“His phone is in the beehive,” interjected Gabriel in terse Hebrew.

Cohen did not require additional instructions. “How long can you give us?”

“Five minutes.”

“Ten would be better.”

Khalid did not understand the exchange but was visibly impressed by its tenor. He trailed Gabriel along the station’s central corridor to another secure door. The room behind it was small, about eight feet by ten. There were two telephones, a computer, and a wall-mounted video screen. The air was several degrees colder than in the rest of the station. Khalid kept his overcoat on.

“A safe-speech room?”

“We have another name for it.”

“What’s that?”

Gabriel hesitated. “The Holy of Holies.”

It was clear that Khalid, despite his Oxford education, did not understand the reference.

“The Holy of Holies was the inner sanctuary of the Temple of Jerusalem. It was a perfect cube, twenty cubits by twenty cubits by twenty cubits. It contained the Ark of the Covenant, and inside the Ark were the original Ten Commandments that God gave Moses on Sinai.”

“Stone tablets?” asked Khalid incredulously.

“God didn’t print them on an HP LaserJet.”

“And you believe this nonsense?”

“I’m willing to debate the authenticity of the tablets,” said Gabriel. “But not the rest of it.”

“The so-called Temple of Solomon never existed. It is a lie used by Zionists to justify the Jewish conquest of Arab Palestine.”

“The Temple was described in great detail in the Torah long before the advent of Zionism.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it is untrue.” Khalid was clearly enjoying the debate. “I remember a few years ago when your government claimed to have found the pillars of the so-called Temple.”

“I remember it, too,” said Gabriel.

“They were placed in the Israel Museum, were they not?” Khalid shook his head disdainfully. “That exhibit is a piece of crude propaganda designed to justify your existence on Muslim lands.”

“My wife designed that exhibit.”

“Did she?”

“And I was the one who discovered the pillars.”

This time, Khalid offered no objection.

“The Waqf had hidden them in a chamber one hundred and sixty-seven feet beneath the surface of the Temple Mount.” The Waqf was the Islamic religious authority that administered the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque. “They assumed no one would ever find them. They were mistaken.”

“Another lie,” said Khalid.

“Come to Israel,” suggested Gabriel. “I’ll take you to the chamber.”

“Me? Visit Israel?”

“Why not?”

“Can you imagine the reaction?”

“Yes, I can.”

“I must admit, it would be a great privilege to pray in the Noble Sanctuary.” The Noble Sanctuary was how Muslims referred to the Temple Mount.