The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(40)

Rafiq al-Madani spat a mouthful of blood and mucus in Gabriel’s direction. “Jew!”

Gabriel returned the BlackBerry to his pocket. “On second thought,” he said, “go ahead and kill him.”



After breaking the driver’s arm and dislocating his shoulder, Mikhail had forced him into the boot of the Mercedes S-Class sedan. Now, with Keller’s help, he added Rafiq al-Madani. Khalid looked on in approval, the gun in his hand.

He turned to Gabriel. “What shall we do with them?”

“I suppose we could take them to Spain.”

“It’s a long way to ride in the boot of a car. Perhaps we should leave them in some deserted wood here in the Haute-Savoie.”

“It will be a long, cold night.”

“The colder the better.” Khalid approached the back of the car and stared down at the two men squeezed into the confined space. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to make them a bit more comfortable.”

“Like what?”

Khalid raised the pistol and emptied the magazine into his two subjects. Then he looked over his shoulder at Gabriel and smiled, unaware of the blood spattered on his face. “You didn’t think I was going to kill them in the house, did you? That place cost me a fortune.”

Gabriel gazed down at the two bullet-torn bodies. “What are we going to do with them now?”

“Don’t worry.” Khalid slammed the lid. “I’ll take care of it.”





28

Auvergne–Rh?ne–Alpes


“For the record, I was only joking when I said you should kill him.”

“Were you? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

They were racing westward along the A89 Autoroute, the chief of the Israeli secret intelligence service and the future king of Saudi Arabia. Gabriel was at the wheel, Khalid was slouched wearily in the passenger seat. Between them, drawing power from the adapter, was Rafiq al-Madani’s iPhone. A few minutes earlier, imitating al-Madani’s cryptic style, Khalid had sent an update to the kidnappers. The gist of the message was that His Royal Highness was desperate to secure the release of his daughter and was preparing to abdicate. As yet, there had been no reply.

Khalid checked the phone again, then slammed it onto the console.

“Careful, Prince Hothead. Phones break.”

“What do you think it means?”

“It means you probably shouldn’t have killed Rafiq before we were certain your daughter was really at that address in Spain.”

“You were the one who said she was there.”

“What I said,” replied Gabriel, “was that we located the phone. I would have preferred to test the proposition against a living, breathing witness.”

“He all but confirmed it.”

“He had a gun pointed at his head at the time.”

“I believe he was telling us the truth about the safe house. But the rest was a lie.”

“You don’t think he organized it by himself?”

“Al-Madani is a small cog. Others are involved in the plot against me.”

“Perhaps we should interrogate him again and find out who they are.” Gabriel glanced into the rearview mirror. Mikhail, Keller, and Sarah were a couple of hundred meters behind them. “What are you going to do about the bodies?”

“Rest assured, the bodies will disappear.”

“Make your gun disappear, too.”

“It wasn’t mine, it was Rafiq’s.”

“But it’s got your fingerprints all over it.” After a silence, Gabriel said, “You shouldn’t have killed them, Khalid. I’m now implicated in their murders. Sarah, too.”

“No one will ever know.”

“But you know. And you can hold it over me whenever it suits you.”

“It wasn’t my intention to compromise you.”

“Given your track record for rash behavior, I’m inclined to believe you.”

Khalid glanced at the phone again. “Was it my imagination, or was Rafiq not surprised by your presence at my home?”

“You noticed that, too?”

“Someone clearly told him you were involved in the search for Reema.”

“A couple hundred members of your royal court saw me in Saudi Arabia the other night.”

“I’m afraid I never go anywhere alone.”

“You’re alone now, Khalid.”

“With you, of all people.” His smile was brief. “I must say, my art adviser didn’t seem shocked by the sight of a little blood.”

“She doesn’t faze easily, not after what Zizi al-Bakari did to her.”

“What happened, exactly?”

Gabriel decided there was no harm in telling him; it was a long time ago. “When Zizi figured out that Sarah was a CIA agent on loan to the Office, he handed her over to an al-Qaeda cell to be interrogated and executed.”

“But you were able to save her.”

“And in the process,” said Gabriel, “I prevented a Saudi-financed plot to assassinate the pope.”

“You’ve lived quite a life.”

“And yet what do I have to show for it? I don’t have a palace in the Haute-Savoie.”