The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(56)

“And you declined?”

“I didn’t give it a moment’s thought.”

“What happened?”

Nawwaf made a second request. Then a third. And when none met with a response, he used his contacts inside the House of Saud to send a message to Khalid directly.

“It seemed the interview request was a ruse from the beginning. Omar claimed he had uncovered information regarding a threat against me. He insisted on telling me about this threat in person. Obviously, given everything he had written and said about me, I was skeptical. So were my security men. They were convinced he wanted to kill me.”

“With what? A pen and a notebook?”

“When Bin Laden killed Ahmad Shah Massoud of the Northern Alliance two days before nine-eleven, the assassins posed as television journalists.”

“Go on,” said Gabriel.

“I know you think I’m impulsive and reckless, but I gave the matter thorough consideration. In the end, I decided to see him. I sent a message through the Saudi Embassy in Berlin inviting Omar to return to the Kingdom, but he refused. He said he would only meet in a neutral location, somewhere he would feel safe. My security men were more convinced than ever that Omar intended to kill me.”

“And you?”

“I wasn’t so sure. Frankly, if I were in Omar’s position, I wouldn’t return to the Kingdom, either.”

“But you wanted to hear what he had to say?”

“His sources,” said Khalid, “are impeccable. Omar had the entire region wired.”

“So what did you do?”

“I sought advice from someone I thought I could trust.”

“Uncle Abdullah?”

Khalid nodded. “The next king of Saudi Arabia.”



Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud was not a member of the Sudairi Seven, the internal royal bloodline of the Founder’s sons that had produced three Saudi monarchs, including Khalid’s father. Therefore, he had assumed he would never be a king. He had lived his life accordingly, with one foot in Saudi Arabia and another in the West. Nevertheless, he remained an important figure inside the House of Saud, respected for his intellect and political acumen. Khalid found his uncle to be a source of sage counsel, precisely because he opposed many of Khalid’s reforms, including those involving women, for whom Abdullah had but one use.

“And when you told your uncle about Omar Nawwaf?”

“He was alarmed.”

“What did he suggest?”

Khalid drew a forefinger across his throat.

“Rather drastic, don’t you think?”

“Not by our standards.”

“But you were supposed to be different, Khalid. You were supposed to be the one who was going to change the Middle East and the Islamic world.”

“I can’t change the world if I’m dead, can I?”

“What about the blowback?”

“Abdullah promised there wouldn’t be any.”

“How wise of him,” said Gabriel dryly. “But why would he say such a thing?”

“Because my hands would be clean.”

“Abdullah said he would take care of it?”

Khalid nodded.

“How did he get Nawwaf to come to the consulate in Istanbul?”

“How do you think?”

“Nawwaf was told you were going to be there.”

“Very good.”

“And the nonsense you put out after he was dead? The happy talk about a rendition operation that went sideways?”

“Omar Nawwaf,” said Khalid gravely, “was never going to leave that consulate alive.”

“Rather sloppy, don’t you think?”

“Abdullah wanted a noisy kill to scare off other potential assassins.”

“It was noisy, all right. And now your uncle is next in line to the throne.”

“And I’m sitting here with you in al-Quds.” Khalid listened to the stirring of the ancient city. “It does look as though Abdullah baited me into a reckless act in order to damage my international standing and weaken me at home.”

“Yes, it does.”

“But what if we’re looking at this the wrong way?”

“What would be the right way?”

“What if Omar Nawwaf really wanted to warn me about a grave threat?” Khalid checked his wristwatch. “My God, look at the time.”

“It’s early by our standards.”

Khalid placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me here.”

“It will be our little secret.”

Khalid smiled. “I considered bringing you a gift, but I knew you wouldn’t accept it, so I’m afraid this will have to do.” He held up a flash drive. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“What’s on it?”

“Some of the financial records I acquired during the affair at the Ritz-Carlton. My uncle Abdullah was a terrible businessman, but a couple of years ago he became a billionaire almost overnight.” He pressed the flash drive into Gabriel’s palm. “Perhaps you can figure out exactly how he did it.”





41

New York–Berlin


On the evening of Khalid’s unlikely visit to Jerusalem, Sarah Bancroft was on a date with the man of her nightmares. His name was David Price, and they had been thrust together by a mutual friend at an auction at Christie’s. David was fifty-seven and did something with money, a virile-looking creature with sleek black hair, gleaming white teeth, and a deep tan he had acquired while on holiday in the Caribbean with his ex-wife and their two college-age children. He took her to a new play the Times had declared important and, afterward, to Joe Allen, where he was well known to the bartenders and the waitstaff. Later, at the entrance of her apartment building on East Sixty-Seventh Street, Sarah avoided his lips as though she were sidestepping a puddle. Upstairs, she rang her mother, something she rarely did, and lamented the state of her love life. Her mother, who knew little of Sarah’s secret past, suggested she take up yoga, which she swore had done wonders for her.