The Secret Servant (Gabriel Allon #7)(34)

“You had the proof in your own hands for a few seconds in Hyde Park,” the Egyptian said. “Samir al-Masri, former student of engineering at the University of Minya, is a member of the Sword of Allah and one of its more talented terrorist operatives.”

“It would have been helpful, Wazir, if you’d told the Dutch he was living quietly in west Amsterdam.”

“We didn’t know he was in Holland or we would have.” The Egyptian sat down on the couch next to his bag of money. “Samir left Egypt a few months after the Americans went into Iraq. When the insurgency started up, he joined forces with Abu Musab al-Zarqawi and perfected his craft. Apparently he slipped out of Iraq shortly before Zarqawi’s death and made his way to Europe via Damascus. If you want to blame anyone for the fact that Samir was living quietly in west Amsterdam, blame the Syrians. And the Dutch, of course. Christ, they’ll let anyone into their country.”

“What else do you have besides Samir’s connection?”

“The al-Hijrah Mosque.”

“What about it?”

“The imam there is a graduate of al-Azhar in Cairo and a member of the Sword of Allah.”

“That’s still not enough.”

“This discussion is academic,” al-Zayyat said. “In twenty-four hours you’ll have proof the Sword of Allah is behind this. That’s when they’ll offer to trade Elizabeth Halton for Sheikh Abdullah.”

“How can you be so sure about the timing?”

“The Sword has carried out a number of kidnappings inside Egypt. Most of the time the outside world doesn’t even hear about them. Their method of operation is always the same. They wait one week before making demands. And if they set a deadline for killing the girl, they’ll do it when the second hand reaches twelve. And there won’t be any extensions or delays.”

“The Americans will never release Sheikh Abdullah.”

“If they don’t, the Sword of Allah and al-Qaeda are going to send the American president’s goddaughter home in a bag—or what’s left of her, I should say. They’ll kill her the same way they took her. With a great deal of bloodshed.”

“Have you told the Americans about any of this?”

Al-Zayyat shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Orders from on high,” said al-Zayyat. “Our fearless leader is afraid his patrons in Washington will be angry when they find out the plot to kidnap the ambassador’s daughter originated in Egypt. He’s trying to delay the day of reckoning as long as possible. In the meantime, he’s directed the SSI and the other security services to gather as much intelligence as possible.”

“Who’s the mastermind?”

“If I had to guess, it goes all the way to the top.”

“Zawahiri?”

The Egyptian nodded.

“But surely there’s someone between him and the operatives,” Gabriel said. “Someone like Khaled Sheikh Mohammad. Someone who made the trains run on time.”

“There is.” Al-Zayyat held his tumbler of whisky up to the sunlight and contemplated its color for a moment without speaking. “And if I had to venture a guess as to his identity, I’d say it’s almost certainly the work of the Sphinx.”

“Who’s the Sphinx?”

“We’re not sure who he is, but we know his handiwork all too well. All told, he’s killed more than a thousand people inside Egypt—tourists, government ministers, wealthy friends of the regime. We assume he’s highly educated and very well connected. We believe he has agents of influence and spies at the highest level of Egyptian society and government, including inside my service. He operates through cutouts like Samir. We’ve never been able to get close to him.”

“Could he have planned something like this from Egypt?”

“Highly unlikely,” al-Zayyat said. “He’s probably in Europe. In fact, I’d be willing to wager a fair amount of money that he is. The Sword has been very quiet in Egypt for the last year. Now we know why.”

“Where’s Sheikh Tayyib?”

“The same place he’s been for the last fifteen years: underground. He moves between a string of hideouts in Upper Egypt and the oasis towns of the Western Desert. We also think he moves in and out of Libya and the Sudan.”

“Find him,” Gabriel said.

“Elizabeth Halton will be dead long before we ever find the sheikh.”

“Start rounding up Sword operatives and bringing them in for quiet chats. That’s your specialty, isn’t it, Wazir? Quiet chats with Islamic extremists?”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” al-Zayyat replied. “Trust me, Allon, we’re kicking down doors as we speak, but the Sphinx knew we would. No one in Egypt knows where the girl is. I doubt even Sheikh Tayyib knows the operational details. Your best chance at finding her alive died with Samir al-Masri. The Sword is good at hiding people.”

“Someone knows,” Gabriel said. “Someone has to know.”

“The Sphinx knows. Find the Sphinx and you’ll find the girl.” The Egyptian put his hand on the grip of the briefcase. “So have I earned my fifty thousand yet?”

“I want everything you have on the Sword of Allah,” Gabriel said. “Case files, membership rolls, known front organizations in Europe. Names, addresses, telephone numbers.”