“How much did he tell you?”

“Only that you’ve got yourself mixed up with Prince Chop Chop.”

“He’s a valuable asset in a troubled region.”

“Spoken like a true espiocrat. Once upon a time, you wouldn’t have soiled your hands with someone like him.”

“Did Graham tell you there was a child involved?”

Keller nodded. “He said you had a photo you wanted me to take a look at.”

Gabriel laid it on the countertop. A man sitting in a café, a woman at the next table.

“Where was it taken?”

Gabriel answered.

“Annecy? I remember it fondly.”

“Do you recognize him?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“How about this one?”

Gabriel handed Keller the passport photo. “We Englishmen come in all shapes and sizes, but I doubt he’s one of us.”

Just then, Gabriel’s BlackBerry pulsed with an incoming message.

“Judging from the expression on your face,” said Keller, “it isn’t good news.”

“The kidnappers just gave Khalid until midnight tomorrow to abdicate.”

The BlackBerry shivered with another text. This time, Gabriel smiled.

“What is it?”

“A way out.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

“Where are we going?”

Gabriel rose abruptly. “The Dorchester Hotel.”

24

Mayfair, London

Gabriel reflexively gripped the leather armrest of Keller’s flashy Bentley Continental as they shot past Harrods in a blur. They plunged into the underpass beneath Hyde Park Corner and emerged a moment later in Piccadilly. Keller navigated the labyrinthine streets of Mayfair with the adroitness of a London cabbie and stopped with a lurch outside the Dorchester’s entrance. It was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Wait here,” said Keller.

“Where else would I go?”

“Are you armed?”

“Only with a quick wit and abundant charm.”

Keller dug an old Walther PPK from the pocket of his overcoat and gave it to Gabriel.

“Thank you, Mr. Bond.”

“It’s easy to conceal and packs quite a punch.”

“A brick through a plate-glass window.” Gabriel slipped the gun into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. “He’s registered under the name al-Jubeir.”

“Who am I?”

“Mr. Allenby.”

“Like the bridge?”

“Yes, Christopher, like the bridge.”

“What happens if he refuses to come without a security detail?”

“Tell him it’s the only way to get his daughter back. That should get his attention.”

Keller went into the hotel. A couple of well-fed Saudi toughs were eating pistachios in the lobby, but there were no reporters present. Somehow the British press were unaware of the fact that the most reviled man in the world was staying in London’s grandest hotel.

The two Saudis eyed Keller warily as he walked over to reception. The face of the pretty woman behind the counter brightened automatically, like a lamp switched on by a motion detector.

“I’m here to see Mr. al-Jubeir. He’s expecting me.”

“Name, please?”

Keller told her.

The woman lifted a phone to her ear and purred something agreeable down the line. Then she replaced the receiver and gestured toward the elevator foyer. “One of Mr. al-Jubeir’s aides will escort you up to his suite.”

Keller walked over to the elevators, watched by the two Saudi goons. Five minutes elapsed before the aide materialized, a sleepy-eyed little man in an immaculate suit and tie.

“I was expecting Allon.”

“And I was expecting the crown prince.”

“His Royal Highness doesn’t meet with underlings.”

“If I were you, habibi, I’d take me upstairs. Otherwise, I’m going to walk out of here, and you’ll have to explain to Prince Bone Saw that you let me get away.”

The little Saudi allowed a few seconds to pass before pressing the call button. Khalid was staying in the Terrace Penthouse. He was pacing before the tall windows overlooking Hyde Park, a phone to his ear, as Keller and the little Saudi factotum entered. One of the security men ordered Keller to raise his arms so he could be searched for a weapon. Keller, in rapid Arabic, told the guard to perform an unspeakable sexual act on a camel.

Khalid stopped pacing and lowered the phone. “Who is this man?”

The little aide, to the best of his ability, explained.

“Where is Allon?”

This time it was Keller who answered. The chief of Israeli intelligence, he said, was waiting downstairs in an automobile. He neglected to mention the Walther pistol.

“It’s urgent I speak to him at once,” said Khalid. “Please ask him to come upstairs.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is probably the least secure room in all of London.”

Khalid spoke a few words in rapid Arabic to the factotum.

“No,” said Keller in the same language. “No limousine or bodyguards. You’re coming with me. Alone.”

“I can’t possibly leave here without a security detail.”

“You don’t need one. Now get your coat, Khalid. We haven’t got all night.”

“Your Royal Highness,” said the crown prince imperiously.

“That’s rather a mouthful, isn’t it?” Keller smiled. “Why don’t you just call me Ned instead.”

Khalid never traveled in the West without a fedora and a pair of false dark-rimmed eyeglasses. The crude disguise rendered him almost unrecognizable. Indeed, even the two Saudi toughs in the lobby scarcely looked up from their pistachios as their future king strode across the gleaming marble floor with Keller at his side. Gabriel had moved to the backseat of the Bentley. Keller dropped behind the wheel while Khalid lowered himself into the front passenger seat. A moment later they were racing along Park Lane through the rush-hour traffic.

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.