“Sounds like the stuff of a spy novel.”

“Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.” Martel held Keller’s steady gaze. “How did you know about René Devereaux?”

“Everyone knows about Devereaux.”

“It was your voice on that tape.”

“Was it?”

“I can only imagine the things you must have done to make him talk. But you must have had another source,” Martel added. “Someone who knew about my ties to René. Someone close to me.”

“We didn’t need a source. We were listening to your phone calls and reading your e-mails.”

“There were no phone calls or e-mails.” Martel smiled coldly. “I suppose all it took was a bit of money. That’s how I got her, too. Olivia loves money.”

“She had nothing to do with it.”

Martel was clearly dubious. “Does she get to keep it?”

“What’s that?”

“The fifty million you gave her for those paintings. The fifty million you paid her to betray me.”

“Drink your wine, Jean-Luc. Enjoy the view.”

“Fifty million is a lot of money,” said Martel. “He must be very important, this Iraqi who calls himself Khalil.”

“He is.”

“And if he shows his face? What happens then?”

“The same thing,” said Keller quietly, “that will happen to you if you ever lay a hand on Olivia.”

Martel was unmoved by the threat. “Maybe someone should get that,” he said.

Keller looked down at the phone, which was shivering on the low table between them. He checked the number of the incoming call and then handed the device to Martel. The conversation was brief, a mixture of French and Moroccan Arabic. Then Martel rang off and surrendered the phone.

“Well?” asked Keller.

“Mohammad changed the plan.”

“When are you meeting him?”

“Tomorrow night. And it’s not just me,” said Martel. “We’re all invited.”

50

Casablanca, Morocco

Christopher Keller was not the only one monitoring Jean-Luc Martel’s phone. At the Casablanca safe house, Gabriel was keeping watch over it, too. He had listened to the steady stream of voice calls throughout the long afternoon, and read the many text messages and e-mails. And at seven fifteen that evening he eavesdropped on the brief exchange between Martel and a man who didn’t bother to introduce himself. He listened to the recording of the conversation three times from beginning to end. Then he adjusted the time code to 19:16:13 and clicked the play icon.

“Mohammad and his partner would like to meet your friends. One friend in particular.”

“Which one?”

“The tall one. The one with the pretty French wife and lots of money. He’s Russian, yes? An arms dealer?”

“Where did you hear a thing like that?”

“It’s not important.”

“Why do they want to meet him?”

“A business proposition. Do you think your friend would be interested? Tell him it will be well worth his while.”

Gabriel clicked pause and looked at Yaakov Rossman. “How do you suppose Mohammad Bakkar and his partner figured out how Dmitri Antonov really makes his money?”

“Maybe he heard the same rumors Jean-Luc Martel heard. The rumors we spread like chicken feed from London to New York to the south of France.”

“And the business proposition?”

“I doubt it involves hashish.”

“Or oranges,” said Gabriel. Then he said, “It sounds to me as though the person who really wants to meet with Dmitri Antonov is Mohammad’s partner. But why?”

“Can we stipulate that Mohammad’s so-called partner is Saladin?”

“Let’s.”

“Maybe he wants to buy arms. Or maybe he’s looking to lay his hands on some loose Russian radiological material to replace the supply he lost when that ship was seized.”

“Or maybe he wants to kill him.” Gabriel paused, then added, “And his pretty French wife.”

Gabriel clicked play.

“Where?”

“Drive south to Erfoud and—”

“Erfoud? That’s—”

“Seven hours at this time of year, maybe less. Mohammad has made arrangements for a couple of four-wheel drives. Those Mercedes sedans of yours will be useless where you’re going.”

“Which is?”

“A camp in the Sahara. Quite luxurious. You’ll arrive around sunset. The staff will prepare a meal for you. Very traditional Moroccan. Very nice. Mohammad will come after dark.”

Gabriel paused the recording.

“A camp at the edge of the Sahara. Very traditional, very nice.”

“And very isolated,” said Yaakov.

“Maybe Saladin’s thinking the same thing.”

“You think we’re blown?”

“I’m paid to worry, Yaakov.”

“Any suspects?”

“Only one.”

Gabriel opened a new audio file on his computer and after adjusting the time code clicked play.