Portrait of a Spy

flowers, the platters of complimentary Arabian sweets, and the unopened bottle of complimentary Dom Pérignon sweating in a bucket of melted ice. The recipient of this largess was pacing the garish sitting room, working over the final details of a land and development deal he had no intention of actually making. Every few seconds, a member of his staff would pose a question or rattle off a few encouraging numbers—all for the benefit of the Ruler’s hidden microphones. None of the staff bothered to acknowledge Nadia’s presence, nor did they seem to think it odd when Sarah immediately led her into the bathroom. In the vanity area was a tentlike structure made of an opaque silver material. Sarah relieved Nadia of her BlackBerry before opening the flap. Gabriel was already seated inside. He gestured for Nadia to sit in the empty chair.
    “A tent in the bathroom,” said Nadia, smiling. “How Bedouin of you.”
    “You’re not the only people who come from the desert.”
    She looked around the interior, clearly intrigued. “What is it?”
    “We call it the chuppah . It allows us to speak freely in rooms we know are bugged.”
    “May I have it when we’re done?”
    He smiled. “I’m afraid not.”
    She touched the fabric. It had a metallic quality.
    “Isn’t the chuppah used in Jewish wedding ceremonies?”
    “We take our vows beneath the chuppah . They’re very important to us.”
    “So is this our wedding ceremony?” she asked, still stroking the fabric.
    “I’m already spoken for. Besides, I gave you a solemn vow in a manor house outside Paris.”
    She placed her hand in her lap. “Your script for today was a work of art,” she said. “I only hope I did it justice.”
    “You were magnificent, Nadia, but that was a rather expensive ad lib at Sonapur.”
    “Twenty million dollars for a new camp? It was the least I could do for them.”
    “Shall I ask the CIA to pick up the tab?”
    “My treat,” she said.
    Gabriel examined Nadia’s Chanel suit. “It fits you well.”
    “Better than the ones I have custom made.”
    “We’re tailors by trade, highly specialized tailors. That suit can do everything except walk into a meeting with a monster who has a great deal of blood on his hands. For that, we need you.” He paused, then said, “Last chance, Nadia.”
    “To back out?”
    “We wouldn’t think of it like that. And none of us would think any less of you.”
    “I don’t break commitments, Mr. Allon—not anymore. Besides, we both know that there isn’t time for second thoughts now.” She looked at the Harry Winston watch. “In fact, I’m expecting a call from my banker any minute. So if you have any final words of advice . . .”
    “Just remember who you are, Nadia. You’re the daughter of Zizi al-Bakari, a descendant of Wahhab. No one tells you where to go, or what to do. And no one ever changes the plan. If they try to change the plan, you tell them the meeting is off. Then you call Mansur and tell him to move up the departure slot. Are we clear?”
    She nodded.
    “We assume the meeting will take place in a suite rather than in a public part of the hotel. It is critical that you make Samir say the room number before you leave the lobby. Insist on it. And if he tries to mumble it, repeat it loudly enough for us to hear. Understood?”
    She nodded again.
    “We’ll try to send someone up in the elevator with you, but he’ll have to get off on a separate floor. After that, you’ll be beyond our reach, and Rafiq will be your only protection. Under no circumstances are you to enter the room without him. This is another red line. If they try to talk you into it, leave immediately. If everything goes smoothly, go inside and start the meeting. This isn’t a social gathering or a political discussion. This is a business transaction. You listen to what he has to say, you tell him what he wants to hear, and then you leave for the airport. Your plane is your lifeboat. And your eleven o’clock departure slot is your excuse to keep things moving. At ten o’clock you’re—”
    “Out the door,” she said.
    Gabriel nodded. “Remember your BlackBerry etiquette. Offer to switch yours off as a show of your good intentions. Ask them to power off their devices and remove SIM cards. If they refuse or say it isn’t necessary, don’t draw any lines in the sand. It’s not important.”
    “Where are the bugs?”
    “What bugs?”
    “Let’s not play games, Mr. Allon.”
    He tapped the