Portrait of a Spy

Not only do we admire the courage of your work, but we are also in awe of the skill with which you’ve concealed it. In fact, it took us quite some time to figure out that you were using cleverly constructed art transactions to launder money and put it in the hands of people you were trying to help. As professionals, we salute your tradecraft. In all honesty, we couldn’t have done it any better ourselves.”
    Nadia looked up sharply, but this time she offered no denial. Gabriel sailed on.
    “As a result of your skillful dealings, you’ve managed to keep your work secret from Saudi intelligence and the al-Saud. It’s a remarkable achievement, given the fact that you are surrounded day and night by your father’s old employees and security men. At first we were puzzled by your decision to retain their services. In retrospect, the reasons are quite obvious.”
    “Are they?”
    “You had no other choice. Your father was a wily businessman, but he didn’t exactly come by his fortune honestly. The House of Zizi was bought and paid for by the House of Saud, which means the al-Saud could break you with a snap of their royal fingers.”
    Gabriel looked to Nadia for a reaction. Her face remained placid.
    “It means you’re playing a dangerous game,” Gabriel continued. “You’re using the monarch’s money to spread ideas that could eventually threaten the monarch’s grip on his throne. That makes you a subversive. A heretic. And we both know what happens to subversives and heretics who threaten the House of Saud. One way or another, they’re eliminated.”
    “It doesn’t sound as if you want to help me. In fact, it sounds as though you intend to blackmail me into doing your bidding.”
    “Our only interest is that your work continues. We would, however, like to give you one piece of advice.”
    “What sort of advice?”
    “Investment advice,” said Gabriel. “We think now might be a good time to make a few changes in your portfolio—changes that are more in keeping with your birthright as the one and only child of the late Zizi al-Bakari.”
    “My father was a financier of terrorism.”
    “No, Nadia, he wasn’t just any financier of terrorism. Your father was unrivaled. Your father was Jihad Incorporated.”
    “Forgive me,” Nadia said, “but I don’t understand what you want from me.”
    “It’s simple. We want you to follow in your father’s footsteps. We want you to pick up the banner of jihad that fell from his grasp that terrible night in Cannes. We want you to avenge his death.”
    “You want me to become a terrorist?”
    “Exactly.”
    “How would I do that?”
    “By purchasing your own terrorist group. But don’t worry, Nadia. You won’t have to do it alone. Thomas and I are going to help you.”

Chapter 30
Seraincourt, France

    T HEY HAD COME TO A GOOD PLACE TO PAUSE —an oasis, thought Gabriel, who found himself suddenly bewitched by the iconography of the desert. The reason for Nadia’s summons had been successfully broached. It was now time to rest for a few moments and to reflect upon the journey thus far. It was also time to deal with a bit of unpleasant business. Gabriel had a few questions that needed answering before they could continue—questions dealing with the tangled politics and ancient hatreds of the Middle East. He posed the first while crouching before the fireplace, an unlit match between his fingertips.
    “How do you feel about us?” he asked, striking the match on the stonework.
    “About Israelis?”
    “About Jews,” replied Gabriel, touching the match to the kindling. “Do you think we are children of the devil? Do you think we control the world’s finances and media? Do you think we brought the Holocaust upon ourselves? Do you even believe the Holocaust happened? Do you think we use the blood of non-Jewish children to prepare our unleavened bread? Do you believe we are apes and pigs, as your Wahhabi clerics and Saudi textbooks like to portray us?”
    “I didn’t go to school in Saudi Arabia,” said Nadia without a trace of defensiveness.
    “No,” said Gabriel, “you attended the most prestigious schools in Europe, just like your friend Sarah. And Sarah remembers quite clearly an incident on a beach in St. Barts when you said something quite unpleasant about a man you believed to be Jewish. She also recalls a fair amount of rough talk about Jews whenever your father and his entourage started discussing politics.”
    Nadia stared at Sarah