Prince of Fire

feet.
    “Can you stand up?” the girl asked.
    “No.”
    “If we don’t leave now, you’ll be late for your next checkpoint. And if you’re late for your next checkpoint, you know what happens to your wife.”
    He rolled over onto his hands and knees and, after two failed attempts managed to get to his feet. The girl gave him a push between the shoulder blades and sent him stumbling toward the door. He thought of Leah and wondered where she was. Zipped into a body bag? Locked into a car trunk? Hammered into a wooden crate? Did she know what was happening to her, or, mercifully, did she believe it was just another episode in her nightmare without end? It was for Leah that he remained upright and for Leah that he placed one foot in front of the other.
    The three men remained behind in the house. The girl walked a half step behind him, with a leather satchel over her shoulder. She gave him another shove, this time in the direction of the Mercedes. He stumbled forward, across the dusty forecourt strewn with toys. The overturned Matchbox cars, the rusted fire truck, the armless doll and headless toy soldier—to Gabriel it seemed like the carnage wrought by one of Khaled’s expertly crafted bombs. He went instinctively to the passenger side of the car.
    “No,” said the woman. “You’re going to drive.”
    “I’m in no condition.”
    “But you must,” she said. “Otherwise we’ll miss our deadline, and your wife will die.”
    Gabriel reluctantly climbed behind the wheel. The woman sat next to him. After closing the door, she reached inside the satchel and produced a weapon, a Tanfolgio TA-90, and aimed it at his abdomen.
    “I know you can take this from me anytime you wish,” she conceded. “If you choose such a course of action, it will do you no good. I assure you that I do not know the location of your wife, nor do I know our ultimate destination. We’re going on this journey together, you and I. We’re partners in this endeavor.”
    “How noble of you.”
    She hit him across the cheek with the gun.
    “Be careful,” he said, “it might go off.”
    “You know France very well, yes? You’ve worked here. You’ve killed many Palestinians here.”
    Greeted by Gabriel’s silence, she hit him a second time. “Answer me! You’ve worked here, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’ve killed Palestinians here, yes?”
    He nodded.
    “Are you ashamed? Say it aloud.”
    “Yes,” he said, “I’ve killed Palestinians here. I killed Sabri here.”
    “So you know the roads of France well. You won’t need to waste time consulting a map. That’s a good thing, because we don’t have much time.”
    She gave him the keys. “Go to Nîmes. You have one hour.”
    “It’s a hundred kilometers, at least.”
    “Then I suggest you stop talking and start driving.”
    H E WENT BY WAY of Arles. The Rhône, silver-blue and swirling with eddies, slid beneath them. On the other side of the river. Gabriel pressed the accelerator toward the floor and started the final run into Nîmes. The weather was perversely glorious: the sky cloudless and intensely blue, the fields ablaze with lavender and sunflowers, the hills awash with a light so pure it was possible for Gabriel to make out the lines and fissures of rock formations twenty miles in the distance.
    The girl sat calmly with her ankles crossed and the gun lying in her lap. Gabriel wondered why Khaled had chosen her to escort him to his death. Because her youth and beauty stood in sharp contrast to Leah’s ravaged infirmity? Or was it an Arab insult of some sort? Did he wish to further humiliate Gabriel by making him take orders from a beautiful young girl? Whatever Khaled’s motives, she was nonetheless thoroughly trained. Gabriel had sensed it during their first encounter in Marseilles and again at the house in Martigues—and he could see it now in her muscular arms and shoulders and in the way she handled the gun. But it was her hands that intrigued him most. She had the short, dirty fingernails of a potter or someone who worked outdoors.
    She hit him again without warning. The car swerved, and Gabriel had to battle to get it under control again.
    “Why did you do that?”
    “You were looking at the gun?”
    “I was not.”
    “You’re thinking about taking it away from me.”
    “No.”
    “Liar! Jewish liar!”
    She raised the gun to strike him again, but his time Gabriel lifted his hand defensively and managed to deflect the blow.
    “You’d better