The Messenger

saw it was enveloped in a black veil. Jean-Michel had shrouded her in an abaya . She wept softly. Jean-Michel opened one eye and gazed at her malevolently.
    “What’s the problem, Sarah?”
    “You’re taking me to Saudi Arabia, aren’t you?”
    “We’re going to Switzerland, just like Zizi told you.”
    “Why the abaya ?”
    “It will make your entry into the country go more smoothly. When the Swiss customs men see a Saudi woman in a veil, they tend to be highly respectful.” He gave her another grotesque smile. “I think it’s a shame covering a girl like you in black, but I did enjoy putting it on you.”
    “You’re a pig, Jean-Michel.”
    Sarah never saw the blow coming—a well-aimed backhand that landed precisely on her swollen right cheek. By the time her vision cleared Jean-Michel was once more reclining in his seat. The plane heaved in a sudden burst of turbulence. Sarah felt bile rising into her throat.
    “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    “Just like at Le Tetou?”
    Think quickly, Sarah .
    “I was sick at Le Tetou, you idiot.”
    “You made a very quick recovery. In fact, you looked fine to me after we returned to Alexandra .”
    “Those drugs you’re shooting into me are making me nauseated. Take me into the bathroom.”
    “You want to check for messages?”
    Fast, Sarah. Fast .
    “What are you talking about? Take me to the toilet so I can throw up.”
    “You’re not going anywhere.”
    “At least lift the abaya for me.”
    He looked at her disbelievingly, then leaned across the divide and lifted the veil, exposing her face to the cool air of the cabin. To Sarah it seemed appallingly like a bridegroom lifting the veil of his new wife. A wave of anger broke within her, and she lashed out at his face with her cuffed hands. Jean-Michel easily swatted away her blow, then landed one of his own against the left side of her head. It knocked her from the leather seat and sent her to the floor. Without rising he kicked her in the abdomen, knocking the breath from her lungs. As she fought to regain it, the contents of her stomach emptied onto the carpet.
    “Fucking bitch,” the Frenchman said savagely. “I should make you clean that up.”
    He grabbed hold of the chain linking her wrists and pulled her back into her seat, then rose and went into the toilet. Sarah heard the sound of water splashing into the basin. When Jean-Michel emerged he was holding a damp linen towel, which he used to punitively scrub the vomit from her lips. Then, from a small leather case, he produced another syringe and a vial of clear liquid. He loaded the syringe without much care for the dosage, then seized hold of her arm. Sarah tried to pull away, but he hit her twice in the mouth. As the drug entered her bloodstream, she remained conscious but felt as though a great weight was pressing down on her body. Her eyelids closed, but she remained trapped in the present.
    “I’m still awake,” she said. “Your drugs aren’t working anymore.”
    “They’re working just fine.”
    “Then why am I still conscious?”
    “It’s easier to get answers that way.”
    “Answers to what?”
    “Better fasten your seat belt,” he said mockingly. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”
    Sarah, the model prisoner, tried to do as she was told, but her arms lay limply in her lap, unable to obey her commands.

    S HE LEANED her face against the cold glass of the window and looked out. The darkness was absolute. A few moments later they entered the clouds, and the plane pitched in wave after wave of turbulence. Jean-Michel poured himself another glass of whiskey and drank it in a single swallow.
    They emerged from the clouds into a snowstorm. Sarah looked down and studied the pattern of the ground lights. There was a mass of brilliant illumination wrapped around the northern end of a large body of water and strands of lesser light laying along the shoreline like jewels. She tried to remember where Zizi had said she’d be going. Zurich, she thought. Yes, that was it. Zurich…Herr Klarsfeld…The Manet for which Zizi would pay thirty million and not a million more…
    The plane passed north of central Zurich and banked toward the airport. Sarah prayed for a crash landing. It was obscenely smooth, though—so smooth she was unaware of the moment of touchdown. They taxied for several minutes. Jean-Michel was gazing calmly out the window, while Sarah was sliding further into oblivion. The fuselage seemed as long as an