The Messenger

hand.
    “You can’t take a girl’s hair dryer.”
    “You have one in your bathroom that’s compatible with the ship’s electrical system. In the meantime, let me have yours, just so there’s no confusion.”
    “I promise not to use it.”
    “Your hair dryer, please, Miss Sarah.”
    She pulled the hair dryer from her suitcase and gave it to him.
    “Mr. al-Bakari has left a gift for you in the closet. I’m sure he would be flattered if you wore it to dinner. It’s scheduled for nine o’clock this evening. I suggest you try to sleep until then. You’ve had a long day—and then there’s the time difference, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “Would you like to be awakened at eight o’clock?”
    “I can manage on my own. I brought a travel alarm clock.”
    He smiled humorlessly. “I’ll need that, too.”

    M UCH TO HER surprise she did sleep. She dreamt nothing and woke in darkness, unsure of where she was. Then a puff of warm sea wind caressed her breast, like the breath of a lover, and she realized she was aboard Alexandra and that she was utterly alone. She lay very still for a moment, wondering if they were looking at her. Assume they’re watching your every move and listening to your every word, Eli had told her. She pictured another scene taking place somewhere aboard the ship. Wazir bin Talal downloading every e-mail from her BlackBerry. Wazir bin Talal running a check on every number dialed from her mobile telephone. Wazir bin Talal tearing apart her hair dryer and her iPod and her travel alarm clock, looking for bugs and tracking devices. But there were no bugs or tracking devices, for Gabriel had known they would ransack her possessions the moment she entered their camp. In a situation like this, Sarah, simple is best. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Telephone codes. Physical recognition signals.
    She raised her wristwatch to her face and saw it was five minutes to eight. She closed her eyes again and allowed the breeze to flow over her body. Five minutes later the bedside telephone purred softly. She reached out in the darkness and brought the receiver to her ear.
    “I’m awake, Mr. bin Talal.”
    “I’m so glad to hear that.”
    The voice wasn’t bin Talal’s. It was Zizi’s.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. al-Bakari. I thought you were someone else.”
    “Obviously,” he said pleasantly. “Did you manage to get a little rest?”
    “I think so.”
    “And your flight?”
    “It was fine, sir.”
    “Can we make a deal?”
    “That depends entirely on the deal, Mr. al-Bakari.”
    “I would prefer it if you called me Zizi. It’s what my friends call me.”
    “I’ll try.” Then she added playfully: “Sir.”
    “I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Sarah.”
    The connection went dead. She hung up the phone and went onto the sundeck. It was very dark now. A fingernail moon hung low on the horizon, and the sky was a blanket of wet shimmering stars. She looked toward the stern and saw a pair of winking emerald navigation lights hovering several miles in the distance. There were more lights off the prow. She remembered what Eli had said during her street training. Sometimes the easiest way to tail a man is to walk in front of him. She supposed the same applied to watching at sea.
    She went back into her room, shed her clothing, and padded into the bathroom. Avert your eyes, Wazir, she thought. No pornography. She bathed in Zizi’s hedonistic Jacuzzi tub and listened to Keith Jarrett on Zizi’s state-of-the-art audio system. She wrapped herself in Zizi’s terry-cloth robe and dried her hair with Zizi’s hair dryer. She applied makeup to her face, just enough to erase the effects of the transatlantic journey, and as she arranged her hair loosely about her shoulders she thought briefly of Gabriel.
    “How do you like to wear your hair, Sarah?”
    “Down, mostly.”
    “You have very nice cheekbones. A very graceful neck. You should think about wearing your hair up from time to time. Like Marguerite.”
    But not tonight. When she was satisfied with her appearance she went into the bedroom and opened the closet door. Lying on one of the shelves was a gift-wrapped box. She removed the paper and lifted the lid. Inside was an ivory-colored crushed-silk pantsuit and silk camisole. It fit her perfectly, just like everything else. She added the Harry Winston watch, the Bulgari earrings, the Mikimoto pearls, and the Tiffany bracelet. At five minutes to nine she left the room and made her