The Messenger

way to the afterdeck. Try to forget we even exist. Be Sarah Bancroft, and nothing can go wrong.

    Z IZI GREETED her lavishly.
    “Sarah! So lovely to see you again. Everyone, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is everyone. There are too many names for you to remember at once, unless you’re one of those people who’s extremely good with names. I suggest we do it slowly. Please sit down, Sarah. You’ve had a very long day. You must be famished.”
    He settled her near the end of the long table and went to his own place at the opposite end. An Abdul was seated to her right and Herr Wehrli the banker to her left. Across from her was Mansur, the chief of the travel department, and Herr Wehrli’s skittish wife, who seemed to find the entire spectacle appalling. Next to Frau Wehrli sat Jean-Michel, the personal trainer. His long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was gazing at Sarah with unabashed interest, much to the distress of his wife, Monique. Farther along the table sat Rahimah and her beautiful boyfriend, Hamid, who was an Egyptian film star of some sort. Nadia sat proprietarily next to her father. Several times during the long meal, Sarah cast her eyes in Zizi’s direction only to find Nadia glaring back at her. Nadia, she suspected, was going to be as much of a problem as bin Talal.
    Zizi, after reliably establishing that Sarah did not speak Arabic, decreed that the languages of the night were French and English. Their conversation was frighteningly banal. They talked of clothing and films, restaurants that Zizi liked to commandeer and a hotel in Nice that he was thinking about buying. The war, terrorism, the plight of the Palestinians, the American president—none of these seemed to exist. Indeed, nothing seemed to exist beyond the rails of Alexandra or the boundaries of Zizi’s empire. Zizi, sensing that Sarah was being left out, asked her once again to explain how she had found the van Gogh. When she refused to rise to his baiting, he smiled wolfishly and said, “One day I’ll get it out of you.” And Sarah, for the first time, felt a sickening rush of complete terror.
    During the dessert course he rose from his place and pulled a chair alongside hers. He was dressed in a cream-colored linen suit, and the tops of his pudgy cheeks were colored red from the sun.
    “I trust you found the food to your liking.”
    “It was delicious. You must have been cooking all afternoon.”
    “Not me,” he said modestly. “My chefs.”
    “You have more than one?”
    “Three, actually. We have a crew and staff of forty. They work exclusively for me, regardless of whether Alexandra is at sea or waiting in port. You’ll get to know them during our trip. If you need something, don’t hesitate to ask. I take it your accommodations are satisfactory?”
    “More than satisfactory, Mr. al-Bakari.”
    “Zizi,” he reminded her. He toyed with a strand of ebony prayer beads. “Mr. bin Talal told me you were upset by some of our rules and security procedures.”
    “Perhaps taken by surprise would be a better description. I wish you would have told me in advance. I would have packed lighter.”
    “Mr. bin Talal can be somewhat fanatical in his devotion to my security. I apologize for his behavior. That said, Sarah, when one enters the world of AAB Holdings, one has to adhere to certain rules—for the safety of everyone.” He flicked his wrist, and wrapped his prayer beads around the first two fingers of his right hand. “Did you have a chance to think about my offer?”
    “I still don’t know what it is.”
    “But you are interested. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
    “Let’s just say I’m intrigued, and I’m willing to discuss the matter further.”
    “You are a shrewd businesswoman, Sarah. I admire that. Enjoy the sun and the sea. We’ll talk in a few days when you’ve had a chance to relax.”
    “A few days? I have to get back to London.”
    “Julian Isherwood got along without you for many years, Sarah. Something tells me he’ll survive while you take a much deserved vacation with us.”
    And with that he went back to his own end of the table and sat down next to Nadia. “Welcome to the family,” said Herr Wehrli. “He likes you very much. When you negotiate your salary, be unreasonable. He’ll pay whatever you want.”

    D INNER THAT EVENING aboard Sun Dancer had been far less extravagant and the conversation far more animated. They did not avoid topics such as war and terrorism.