The Secret Servant

the cafés along the New Harbor. It had turned much colder; Sarah wore a beret, and her coat collar was turned up dramatically. When Gabriel teased her about looking too much like a spy, she seized his arm playfully and pressed her body against his shoulder. They sat outside along the quay and drank freezing Carlsberg beneath a hissing gas heater. Gabriel picked at a plate of fried cod and potatoes while Sarah stared at the colorful floodlit façades of the canal houses on the opposite embankment.
    “Better than Langley, I suppose.”
    “Anything is better than Langley,” he said.
    She looked up at the hard black sky. “I suppose your fate is now in the hands of NSA and its satellites.”
    “Yours, too,” Gabriel said. “You would have been wise to go to London with Adrian.”
    “And miss this?” She lowered her gaze toward the canal houses. “If he calls tonight, do you think we’ll be able to find her?”
    “It depends on how well NSA is able to pinpoint Ishaq’s location. Even if NSA does manage to locate Elizabeth, Washington is going to have another problem—how to get her out alive. Ishaq and his colleagues are more than willing to die, which means that any attempt to storm the hideout will no doubt end violently. But I’m sure expert opinion will come up with a plan.”
    “Don’t play the wounded martyr, Gabriel. It doesn’t suit you.”
    “I didn’t appreciate some of the things that were said about me in Washington today.”
    “Washington is a town without pity.”
    “So is Jerusalem.”
    “Then you’re going to need a thicker skin when you become the chief of the Office.” She gave him a mischievous sideways glance over the top of her collar. “Adrian says it’s just a rumor, but, judging from your reaction, it’s true.” She raised her glass. “Mazel tov.”
    “Condolences would be more appropriate.”
    “You don’t want the job?”
    “Some men have greatness thrust upon them.”
    “You’re in a fine mood tonight.”
    “Forgive me, Sarah. Talk of genocide and extermination tends to spoil the evening for me.”
    “Oh, that.” She sipped her beer and fought off a shiver. “You know, this restaurant does have an indoor section.”
    “Yes, but it’s harder for me to tell whether we’re being watched.”
    “Are we?”
    “You’re trained in countersurveillance. You tell me.”
    “There was a man drinking in the bar when we left the hotel,” she said. “He’s now standing on the other side of the canal with a woman who’s at least fifteen years older than he is.”
    “Is he Danish security?”
    “He was speaking German in the bar.”
    “So.”
    She shook her head. “No, I don’t think he’s Danish security. What do you think?”
    “I think he’s a German gigolo who’s going to take that poor woman for every penny she has.”
    “Should we warn her?”
    “I’m afraid we have enough to worry about tonight.”
    “Are you always such a charming date?”
    “I didn’t realize this was a date.”
    “It’s the closest thing to a date I’ve had in a long time.”
    Gabriel gave her a disbelieving look and popped a piece of fish into his mouth. “Do you really expect me to believe you have difficulty attracting men?”
    “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but at the moment I’m living under an assumed identity because of my role in the al-Bakari operation. It makes it rather difficult to meet men. Even my coworkers in the CTC don’t know my real name or anything about my past. I suppose it’s for the best. Anyone I met now wouldn’t stand a chance anyway. I’m afraid my heart has been taken hostage by someone else.” She peered at him over her glass. “Now is the time you’re supposed to bashfully ask me the name of the man who’s kidnapped my heart.”
    “Some questions are better left unasked, Sarah.”
    “You’re such a stoic, aren’t you, Gabriel?” She took a drink of her beer and resumed her appraisal of the canal houses. “But your heart is spoken for, too, isn’t it?”
    “Trust me, Sarah—you can do far better than a fifty-something misanthrope from the Valley of Jezreel.”
    “I’ve always been attracted to misanthropic men, especially gifted ones. But I’m afraid my timing has always been lousy. It’s why I studied art instead of music.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “It’s Chiara, isn’t it?”
    Gabriel nodded his head slowly.
    “I could always tell,” Sarah said. “She’s a very lucky girl.”
    “I’m the lucky