before the attack—”
“Are true,” said Gabriel. “I could have saved eighteen lives. Unfortunately, the British wouldn’t hear of it.”
“So who do you think was responsible?”
“You’re the terrorism expert, Sarah. You tell me.”
“It’s possible the attacks were masterminded by the old-line al-Qaeda leadership in Pakistan,” she said. “But in my opinion, we’re dealing with an entirely new network.”
“Led by whom?”
“Someone with the charisma of Bin Laden who could recruit his own operatives in Europe and call upon cells from other terror groups.”
“Any candidates?”
“Just one,” she said. “Rashid al-Husseini.”
“Why Paris?”
“The ban on the facial veil.”
“Copenhagen?”
“They’re still seething over the cartoons.”
“And London?”
“London is low-hanging fruit. London can be attacked at will.”
“Not bad for a former curator at the Phillips Collection.”
“I’m an art historian, Gabriel. I know how to connect dots. I can connect a few more, if you like.”
“Please do.”
“Your presence in Washington means the rumors are true.”
“What rumors are those?”
“The ones about Rashid being on the Agency’s payroll after 9/11. The ones about a good idea that went very bad. Adrian believed in Rashid and Rashid repaid that trust by building a network right under our noses. Now I suppose Adrian would like you to take care of the problem for him—off the books, of course.”
“Is there any other way?”
“Not where you’re concerned,” she said. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Adrian needs someone to spy on me. You were the obvious candidate.” Gabriel hesitated, then said, “But if you think it would be too awkward . . .”
“Because of Mikhail?”
“It’s possible you’ll be working together again, Sarah. I wouldn’t want personal feelings to interfere with the smooth functioning of the team.”
“Since when has your team ever functioned smoothly? You’re Israelis. You fight with one another constantly.”
“But we never allow personal feelings to influence operational decisions.”
“I’m a professional,” she said. “Given our history together, I shouldn’t think I’d need to remind you of that.”
“You don’t.”
“So where do we start?”
“We need to get to know Rashid a bit better.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“By reading his Agency files.”
“But they’re filled with lies.”
“That’s correct,” said Gabriel. “But those lies are like layers of paint on a canvas. Peel them away, and we might find ourselves staring directly at the truth.”
“No one ever speaks that way at Langley.”
“I know,” Gabriel said. “If they did, I’d still be in Cornwall working on a Titian.”
Chapter 15
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
G ABRIEL AND S ARAH TOOK UP residence at the house on N Street at nine the following morning. The first batch of files arrived one hour later—six stainless steel crates, all sealed with digital locks. For some unfathomable reason, Carter entrusted the combinations only to Sarah. “Rules are rules,” he said, “and Agency rules state that officers of foreign intelligence services are never to be given the combinations of document receptacles.” When Gabriel pointed out that he was being allowed to see some of the Agency’s dirtiest laundry, Carter was unyielding. Technically speaking, the material was to remain in Sarah’s possession. The taking of notes was to be kept to a minimum and photocopying was forbidden. Carter personally removed the secure fax machine and requested Gabriel’s mobile phone—a request Gabriel politely declined. The phone had been issued to him by the Office and contained several features not available commercially. In fact, he had used it the previous evening to sweep the house for listening devices. He had found four. Obviously, interservice cooperation only went so far.
The initial shipment of files all
“Are true,” said Gabriel. “I could have saved eighteen lives. Unfortunately, the British wouldn’t hear of it.”
“So who do you think was responsible?”
“You’re the terrorism expert, Sarah. You tell me.”
“It’s possible the attacks were masterminded by the old-line al-Qaeda leadership in Pakistan,” she said. “But in my opinion, we’re dealing with an entirely new network.”
“Led by whom?”
“Someone with the charisma of Bin Laden who could recruit his own operatives in Europe and call upon cells from other terror groups.”
“Any candidates?”
“Just one,” she said. “Rashid al-Husseini.”
“Why Paris?”
“The ban on the facial veil.”
“Copenhagen?”
“They’re still seething over the cartoons.”
“And London?”
“London is low-hanging fruit. London can be attacked at will.”
“Not bad for a former curator at the Phillips Collection.”
“I’m an art historian, Gabriel. I know how to connect dots. I can connect a few more, if you like.”
“Please do.”
“Your presence in Washington means the rumors are true.”
“What rumors are those?”
“The ones about Rashid being on the Agency’s payroll after 9/11. The ones about a good idea that went very bad. Adrian believed in Rashid and Rashid repaid that trust by building a network right under our noses. Now I suppose Adrian would like you to take care of the problem for him—off the books, of course.”
“Is there any other way?”
“Not where you’re concerned,” she said. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Adrian needs someone to spy on me. You were the obvious candidate.” Gabriel hesitated, then said, “But if you think it would be too awkward . . .”
“Because of Mikhail?”
“It’s possible you’ll be working together again, Sarah. I wouldn’t want personal feelings to interfere with the smooth functioning of the team.”
“Since when has your team ever functioned smoothly? You’re Israelis. You fight with one another constantly.”
“But we never allow personal feelings to influence operational decisions.”
“I’m a professional,” she said. “Given our history together, I shouldn’t think I’d need to remind you of that.”
“You don’t.”
“So where do we start?”
“We need to get to know Rashid a bit better.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“By reading his Agency files.”
“But they’re filled with lies.”
“That’s correct,” said Gabriel. “But those lies are like layers of paint on a canvas. Peel them away, and we might find ourselves staring directly at the truth.”
“No one ever speaks that way at Langley.”
“I know,” Gabriel said. “If they did, I’d still be in Cornwall working on a Titian.”
Chapter 15
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
G ABRIEL AND S ARAH TOOK UP residence at the house on N Street at nine the following morning. The first batch of files arrived one hour later—six stainless steel crates, all sealed with digital locks. For some unfathomable reason, Carter entrusted the combinations only to Sarah. “Rules are rules,” he said, “and Agency rules state that officers of foreign intelligence services are never to be given the combinations of document receptacles.” When Gabriel pointed out that he was being allowed to see some of the Agency’s dirtiest laundry, Carter was unyielding. Technically speaking, the material was to remain in Sarah’s possession. The taking of notes was to be kept to a minimum and photocopying was forbidden. Carter personally removed the secure fax machine and requested Gabriel’s mobile phone—a request Gabriel politely declined. The phone had been issued to him by the Office and contained several features not available commercially. In fact, he had used it the previous evening to sweep the house for listening devices. He had found four. Obviously, interservice cooperation only went so far.
The initial shipment of files all
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