She listened to it all again: Yaakov and Gabriel wordlessly mounting the bike; Yaakov firing the engine and accelerating away; the sound of the tires locking up and skidding along the asphalt of the boulevard St-Rémy; Gabriel’s voice, calm and without emotion: “Stop here. Don’t move.”

Twenty seconds later, the woman: “Excuse me, monsieur, are you lost?”

STOP.

How long had Khaled spent planning it? Years, she thought. He had dropped the clues for her to find, and she had followed them, from Beit Sayeed to Buenos Aires, from Istanbul to Rome, and now Gabriel was in their hands. They would kill him, and it was her fault.

She pressed PLAY and listened again to Gabriel’s quarrel with the Palestinian woman, then picked up the satellite phone and raised King Saul Boulevard on the secure link.

“I need a voice identification.”

“You have a recording?”

“Yes.”

“Quality?”

Dina explained the circumstances of the intercept.

“Play the recording, please.”

She pressed PLAY.

“If we miss one deadline, your wife dies. If your agents try to follow us, your wife dies. If you kill me, your wife dies. If you do exactly what we say, she’ll live.”

STOP.

“Stand by, please.”

Two minutes later: “No match on file.”

MARTINEAU MET Abu Saddiq one last time on the boulevard d’Athènes, at the base of the broad steps that led to the Gare Saint-Charles. Abu Saddiq was dressed in Western clothing: neat gabardine trousers and a pressed cotton shirt. He told Martineau a boat had just left the port at great haste.

“What was it called?”

Abu Saddiq answered.

“Fidelity,” Martineau repeated. “An interesting choice.”

He turned and started trudging up the steps, Abu Saddiq at his side. “The shaheeds have been given their final orders,” Abu Saddiq said. “They’ll proceed to their target as scheduled. Nothing can be done to stop them now.”

“And you?”

“The midday ferry to Algiers.”

They arrived at the top of the steps. The train station was brown and ugly and in a state of severe disrepair. “I must say,” Abu Saddiq said, “that I will not miss this place.”

“Go to Algiers, and bury yourself deep. We’ll bring you back to the West Bank when it’s safe.”

“After today . . .” He shrugged. “It will never be safe.”

Martineau shook Abu Saddiq’s hand. “Maa-salaamah.”

“As-salaam alaykum, Brother Khaled.”

Abu Saddiq turned and headed down the steps. Martineau entered the train station and paused in front of the departure board. The 8:15 TGV for Paris was departing from Track F. Martineau crossed the terminal and went onto the platform. He walked alongside the train until he found his carriage, then climbed aboard.