The three men remained behind in the house. The girl walked a half step behind him, with a leather satchel over her shoulder. She gave him another shove, this time in the direction of the Mercedes. He stumbled forward, across the dusty forecourt strewn with toys. The overturned Matchbox cars, the rusted fire truck, the armless doll and headless toy soldier—to Gabriel it seemed like the carnage wrought by one of Khaled’s expertly crafted bombs. He went instinctively to the passenger side of the car.

“No,” said the woman. “You’re going to drive.”

“I’m in no condition.”

“But you must,” she said. “Otherwise we’ll miss our deadline, and your wife will die.”

Gabriel reluctantly climbed behind the wheel. The woman sat next to him. After closing the door, she reached inside the satchel and produced a weapon, a Tanfolgio TA-90, and aimed it at his abdomen.

“I know you can take this from me anytime you wish,” she conceded. “If you choose such a course of action, it will do you no good. I assure you that I do not know the location of your wife, nor do I know our ultimate destination. We’re going on this journey together, you and I. We’re partners in this endeavor.”

“How noble of you.”

She hit him across the cheek with the gun.

“Be careful,” he said, “it might go off.”

“You know France very well, yes? You’ve worked here. You’ve killed many Palestinians here.”

Greeted by Gabriel’s silence, she hit him a second time. “Answer me! You’ve worked here, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve killed Palestinians here, yes?”

He nodded.

“Are you ashamed? Say it aloud.”

“Yes,” he said, “I’ve killed Palestinians here. I killed Sabri here.”

“So you know the roads of France well. You won’t need to waste time consulting a map. That’s a good thing, because we don’t have much time.”

She gave him the keys. “Go to Nîmes. You have one hour.”

“It’s a hundred kilometers, at least.”

“Then I suggest you stop talking and start driving.”

HE WENT BY WAY of Arles. The Rhône, silver-blue and swirling with eddies, slid beneath them. On the other side of the river. Gabriel pressed the accelerator toward the floor and started the final run into Nîmes. The weather was perversely glorious: the sky cloudless and intensely blue, the fields ablaze with lavender and sunflowers, the hills awash with a light so pure it was possible for Gabriel to make out the lines and fissures of rock formations twenty miles in the distance.