Gabriel withdrew his own device and keyed in another message to King Saul Boulevard, this time asking for an identity check of a woman of perhaps thirty who was at that moment occupying Seat 2A of British Airways Flight 501. The response came five minutes later, as Keller was shuffling past Gabriel like a prisoner being marched out for a work detail. The passenger in question was Anna Huber, thirty-two years of age, German citizen, last known address Lessingstrasse 11, Frankfurt.

Gabriel powered off the BlackBerry and studied the woman on the other side of the aisle. Who are you? he thought. And what are you doing on this airplane?

26

HEATHROW AIRPORT, LONDON

THE FLIGHT WAS TWO HOURS and forty-six minutes in duration. The woman called Anna Huber passed the journey foodless and with no drink other than the champagne. Thirty minutes before they were due to land, she carried her handbag into the toilet and deadbolted the door. Gabriel thought about Quinn’s visit to Yemen, where he worked with al-Qaeda on a bomb capable of bringing down an airliner. Perhaps this is how it would end, he thought. He would plunge to his death in a green English field, strapped to a seat with a businessman from Yorkshire. Then suddenly the lavatory door squeaked open and the woman reappeared. She had run a brush through her dark hair and added a hint of color to her pale cheeks. Her blue eyes passed over Gabriel with no trace of recognition as she reclaimed her seat.

The plane emerged from the bottom of a cloud and dropped onto the runway with a heavy thud that opened a few of the overhead luggage bins. It was a few minutes after one, but outside it looked like nightfall. The businessman was soon blaring into his mobile; it seemed the crisis in his affairs had not resolved itself. Gabriel powered on his BlackBerry and learned that a silver Volkswagen Passat would be waiting outside Terminal 3. He sent a message of confirmation, and when the seatbelt light died, he rose slowly and joined the queue of passengers waiting to exit the aircraft. The woman called Anna Huber was trapped against the window, hunched over, burdened by the handbag. When the cabin doors opened, Gabriel waited for her to step into the aisle. She gave him a terse nod of gratitude—again there was no suggestion of recognition—and filed onto the Jetway.

Her German passport allowed her to enter the United Kingdom through the express EU lane. Gabriel was standing directly behind her when the British immigration officer asked about the nature of her visit. Her response was inaudible to Gabriel, though clearly it pleased the immigration officer, who rewarded her with a warm smile. Gabriel received no such welcome. The immigration officer stamped his passport with thinly restrained violence and returned it without eye contact.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said.

“Thank you,” replied Gabriel, and set off after the woman.