“But no Arabs?”

“No Arabs.”

“Are you prejudiced against Arabs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“So it’s conceivable you could have dated an Arab. You just didn’t.”

“I hope you’re not going to ask me to serve as bait in a honey trap because—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why are you asking me these questions?”

“Because I want to know whether you’d be comfortable in a social and professional setting with Arab men.”

“The answer is yes.”

“You don’t automatically see a terrorist when you see an Arab man?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that, Sarah?”

“I suppose it depends on the sort of Arab you have in mind.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late,” he said to no one in particular. “I’m sure poor Sarah is famished.” He drew a heavy red line across his page of hieroglyphics. “Let’s order some food, shall we? Sarah will feel better after she has something to eat.”

THEY ORDERED KEBABS from a carryout in the heart of Georgetown. The food came twenty minutes later, delivered by the same black Suburban that had brought Sarah to the town house three hours earlier. Gabriel treated its arrival as a signal to begin the night session. For the next ninety minutes he focused on her education and her knowledge of art history. His questions came at such a rapid-fire pace she scarcely had time for her food. As for his own, it sat untouched next to his yellow legal pad. He’s an ascetic, she thought. He can’t be bothered with food. He lives in a bare room and subsists on coarse bread and a few drops of water a day. Shortly after midnight he carried his plate into the kitchen and deposited it on the counter. When he returned to the dining room he stood for a moment behind his chair, with one hand pressed to his chin and his head tilted slightly to one side. The light from the chandelier had turned his eyes to emerald, and they were flashing restlessly over her like searchlights. He can see the summit, she thought. He’s preparing himself for the final assault.

“I SEE FROM YOUR file that you’re unmarried.”

“Correct.”

“Are you involved with anyone at the moment?”

“No.”

“Sleeping with anyone?”

She looked at Carter, who gazed sadly back at her, as if to say, I told you things might get personal.

“No, I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

The dark look that came suddenly over his face, combined with Carter’s restless shifting in his chair, alerted her that she had strayed into some forbidden zone.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t—”

“It’s Ben, I take it? Ben is the reason you’re not involved with anyone?”

“Yes, it’s Ben. Of course it’s Ben.”

“Tell me about him.”