IT WAS LEFT to Carter to place the contract in front of her. Carter with his Puritan righteousness and corduroy blazer. Carter with his therapeutic demeanor and American-accented English. Gabriel slipped out like a night thief and crossed the street to Carter’s battered Volvo. He knew what Sarah’s answer would be. She had given it to him already. The South Tower was burning, she had said. Ben was burning. And so Gabriel was not concerned by the gallows expression on her face, twenty minutes later, when she emerged stoically from the town house and descended the steps to the waiting Suburban. Nor was he disturbed by the sight of Carter, five minutes after that, ambling morosely across the street like a pallbearer making for the casket. He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. “We have a plane at Andrews waiting to take you back to Israel,” he said. “We need to make one stop along the way. There’s someone who’d like a word with you before you leave.”

IT WAS AFTER midnight; K Street had been abandoned to the overnight delivery trucks and the taxicabs. Carter was driving at a faster pace than usual and making repeated glances at his wristwatch. “She doesn’t come for free, you know. There’ll be costs to using her. She’ll have to be resettled when this is over and protected for a long time.”

“But you’ll handle that, won’t you, Adrian? You’re the one with all the money. The budget for the American intelligence community alone is far more than the budget of our entire country.”

“Have you forgotten that this operation does not exist? Besides, you’re going to walk away with a great deal of Zizi’s money.”

“Fine,” said Gabriel. “You can be the one to tell Sarah Bancroft that she’s going to spend the next ten years living on a kibbutz in the Galilee hiding from the forces of global jihad.”

“All right, we’ll pay for her resettlement.”

Carter made a series of turns. For a moment Gabriel lost track of what street they were on. They passed the façade of a large neoclassical building, then turned into an official-looking driveway. On the left was a fortified guardhouse with bulletproof glass. Carter lowered his window and handed over his badge to the guard.

“We’re expected.”

The guard consulted a clipboard, then handed back Carter’s ID.

“Pull through, then stop in front of the barricade on the left. The dogs will give the car the once-over, then you can head on in.”

Carter nodded and raised his window. Gabriel said, “Where are we?”

Carter wound his way through the barricades and stopped where he’d been told. “The back door of the White House,” he said.