“Who are we seeing?” Gabriel asked, but Carter was now speaking to another officer, this one struggling to control a large German shepherd straining at a thick leather leash. Gabriel, whose fear of dogs was legendary within the Office, sat motionless while the animal prowled the perimeter of the Volvo, searching for concealed explosives. A moment later they were directed through another security gate. Carter pulled into an empty parking space on East Executive Drive and shut down the engine.

“This is as far as I go.”

“Who am I seeing, Adrian?”

“Go through that gate over there and walk up the drive toward the house. He’ll be out in a minute.”

THE DOGS came first, two coal-black terriers that shot from the Diplomatic Entrance like bullets from a gun barrel and launched a preemptive strike on Gabriel’s trousers. The president emerged a few seconds later. He advanced on Gabriel with one hand out while the other was gesturing for the terriers to break off their onslaught. The two men shook hands briefly, then set off along the footpath that ran around the periphery of the South Lawn. The terriers launched one more sortie against Gabriel’s ankles. Carter watched as Gabriel turned and murmured something in Hebrew that sent the dogs scurrying toward the protection of a Secret Service agent.

Their conversation lasted just five minutes, and to Carter it seemed the president did most of the talking. They moved at a brisk pace, stopping only once in order to settle what appeared to be a minor disagreement. Gabriel removed his hands from his coat pockets and used them to illustrate whatever point he was trying to make. The president appeared unconvinced at first, then he nodded and clapped Gabriel hard on the shoulders.

They completed their circuit and parted at the Diplomatic Entrance. As Gabriel started back toward East Executive Drive the dogs trotted after him, then turned and darted into the White House after their master. Gabriel slipped through the open gate and climbed into Carter’s car.

“How was he?” Carter asked as they turned into 15th Street.

“Resolute.”

“It looked like you had a bit of an argument.”

“I’d characterize it as a polite disagreement.”

“About what?”

“Our conversation was private, Adrian, and it will remain so.”

“Good man,” said Carter.

18. London

London

THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT Isherwood Fine Arts had sold Daniel in the Lions’ Den by Peter Paul Rubens for the sum of ten million pounds came on the first Wednesday of the new year. By Friday the clamor had been eclipsed by a rumor that Isherwood was bringing aboard a partner.