Alexandra lay directly before him, by far the largest private vessel in port, second in scale only to the cruise ship that had come in overnight. Gabriel turned a few degrees to port and headed toward Sun Dancer, which was anchored several hundred yards away, near the twin rocks that stood guard over the entrance of the harbor. He tied off the Zodiac at the stern and went into the main salon, which had been converted into a mobile command and operations center. There was a secure satellite telephone and a computer with a link to King Saul Boulevard. Two dozen cellular phones and several handheld radios stood in formation in their chargers, and a video camera with telephoto lens was trained on Alexandra.

Gabriel stood before the monitor and watched Sarah step out onto her private sundeck. Then he looked at Yaakov, who was on the phone to Tel Aviv. When Yaakov hung up a moment later, Gabriel held up the gift card. Alain al-Nasser—Montreal.

“That’s our girl,” Yaakov said. “Have a seat, Gabriel. King Saul Boulevard has had a busy morning.”

GABRIEL POURED HIMSELF a cup of coffee from a thermos and sat down.

“Technical hacked into the reservation system of the villa rental firm early this morning,” Yaakov said. “The villa where Sarah went last night was rented by a company called Meridian Construction of Montreal.”

“Meridian Construction is controlled entirely by AAB Holdings,” Lavon said.

“Did the reservation say who would be staying there?” Gabriel asked.

Yaakov shook his head. “The booking was handled by a woman named Katrine Devereaux at Meridian headquarters. She paid for everything in advance and instructed the rental company to have the house open and ready for his arrival.”

“When did he get here?”

“Three days ago, according to the records.”

“How much longer is he staying?”

“The reservation is for four more nights.”

“What about his car?”

“There’s a Cabriolet parked at the house now. The sticker on the back says Island Rental Cars. No computerized reservation system. Everything’s on paper. If we want the particulars we’ll have to break in the old-fashioned way.”

Gabriel looked at Mordecai, a neviot man by training. “Their office is at the airport,” Mordecai said. “It’s nothing more than a booth with a sliding aluminum shutter over the window and one door for the staff to come in and out. We could be inside in a matter of seconds. The problem is that the airport itself is under guard at night. We could lose the entire operation just to find out the name and credit card number he used to rent his car.”

“Too risky,” Gabriel said. “Any activity on the telephone?”

Mordecai had placed a transmitter in the junction box overnight. “One call this morning,” he said. “A woman. She phoned a hair salon in Saint-Jean and made an appointment for this afternoon.”

“What did she call herself?”