Carter went downstairs. The executive parking lot was nearly empty of other cars. He climbed into his Volvo and headed toward Northwest Washington, following the route he and Gabriel had taken eight weeks earlier. As he passed Zizi al-Bakari’s estate, he slowed and peered through the bars of the gate, toward the hideous faux-chateau mansion perched on the cliff overlooking the river. Don’t touch her, Carter thought savagely. Harm one hair on her head, and I’ll kill you myself. As he headed over Chain Bridge, he glanced down at his dash. A warning light was glowing red. How appropriate, he thought. His gas tank was nearly empty.

AT THAT same moment, Sun Dancer was rounding Grande Pointe and returning to the anchorage off Gustavia. Gabriel stood alone in the prow, field glasses pressed to his eyes, gazing at the afterdeck of Alexandra, where the ship’s crew were serving a hastily prepared dinner for thirty. Gabriel saw them as figures in a painting. The Boating Party, he thought. Or was it The Last Supper?

There was Zizi, seated regally at the head of the table, as though the events of the evening had been a welcome diversion from the monotony of an otherwise ordinary journey. At his left hand sat his beautiful daughter, Nadia. At his right hand, stabbing at his food without appetite, was his trusted second in command, Daoud Hamza. Farther down the table were the lawyers, Abdul & Abdul, and Herr Wehrli, minder of Zizi’s money. There was Mansur, maker of travel arrangements, and Hassan, chief of communications, secure and otherwise. There was Jean-Michel, tender of Zizi’s fitness and supplementary security man, and his sullen wife, Monique. There was Rahimah Hamza and her lover, Hamid, the beautiful Egyptian film star. There was a quartet of anxious-looking bodyguards and several attractive women with guiltless faces. And then, seated at the far end of the table, as far from Zizi as possible, there was a beautiful woman in saffron silk. She provided the balance to the composition. She was innocence to Zizi’s evil. And Gabriel could see that she was frightened to death. Gabriel knew he was witnessing a performance. But for whose benefit was it being staged? His or Sarah’s?

At midnight the figures in his painting stood and bade each other goodnight. Sarah disappeared through a passageway and was lost to him once more. Zizi, Daoud Hamza, and Wazir bin Talal entered Zizi’s office. Gabriel saw it as a new painting: Meeting of Three Evil Men, artist unknown.

Five minutes later Hassan rushed into the office and handed Zizi a mobile telephone. Who was calling? Was it one of Zizi’s brokers asking for instructions on what position to take at the opening of trading in London? Or was it Ahmed bin Shafiq, murderer of innocents, telling Zizi what to do with Gabriel’s girl?