“I’ll tell you on the way,” Zizi said, taking her by the arm.

“You’re coming with me?”

“Only as far as Saint Maarten.” He pulled her toward the stairs that led to the helipad. “There’s a private jet for you there.”

“Where’s the private jet going?”

“It’s taking you to see a painting. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

“Where’s it going, Zizi?”

He stopped halfway down the stairs and looked at her, his eyes concealed behind the dark glass.

“Is something bothering you, Sarah? You seem tense.”

“I just don’t like getting on airplanes when I don’t know where they’re going.”

Zizi smiled and started to tell her, but his words were drowned out by the engine of the Sikorsky.

GABRIEL WAS STANDING in the prow of Sun Dancer when the helicopter lifted off. He watched for a moment, then rushed up to the bridge, where a navy lieutenant was at the helm.

“They’re moving her to Saint Maarten. How far are we from shore?”

“About five miles.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“Given the weather, I’d say thirty minutes. Maybe a bit less.”

“And the Zodiacs?”

“You don’t want to try it in a Zodiac—not in these conditions.”

“Get us close—as quickly as possible.”

The lieutenant nodded, and started making preparations to change heading. Gabriel went to the command center and dialed Carter.

“She’s headed toward the airport on Saint Maarten as we speak.”

“Is she alone?”

“Zizi and his chief of security are with her.”

“How long before you can get there?”

“Forty-five minutes to shore. Another fifteen to the airport.”

“I’ll put the crew on standby. The plane will be ready when you arrive.”

“Now we just need to know where Zizi’s sending her.”

“Thanks to al-Qaeda, we’re now tapped into every traffic control tower in the hemisphere. When Zizi’s pilot files a flight plan, we’ll know where she’s going.”

“How long will it take?”

“Usually it takes us only a few minutes.”

“I don’t suppose I need to remind you that sooner is better.”

“Just get to shore,” Carter said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“IT’S A MANET,” Zizi said as they swept toward the coastline, just beneath the deck of low dark clouds. “I’ve had my eye on it for several years now. The owner has been reluctant to part with it, but last night he telephoned my office in Geneva and said he was interested in making a deal.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Inspect the painting and make certain it’s in reasonable condition. Then review the provenance carefully. As I’m sure you’re aware, thousands of French Impressionist paintings entered Switzerland during the war under illicit circumstances. The last thing I need is some Jewish family beating down my door demanding their painting back.”