She looked down at the airfield, wondering if Zizi had somehow left a crack through which she might escape. Surely there would be a customs officer to check her passport. Maybe an airport official or a policeman or two. She rehearsed the lines she would say to them. My name is Sarah Bancroft. I am an American citizen, and these men are trying to transport me to Switzerland against my will. Then she looked at Zizi and his chief of security. You’ve taken that scenario into account, haven’t you? You’ve paid off the customs officials and bribed the local police. Zizi didn’t countenance delays, especially not for a hysterical infidel woman.

The Sikorsky’s skids bumped down on the tarmac. Bin Talal opened the cabin door and climbed out, then reached back inside and offered Sarah his hand. She took it and climbed down the staircase, into a vortex of swirling wind. Fifty yards from the helicopter stood a waiting Falcon 2000, engines screaming in preparation for takeoff. She looked around: no customs officials, no policeman. Zizi had closed her only window. She looked back into the cabin of the Sikorsky and saw him for the last time. He gave her a genial wave, then looked at his gold Rolex, like an attending physician marking the time of death.

Bin Talal seized her bags, reminded her to duck her head, then took her by the arm and led her toward the Falcon. On the staircase she tried to pull away from him, but he squeezed her upper arm in a painful viselike grip and conveyed her up the steps. She screamed for help, but the sound was drowned out by the whining of the jet engines and the thumping of the Sikorsky’s rotor blade.

She staged one more rebellion at the top of the staircase, which bin Talal suppressed with a single shove between her shoulder blades. She stumbled inside, into a small cabin luxuriously appointed in polished wood and soft tan leather. It reminded her of a coffin. At least her journey to oblivion was going to be comfortable. She gathered herself for one more revolt and flew at the Saudi in a rage. Now, shielded from view by the outside world, there was no discretion in his response. He gave her a single open-handed blow that landed hard on her right cheekbone and sent her whirling to the cabin floor. The Saudis knew how to treat mutinous women.