SARAH WOKE to paralyzing cold, her ears ringing with the hiss of tires over wet asphalt. Where am I now? she thought, and then she remembered. She was in the trunk of a Mercedes, an unwilling passenger on Muhammad’s night journey to oblivion. Slowly, bit by bit, she gathered up the fragments of this day without end and placed them in proper sequence. She saw Zizi in his helicopter, glancing at his wristwatch as he sent her to her death. And Jean-Michel, her traveling companion, catching a few minutes of sleep along the way. And finally, she saw the monster, Ahmed bin Shafiq, warning her that his bloodbath at the Vatican was not yet complete. She heard his voice now; the drumbeat cadence of his questions.

I want to know the name of the man who contacted you on the beach at Saline…

He is Yaakov, she thought. And he is five times the man you are.

I want to know the name of the girl with the limp who walked by Le Tetou during Zizi’s dinner party…

She is Dina, she thought. The avenged remnant.

I want to know the name of the man who spilled wine on my colleague in Saint-Jean…

He is Gabriel, she thought. And one day very soon he’s going to kill you.

They’re gone now, and you’re all alone…

No, I’m not, she thought. They’re here with me. All of them.

And in her mind she saw them coming for her through the snowfall. Would they arrive before Muhammad bestowed upon her a painless death? Would they come in time to learn the secret that Ahmed bin Shafiq had so arrogantly spit in her face? Sarah knew she could help them. She had information Muhammad wanted—and it was hers to give at whatever pace, and in whatever detail, she desired. Go slowly, she thought. Take all the time in the world.

She closed her eyes and once again started to lose consciousness. This time it was sleep. She remembered the last thing Gabriel had said to her the night before her departure from London. Sleep, Sarah, he had said. You have a long journey ahead of you.

WHEN SHE woke next the car was pitching violently. Gone was the hiss of tires moving over wet asphalt. Now it seemed they were plowing through deep snow over a rough track. This was confirmed for her a moment later when the tires lost traction and one of the occupants was forced to climb out and push. When the car stopped again, Sarah heard voices in Arabic and Swiss German, then the deep groan of frozen metal hinges. They drove on for a moment longer, then stopped a third time—the final time, she assumed, because the car’s engine immediately went silent.