“I have other plans for Zizi.”

“You’d better not. Besides, you need to keep your eye on the ball right now.”

“Eye on the ball? What does this mean?”

“It’s a sports metaphor, Gabriel. Play any sports?”

“I don’t have time for sports.”

“You’re getting more like Shamron with each passing day.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gabriel said. “Which ball should I be keeping my eye on?”

“Bin Shafiq.” Carter gave Gabriel a sideways glance. “Any sign of him?”

Gabriel shook his head. “You?”

“We may be on to something, actually.”

“Anything you want to tell me about?”

“Not yet.”

Carter drove across Memorial Bridge and turned onto the George Washington Parkway. They rode in silence for a few minutes. Gabriel looked out the window and admired the view of Georgetown on the other side of the river.

“I saw from your travel itinerary that you’re stopping in Rome on your way back to Israel,” Carter said. “Planning to undertake another assignment for the Vatican?”

“I just want to spend some time with Donati. When I left Rome, he still wasn’t conscious.” Gabriel looked at his watch. “Where are you taking me, Adrian?”

“You have a few hours before your flight. There’s a little place out in the Virginia horse country where we can have lunch.”

“How long before we get there?”

“About an hour.”

Gabriel reclined his seat and closed his eyes.

HE WOKE as they entered a small town called The Plains. Carter slowed as he negotiated the tiny central business district; then he crossed a set of old railroad tracks, and once again headed into the countryside. The road was familiar to Gabriel, as was the long gravel drive into which Carter turned two miles later. It ran along the edge of a narrow stream. To the left was a rolling meadow, and at the top of the meadow was a large farmhouse with a tarnished copper roof and a double-decker porch. When Gabriel had last visited the house, the trees had been empty of leaves and the ground covered in snow. Now the dogwoods were in bloom, and the fields were pale green with new spring grass.