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Chapters (48)
  1. PART ONE The Door of Death
  2. 1. London
  3. 2. Jerusalem
  4. 3. Jerusalem
  5. 4. Vatican City
  6. 5. Vatican City
  7. 6. Vatican City
  8. 7. Rome
  9. 8. Venice
  10. 9. Jerusalem
  11. PART TWO Dr. Gachet’s Daughter
  12. 10. Ein Kerem, Jerusalem
  13. 11. London
  14. 12. Tel Megiddo, Israel
  15. 13. London
  16. 14. The Marais, Paris
  17. 15. The Marais, Paris
  18. 16. McLean, Virginia
  19. 17. Georgetown
  20. 18. London
  21. 19. London
  22. 20. London
  23. 21. London
  24. PART THREE The Night Journey
  25. 22. Harbor Island, Bahamas
  26. 23. Off the Bahamas
  27. 24. Gustavia, Saint-Barthélemy
  28. 25. Gustavia, Saint-Barthélemy
  29. 26. Pointe Mangin, Saint-Barthélemy
  30. 27. Gustavia Harbor, Saint-Barthélemy
  31. 28. CIA Headquarters
  32. 29. Off Saint Maarten
  33. 30. Saint Maarten
  34. 31. Kloten, Switzerland
  35. 32. Zurich
  36. 33. Zug, Switzerland
  37. 34. Canton Uri, Switzerland
  38. 35. Canton Uri, Switzerland
  39. 36. Zug, Switzerland
  40. 37. Vatican City
  41. 38. Rome
  42. PART FOUR The Witness
  43. 39. Washington
  44. 40. Tiberias, Israel
  45. 41. Paris: August
  46. 42. Istanbul: August
  47. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  48. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Ali Massoudi, graduate professor of global governance and social theory at the University of Bremen, was the last to rise. Hardly surprising, his jealous colleagues might have said, for among the incestuous world of Middle Eastern studies, Massoudi had the reputation of one who never willingly relinquished a stage. Palestinian by birth, Jordanian by passport, and European by upbringing and education, Professor Massoudi appeared to all the world like a man of moderation. The shining future of Arabia, they called him. The very face of progress. He was known to be distrustful of religion in general and militant Islam in particular. In newspaper editorials, in lecture halls, and on television, he could always be counted on to lament the dysfunction of the Arab world. Its failure to properly educate its people. Its tendency to blame the Americans and the Zionists for all its ailments. His last book had amounted to a clarion call for an Islamic Reformation. The jihadists had denounced him as a heretic. The moderates had proclaimed he had the courage of Martin Luther. That afternoon he had argued, much to Sayyid’s dismay, that the ball was now squarely in the Palestinian court. Until the Palestinians part company with the culture of terror, Massoudi had said, the Israelis could never be expected to cede an inch of the West Bank. Nor should they. Sacrilege, Sayyid had cried. Apostasy.

Professor Massoudi was tall, a bit over six feet in height, and far too good-looking for a man who worked in close proximity to impressionable young women. His hair was dark and curly, his cheekbones wide and strong, and his square chin had a deep notch in the center. The eyes were brown and deeply set and lent his face an air of profound and reassuring intelligence. Dressed as he was now, in a cashmere sport jacket and cream-colored rollneck sweater, he seemed the very archetype of the European intellectual. It was an image he worked hard to convey. Naturally deliberate of movement, he packed his papers and pens methodically into his well-traveled briefcase, then descended the steps from the stage and headed up the center aisle toward the exit.