“How long ago?”

“Six months.”

Carter rose slowly to his feet and wandered over to the fireplace. He was about to rap his pipe against the grate when Gabriel reminded him that it was a fake. He sat down again and emptied the pipe into a large cut-glass ashtray.

“How many Americans were killed at the Vatican?” Gabriel asked.

“Twenty-eight, including a Curial bishop.”

“How much money has Zizi al-Bakari given to the terrorists over the years?”

“Hundreds of millions.”

“Go after him,” Gabriel said. “Make a case against him and put him on trial.”

“Against Zizi al-Bakari?”

“Section 18 U.S.C. 2339B—have you ever heard of it, Adrian?”

“You’re quoting American law to me now?”

“It’s a violation of American law to give money to designated terrorist groups, regardless of whether the money was used for specific attacks. You could have probably prosecuted dozens of wealthy Saudis for giving material support to your enemies, including Zizi al-Bakari.”

“You disappoint me, Gabriel. I always thought of you as a fairly reasonable fellow—a bit too concerned with questions of right and wrong at times, but reasonable. We can’t go after Zizi al-Bakari.”

“Why?”

“Money,” said Carter, then added, “And oil, of course.”

“Of course.”

Carter toyed with his lighter. “The Saudi Royal Family has a lot of friends in Washington—the kind of friends only money can buy. Zizi has friends as well. He’s endowed academic chairs and filled them with associates and supporters. He’s underwritten the creation of Arab studies departments at a half dozen major American universities. He almost single-handedly financed a major renovation of the Kennedy Center. He gives to the pet charitable projects of influential senators and invests in the business ventures of their friends and relatives. He owns a chunk of one of our most prominent banks and bits and pieces of several other prominent American companies. He’s also served as a middleman on countless Saudi-American business deals. Is the picture becoming clear to you now?”

It was, but Gabriel wanted to hear more.

“If Zizi’s battalion of Washington lawyers even suspected he was the target of a criminal probe, Zizi would call His Majesty, and His Majesty would call Ambassador Bashir, and Ambassador Bashir would pop over to the White House for a little chat with the president. He would remind the president that a twist or two on the oil spigots would send the price of gasoline over five dollars a gallon. He might even point out that a price spike of that magnitude would surely hurt people in the heartland, who tend to drive long distances, and who also tend to vote for the president’s party.”

“So Zizi gets away with murder—literally.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Ask not about things which, if made plain to you, may cause you trouble.”

“You know your Quran,” Carter said.