A string quartet was sawing away indifferently at a Bach minuet downstairs in the parlor. Gabriel and Sarah slipped past them without a glance and struck out across the square toward the cafés along the New Harbor. It had turned much colder; Sarah wore a beret, and her coat collar was turned up dramatically. When Gabriel teased her about looking too much like a spy, she seized his arm playfully and pressed her body against his shoulder. They sat outside along the quay and drank freezing Carlsberg beneath a hissing gas heater. Gabriel picked at a plate of fried cod and potatoes while Sarah stared at the colorful floodlit façades of the canal houses on the opposite embankment.

“Better than Langley, I suppose.”

“Anything is better than Langley,” he said.

She looked up at the hard black sky. “I suppose your fate is now in the hands of NSA and its satellites.”

“Yours, too,” Gabriel said. “You would have been wise to go to London with Adrian.”

“And miss this?” She lowered her gaze toward the canal houses. “If he calls tonight, do you think we’ll be able to find her?”

“It depends on how well NSA is able to pinpoint Ishaq’s location. Even if NSA does manage to locate Elizabeth, Washington is going to have another problem—how to get her out alive. Ishaq and his colleagues are more than willing to die, which means that any attempt to storm the hideout will no doubt end violently. But I’m sure expert opinion will come up with a plan.”

“Don’t play the wounded martyr, Gabriel. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I didn’t appreciate some of the things that were said about me in Washington today.”

“Washington is a town without pity.”

“So is Jerusalem.”

“Then you’re going to need a thicker skin when you become the chief of the Office.” She gave him a mischievous sideways glance over the top of her collar. “Adrian says it’s just a rumor, but, judging from your reaction, it’s true.” She raised her glass. “Mazel tov.”

“Condolences would be more appropriate.”

“You don’t want the job?”

“Some men have greatness thrust upon them.”

“You’re in a fine mood tonight.”

“Forgive me, Sarah. Talk of genocide and extermination tends to spoil the evening for me.”

“Oh, that.” She sipped her beer and fought off a shiver. “You know, this restaurant does have an indoor section.”

“Yes, but it’s harder for me to tell whether we’re being watched.”

“Are we?”

“You’re trained in countersurveillance. You tell me.”

“There was a man drinking in the bar when we left the hotel,” she said. “He’s now standing on the other side of the canal with a woman who’s at least fifteen years older than he is.”

“Is he Danish security?”

“He was speaking German in the bar.”

“So.”