Al-Zayyat arrived at the Ramses Towers shortly after 10:30 and found the building surrounded by several hundred raw police recruits. He knew that many of the young officers secretly supported the goals of the Sword—and that many of them, if given the opportunity, would gladly duplicate the actions of Lieutenant Khaled Islambouli and put a bullet through Pharaoh’s chest. He directed his driver to a spot across the street and lowered his window. Aman from his directorate, spotting the official Mercedes, came over at a trot.

“We went in about two minutes ago,” the officer said. “The place was empty, but it was clear someone had been there recently and that whoever it was had left in a hurry. There was food on the table and pans in the kitchen. Everything was still warm.”

Al-Zayyat swore softly. Was it bad luck, or did he have a traitor in his midst—someone inside the SSI who had alerted the sheikh that Mandali had been captured and was talking?

“Close the Zamalek bridges,” he said. “No one gets off the island without a thorough search. Then start knocking on doors inside the Ramses. I don’t care if you have to ruffle the feathers of the rich and famous. I want to make sure the sheikh isn’t still hiding somewhere inside.”

The officer turned and ran back toward the entrance of the building. Al-Zayyat drew his mobile phone from his pocket and dialed a number inside the Scorpion.

“We hit a dry well,” he told the man who answered.

“Shall we have another go at Mandali?”

“No, he’s dry, too.”

“What do you want us to do with him?”

“We never had him,” al-Zayyat said. “We’ve never heard of him. He’s nothing. He’s no one.”

Chapter 33

33

COPENHAGEN: 10:24 P.M., TUESDAY

Gabriel sat before the recorder, slipped on a pair of headphones, and pressed PLAY.

“I was afraid you were never going to call tonight. Do you know what time it is?”

“I’ve been busy. You’ve seen the news?”

“The bombings? It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“What are they saying?”

“The Danes are shocked, of course. They’re wondering when it’s going to happen in Copenhagen. Here in Nørrebro, they say Europe is getting what it deserves for supporting the Americans. They want the Americans to release the sheikh.”

“Be careful what you say on the telephone, Hanifah. You never know who’s listening.”

“Who would bother to listen to me? I’m no one.”

“You’re married to a man who works for the Islamic Affairs Council of Denmark.”

“A man who thinks nothing of leaving his wife and child to roam the Middle East conducting research on the state of the Islamic world. Where are you tonight anyway?”

“Istanbul. How’s Ahmed?”

Gabriel pressed STOP, then REWIND, then PLAY.

“Where are you tonight anyway?”

“Istanbul. How’s Ahmed?”

“He misses his father.”

“I want to talk to him.”