He could recall the events of the rest of the evening, however, with faultless clarity. Ordered by the kidnappers to relinquish his telephone in Funen, he had been forced to drive the crippled Audi with its blasted-out windshield three miles in order to find a public phone. He had rung Carter and Mortensen from the parking lot of a small market on the outskirts of Skagen and, in language fit for an insecure line, had told them what had transpired. Then he had driven back to the dunes and watched the cottage burn slowly to the ground. Twenty more minutes would elapse before he heard the distant scream of the sirens and saw the first police and firefighters stumble bewildered onto the scene. A uniformed policeman had peppered Gabriel with questions while an ambulance attendant wiped the blood from his face. Talk to Lars Mortensen of the PET, was all Gabriel said. Mortensen will explain everything.

“You’re sure about the body count in the cottage?” Gabriel asked Mortensen now.

“You’ve asked me that ten times.”

“Answer it again.”

“There were only three—the two terrorists and the old man. No Elizabeth Halton.” Mortensen fell silent as the Gulfstream set down on the runway and flashed past their position with the roar of reversing engines. “Not exactly the way the story of Abraham and Isaac turned out in the Bible. I still can’t quite believe he actually set up his own father to be killed.”

“It’s the al-Qaeda version,” said Gabriel. “Murder anyone who dares to oppose you, even your own flesh and blood.”

The Gulfstream had reached the end of the runway and was now taxiing back toward their position on the tarmac.

“You’ll do your best to keep my role in this affair a secret?” Gabriel asked.

“There’s always a chance it could leak out up here. Unfortunately, you came in contact with many people last night. But as far as my service is concerned, you and your team were never here.”

Gabriel zipped his leather jacket and extended his hand. “Then it was a pleasure not meeting you.”

“The pleasure was mine.” Mortensen gave Gabriel’s hand an admonitory squeeze. “But the next time you come to Denmark, do me the courtesy of telling me first. We’ll have lunch. Who knows? Maybe we’ll actually have something pleasant to talk about.”

“I suppose anything’s possible.” Gabriel climbed out of the car, then peered at Mortensen through the open door. “I nearly forget something.”

“What’s that?”

He told him about the Beretta he had been forced to leave at the rest stop on Funen. Mortensen frowned and murmured something in Danish under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. “It slipped my mind.”

“I don’t suppose you removed the bullets before throwing it into that rubbish bin.”

“Actually, it was quite loaded.”