“Was it bad?” Mikhail asked. “The beatings, I mean.”

“They were just having a bit of fun,” said Gabriel dismissively. He was in no mood to relive the previous night. “It was nothing compared to what Ibrahim endured at the hands of the Egyptian secret police.”

“Did it feel good to shoot him like that?”

“Ishaq?”

The younger man nodded.

“No, Mikhail, it didn’t feel good. But then, it didn’t feel bad either.” Gabriel lifted his hand and pointed toward the north entrance of the Abbey. “Look at all those people over there. Many of them would soon be dead if I hadn’t acted the way I did.”

“If we don’t hit our targets, they still may die.” Mikhail looked at Gabriel. “You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself that you were morally justified in torturing him.”

“I suppose I am. I crossed a line. But then we’ve all crossed a line. The Americans crossed a line after 9/11, and now they’re trying to find their way back to the other side. Unfortunately, the goals of the terrorists haven’t changed—and the generation soon to emerge from the killing fields of Iraq is going to be much more violent and volatile than the ones who came out of Afghanistan.”

“We dare to fight back, and the terrorists accuse us of being the real terrorists.”

“It’s their secret weapon, Mikhail. Get used to it.”

Gabriel heard a crackle in his earpiece. He looked toward the north entrance of the Abbey and saw the vast doors swing slowly open. Graham Seymour had arranged for the Abbey’s staff to admit the Christmas worshippers earlier than was customary, a simple maneuver that would drastically reduce the number of potential targets. Gabriel only hoped the shaheeds didn’t deduce from the change that they were walking into a trap.

“Where was I?” Gabriel asked.

“You were talking about secret weapons.”

“Last night, Mikhail. Where was I last night?”

“Harwich.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit Harwich,” Gabriel said. “How much did Chiara see?”

“Only the end, when they were loading you into the van.” Mikhail put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I wish you would have let me shoot that bastard for you.”

“Relax, Mikhail. It’s Christmas.”

“Not for us,” Mikhail said. “I only hope Ishaq wasn’t lying.”

“He wasn’t,” said Gabriel.

“What if they bring her somewhere else?”

“They won’t. You have your cigarettes?”

Mikhail tapped the left-hand pocket of his jacket.

“And your lighter?” asked Gabriel.

“I have everything. We just need Elizabeth.”

“She’s coming,” said Gabriel. “It will be over soon.”