The Gulfstream V executive jet touched down at Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington and taxied to a secure hangar with floors as smooth as polished marble. Gabriel descended the airstair, Samsonite bag in hand, and headed toward a waiting Suburban with Virginia license plates. The two CIA security men inside did not speak as he tossed the suitcase into the backseat and climbed in after it. Gabriel was used to this sort of behavior by the Americans. They were trained by their counter-intelligence people to believe that Office agents viewed every encounter with Agency personnel, no matter how mundane, as an opportunity for intelligence gathering. He was tempted to pose an inappropriate question or two, just to keep the myth alive. Instead he asked only where they were taking him.

“Headquarters,” said the man in the passenger seat.

“I don’t want to go to Headquarters.”

“You’ll go into the building black. No one will know you’re there.”

“Why can’t we meet in a safe house, the way we usually do?”

“Your contact doesn’t have time to leave the building today. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Gabriel was about to object again but stopped himself. Twice in the past year his photograph had appeared in the world’s newspapers, once for his actions inside the Vatican, and again for his attempt to prevent the kidnapping of Elizabeth Halton. Making his first appearance at Langley didn’t seem to matter much in comparison. Besides, if Shamron and the prime minister had their way, it wouldn’t be his last.

There was little traffic on the road at that hour on a Saturday, and it took them just thirty minutes to make the drive from Andrews to the woods of Langley. After a brief pause at the heavily fortified gatehouse for a credential check, they headed up the long immaculate drive toward the OHB, the Original Headquarters Building. Because Gabriel was entering the building “black,” they sped past the main entrance and turned into an underground parking garage. One of the security men helped Gabriel with the Samsonite bag; the other led the way into a secure elevator. A card key was inserted, buttons were pushed, and a moment later they were ascending rapidly toward the seventh floor. When the doors opened, two more security men were waiting in the foyer, guns visible beneath their blazers. Gabriel was escorted along a carpeted corridor to a secure door, beyond which lay a suite of spacious offices occupied by the most powerful intelligence officers in the world. The man standing in the anteroom, dressed in gray flannel trousers and a wrinkled oxford cloth shirt, looked as though he had wandered in by mistake.

“How was the flight?” asked Adrian Carter.

“You have a very nice plane.”

He shook Gabriel’s hand warmly and looked at the bag.

“Planning to stay long, or just a day or two?”

“Only as long as I’m welcome,” Gabriel said.