“All right, Adrian, we’ll let you come along.”

“Nothing would make me happier, but leaving Headquarters is not an option, at least not at the moment. I do have another candidate in mind, someone who’s experienced in the field and has been forged by fire. And the best part is you trained her.”

Gabriel stopped walking. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“Where is she?”

“The Saudi desk at the Counterterrorism Center.”

“How soon can she be ready to leave?”

“I’ll make one phone call and she’s yours.”

Chapter 19

19

OFF LE HAVRE, FRANCE: 4:49 P.M., SATURDAY

The lights of the French coastline pricked the darkness off the prow of the Portsmouth–to–Le Havre ferry. The man seated near the observation windows in the upper lounge glanced at his wristwatch. Thirty minutes remained of the five-hour crossing. He signaled the waitress and, with a small gesture of his hand, ordered another Carlsberg, his fourth of the journey. She brought it a moment later and placed it suggestively on his table. She had bleached-blond hair and a jeweled stud in her lower lip. Her name tag said CHRISTINE. The man stared directly at her, the way infidel men always stared at their women, and allowed his eyes to wander over her breasts.

“You have a name?” she asked.

“Thomas,” he said.

It wasn’t his real name. It was borrowed, like his borrowed driver’s license and borrowed British passport. His Yorkshire accent was the real thing. He was a Yorkshire lad, born and bred.

“I could be wrong, Thomas, but I think you have an admirer.”

“Oh, really? Who?”

The waitress glanced toward the other side of the lounge. Seated alone at a table near the opposite window was a small woman in her mid-twenties with short dark hair and stormy black eyes. She was dressed in tight jeans and a snug-fitting pullover embroidered with the word OUI.

“She’s been looking at you ever since we left Portsmouth,” the waitress said. “Can’t keep her eyes off you, actually.”

“Not my type.”

“What is your type?”

He remembered the words his controller had spoken during the final briefing. Whatever you do, don’t sit by yourself looking as though you are a terrorist. Strike up a conversation. Buy someone a drink. Flirt with a girl if there’s a girl to flirt with.

“I like girls named Christine who serve drinks on Channel ferries.”

“You don’t say.”

She smiled at him. He felt his stomach churn with rage.

“When are you going back to England?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, midday.”

“What a coincidence. I’m going back on the same boat. I’ll see you then, I hope.”

“Cheers to that.”