Daniel Silva - Portrait of a Spy

“You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“For the moment, my name is not important. I prefer to think of myself as a gatherer of sparks.” He paused, then added, “Just like you, Nadia.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Some of our ancient rabbis believed that when God was creating the universe, He placed His divine light into special celestial containers. But it turns out Creation didn’t go quite according to God’s plan, and an accident occurred. The vessels were broken, and the universe became filled with sparks of divine light and shards of broken vessels. The rabbis believed the task of Creation wouldn’t be complete until those sparks were gathered together. We call it Tikkun Olam, or Repair of the World. The people in this room are trying to repair the world, Nadia, and we believe that you are, too. You’re trying to gather the shards of hatred that have been spread by Wahhabi preachers. You’re trying to repair the damage caused by your father’s support of terrorism. We applaud your efforts. And we want to help.”

“How do you know all this about me?”

“Because we’ve been watching you for a long time.”

“Why?”

“Prudence,” said Gabriel. “After your father was killed in Cannes, we were afraid you would attempt to make good on your vow to avenge his death. And the last thing the world needed was another rich Saudi filling the pockets of terrorists with money. Our fears increased substantially when you quietly retained the services of a former Saudi GID officer named Faisal Qahtani to investigate the circumstances surrounding your father’s death. Mr. Qahtani reported that your father had been killed by the Israeli secret service, with the blessing of the CIA and the American president. He then went on to give you chapter and verse on your father’s long history of supporting the global jihadist movement.” Gabriel paused. “I’ve always wondered which aspect of your father’s life bothered you most, Nadia—that your father was a mass murderer, or that he lied to you. It can be very traumatic to learn that one has been misled by a parent.”

Nadia made no response. Gabriel pressed forward.

“We know what Mr. Qahtani told you because he gave the same briefing to us for the very reasonable price of one hundred thousand American dollars, deposited into a numbered Swiss bank account.” Gabriel permitted himself a brief smile. “Mr. Qahtani is a man with impeccable sources but suspect loyalties. He also has a fondness for beautiful women of the professional variety.”

“Was the information accurate?”

“Which part?”

“The part about the Israeli secret service murdering my father with the blessing of the CIA and the American president.”

Gabriel glanced at Zoe, who was doing an admirable job of concealing her curiosity. Now that her assignment was complete, she should have been quietly shown the door. But Gabriel had decided to allow her to remain in the room for now. His motives were purely selfish. He was acutely aware of the bond that had formed between his target and his agent of introduction. He was aware, too, that Zoe could be a powerful asset in helping to close the final deal. By her very presence, Zoe conferred legitimacy onto Gabriel’s cause and nobility onto his intent.

“Murder is hardly the correct word to describe what happened to your father,” he said. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I would prefer to continue for a moment longer on the topic of our mutual acquaintance, the duplicitous Mr. Qahtani. He did more than simply compile a postmortem on your father’s death. He also delivered a message from none other than the Saudi monarch himself. This message made it clear that certain elements of the House of Saud had known about your father’s activities and had tacitly approved of them. It also made it clear that under no circumstances were you to take any retributive actions against Israeli or American targets. The House of Saud was under tremendous pressure from Washington at that time to end the Kingdom’s support of extremist Islam and terrorism. The king didn’t want you to cause any further complications between Riyadh and Washington.”

“You were told this by Mr. Qahtani as well?”

“It was included in the original package, at no additional charge.”

“Did Mr. Qahtani characterize my reaction?”

“He did,” said Gabriel. “He said the warning from the House of Saud was probably needless because, in Mr. Qahtani’s opinion, you had no intention of following through on your vow to avenge your father’s death. What Mr. Qahtani didn’t realize was that you were repulsed by what you learned about your father—so repulsed, in fact, that you became something of an extremist yourself. After consolidating your grip on AAB Holdings, you decided to use your father’s fortune to undo the damage he had caused. You became a repairer of the world, a gatherer of sparks.”

Nadia gave a dismissive smile. “As I said to your friend Zoe at lunch the other day, it’s an interesting story, but it happens not to be true.”

Gabriel sensed that her denial lacked conviction. He decided the best course of action was to ignore it completely.

“You’re among friends, Nadia,” he said gently. “Admirers, actually. Not only do we admire the courage of your work, but we are also in awe of the skill with which you’ve concealed it. In fact, it took us quite some time to figure out that you were using cleverly constructed art transactions to launder money and put it in the hands of people you were trying to help. As professionals, we salute your tradecraft. In all honesty, we couldn’t have done it any better ourselves.”

Nadia looked up sharply, but this time she offered no denial. Gabriel sailed on.

“As a result of your skillful dealings, you’ve managed to keep your work secret from Saudi intelligence and the al-Saud. It’s a remarkable achievement, given the fact that you are surrounded day and night by your father’s old employees and security men. At first we were puzzled by your decision to retain their services. In retrospect, the reasons are quite obvious.”

“Are they?”

“You had no other choice. Your father was a wily businessman, but he didn’t exactly come by his fortune honestly. The House of Zizi was bought and paid for by the House of Saud, which means the al-Saud could break you with a snap of their royal fingers.”

Gabriel looked to Nadia for a reaction. Her face remained placid.

“It means you’re playing a dangerous game,” Gabriel continued. “You’re using the monarch’s money to spread ideas that could eventually threaten the monarch’s grip on his throne. That makes you a subversive. A heretic. And we both know what happens to subversives and heretics who threaten the House of Saud. One way or another, they’re eliminated.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you want to help me. In fact, it sounds as though you intend to blackmail me into doing your bidding.”

“Our only interest is that your work continues. We would, however, like to give you one piece of advice.”

“What sort of advice?”

“Investment advice,” said Gabriel. “We think now might be a good time to make a few changes in your portfolio—changes that are more in keeping with your birthright as the one and only child of the late Zizi al-Bakari.”

“My father was a financier of terrorism.”

“No, Nadia, he wasn’t just any financier of terrorism. Your father was unrivaled. Your father was Jihad Incorporated.”

“Forgive me,” Nadia said, “but I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“It’s simple. We want you to follow in your father’s footsteps. We want you to pick up the banner of jihad that fell from his grasp that terrible night in Cannes. We want you to avenge his death.”