Daniel Silva - The Messenger

The two bodyguards made an outpost for themselves about twenty yards away. Nadia removed her beach dress and sat on her towel. Her long dark hair was combed straight back and shimmering with gel. She wore silver-tinted sunglasses, through which it was possible to see her wide liquid eyes. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bodyguards, then removed her top. Her breasts were heavy and beautifully formed. Her skin, after two weeks in the sun, was deeply tanned. Sarah sat down in one of the chairs and buried her feet in the sand.

“Do you like having them?” Sarah asked.

“The bodyguards?” Nadia shrugged. “When you’re the daughter of Zizi al-Bakari, bodyguards are a fact of life. Do you know how much I’m worth to a kidnapper or a terrorist?”

“Billions.”

“Exactly.” She reached into her beach bag and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims. She lit one for herself and offered one to Sarah, who shook her head. “I don’t smoke on Alexandra in deference to my father’s wishes. But when I’m away from him…” Her voice trailed off. “You won’t tell him, will you?”

“Cross my heart.” Sarah inclined her head toward the bodyguards. “What about them?”

“They wouldn’t dare tell my father.”

Nadia returned the cigarettes to her bag and exhaled smoke toward the cloudless blue sky. Sarah closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of very cold rosé in there, would you?”

“I wish,” Nadia said. “Jean-Michel always manages to smuggle a little wine on board. I’m sure he’d give you a bottle or two if you asked nicely.”

“I’m afraid Jean-Michel wants to give me more than just wine.”

“Yes, he’s very attracted to you.” Nadia pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead and closed her eyes. “There’s a restaurant just behind the dunes. We can have a drink at the bar later if you like.”

“I didn’t realize you drank.”

“Not much, but I do love banana daiquiris on a day like today.”

“I thought your religion forbade it.”

Nadia waved her hand dismissively.

“You’re not religious?” Sarah asked.

“I love my faith, but I’m also a modern Saudi woman. We have two faces. When we are at home, we are obligated to keep it hidden behind a black veil. But in the West…”

“You can drink the occasional daiquiri and lie topless on the beach.”

“Exactly.”

“Does your father know?”

She nodded. “He wants me to be a true woman of the West but remain faithful to the tenets of Islam. I’ve told him that’s not possible, at least not in the strictest sense, and he respects that. I’m not a child, Sarah. I’m twenty-seven years old.”

She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “And how old are you?”

“Thirty-one,” Sarah said.

“Have you ever been married?”

Sarah shook her head. Her face was still turned to the sun, and her skin felt as though it was burning. Nadia knows, she thought. They all know.

“You’re a beautiful girl,” Nadia said. “Why aren’t you married yet?”

Because of a telephone call I received at 8:53 the morning of September 11, 2001…

“All the usual excuses,” she said. “First there was college, then my doctorate, then work. I suppose I’ve never had time for love.”

“No time for love? How sad.”

“It’s an American disease.”

Nadia lowered her sunglasses over her eyes and rolled onto her back.

“The sun is strong,” Sarah said. “You should cover up.”

“I never burn. It’s one of the good things about being a Saudi.” She reached out and lazily buried the end of her cigarette in the sand. “It must be very strange for you.”

“What’s that?”

“An all-American girl like you, working for Zizi al-Bakari.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Nadia, but I’m hardly an all-American girl. I spent most of my childhood in Europe. When I went back to America to go to college, I felt terribly out of place. It took me a long time to adjust.”

“It doesn’t bother you working for a Saudi?”

“Why should it?”

“Because many people in your country blame us for the attacks on 9/11.”

“I don’t happen to be one of them,” Sarah said, then she recited the lines that Gabriel had given her in Surrey. “Osama chose Saudis to carry out the attacks so he could drive a wedge between your country and ours. He’s declared war on the House of Saud as well as America. We’re allies in the fight against al-Qaeda, not adversaries.”

“The Saudi intelligence services have warned my father repeatedly that he is a target of the terrorists because of his close relationship with the Royal Family. That’s why we have such stringent security.” She gestured toward the bodyguards. “That’s why we have to bring gorillas to the beach instead of two nice-looking boys.”

She rolled over onto her stomach, exposing her back to the warm sun. Sarah closed her eyes and drifted into a hazy dream-filled sleep. She woke an hour later to find their once-secluded spot surrounded by other people. Rafiq and Sharuki were now seated directly behind them. Nadia appeared to be sleeping. “I’m hot,” she murmured to the bodyguards. “I’m going for a swim.” When Rafiq started to get to his feet, Sarah motioned for him to stay. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

She walked slowly into the water, until the waves began breaking over her waist, then plunged beneath the surface and kicked hard several times until she was past the rough surf. When she broke through the surface again, Yaakov was floating next to her.

“How long are you planning to stay in Saint Bart’s?”

“I don’t know. They never tell me anything.”

“Are you safe?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Have you seen anyone who could be bin Shafiq?”

She shook her head.

“We’re here with you, Sarah. All of us. Now swim away from me and don’t look back. If they ask about me, tell them I was flirting with you.”

And with that he disappeared beneath the surface and was gone. Sarah went back to the beach and laid down on a towel next to Nadia.

“Who was that man you were talking to?” she asked.

Sarah felt her heart give a sideways lurch. She managed to answer calmly. “I don’t know,” she said, “but he was hitting on me right in front of his girlfriend.”

“What do you expect? He’s a Jew.”

“How can you tell?”

“Trust me, I can tell. Never talk to strangers, Sarah. Especially Jews.”

SARAH WAS in her cabin dressing for dinner when she heard the whine of the Sikorsky’s engine. She fastened the pearls around her neck and hurried up to the afterdeck, where she found Zizi seated on a couch in the cool evening air, dressed in a pair of fashionably cut faded blue jeans and a white pullover. “We’re going to the island for dinner tonight,” he said. “Nadia and I are taking the last helicopter. You’ll come with us.”

They boarded the Sikorsky twenty minutes later. As they floated over the harbor, the lights of Gustavia glowed softly against the gathering darkness. They passed over the ridge of steep hills behind the port and descended toward the airfield, where the others were waiting at the end of the tarmac, clustered around a convoy of gleaming black Toyota Land Cruisers.

With Zizi safely in place, the convoy set out toward the airport exit. On the opposite side of the road, in the parking lot of the island’s main shopping center, Sarah briefly glimpsed Yossi and Rimona sitting astride a motor scooter. She leaned forward and looked over at Zizi, who was seated next to his daughter.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ve commandeered a restaurant in Gustavia for dinner. But first we’re going to a villa on the other side of the island for drinks.”