The Sikorsky settled over Alexandra’s stern and sank slowly toward the helipad. Sarah saw something else: Zizi in the exhibition room of Julian’s gallery, warning her that no one could slip a forgery past him, in business or in art. I’m not a forgery, she told herself as she climbed out of the helicopter. I’m Sarah Bancroft. I used to be a curator at the Phillips Collection in Washington. Now I work for Isherwood Fine Arts in London. I’ve forgotten more about art than you’ll ever know. I don’t want your job or your money. In fact, I don’t want anything to do with you.
BIN TALAL showed her to her quarters. They were larger than her flat in Chelsea: a sprawling bedroom with separate seating area, a marble bathroom with sunken tub and Jacuzzi, a sweeping private deck which at that moment was lit by the setting sun. The Saudi laid her bag on the king-size bed like a hotel bellman and started to pull at the zipper. Sarah tried to stop him.
“That’s not necessary. I can see to my own bag, thank you.”
“I’m afraid it is necessary, Miss Sarah.”
He lifted the top and started removing her things.
“What are you doing?”
“We have rules, Miss Sarah.” The profound courtesy was now absent from his voice. “It’s my job to make certain the guests adhere to those rules. No alcohol, no tobacco, and no pornography of any kind.” He held up an American fashion magazine she’d picked up at the airport in Miami. “I’m afraid I have to confiscate this. Do you have any alcohol?”
She shook her head. “And no cigarettes either.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“Occasionally, but I don’t make a habit of it.”
“I’ll need your mobile phone until you leave Alexandra.”
“Why?”
“Because guests aren’t allowed to use cellular telephones aboard this craft. Besides, they won’t function because of the ship’s electronics.”
“If it won’t function, then what’s the use of confiscating it?”
“I assume your cell phone has the ability to take photographs as well as record and store video and audio clips?”
“That’s what the little man said who sold it to me, but I never use it that way.”
He held out his enormous hand. “Your telephone, please. I can assure you it will be well cared for.”
“I have work to do. I can’t be cut off from the world.”
“You’re more than welcome to use our shipboard satellite phone system.”
And you’ll be listening in, won’t you?
She dug her phone from her handbag, switched off the power, and surrendered it to him.
“Now your camera, please. Mr. al-Bakari does not like cameras around when he is trying to relax. It is against the rules to photograph him, his employees, or any of his guests.”
“Are there other guests besides me?”
He ignored her question. “Did you bring a BlackBerry or any other kind of PDA?”
She showed it to him. He held out his hand.
“If you read my e-mail, so help me-”
“We have no desire to read your e-mail. Please, Miss Sarah, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can settle in and relax.”
She handed him the BlackBerry.
“Did you bring an iPod or any other type of personal stereo?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Mr. al-Bakari believes personal stereos are rude and inconsiderate. Your room contains a state-of-the-art audio and visual entertainment system. You won’t need your own.”
She gave him the iPod.
“Any other electronics?”
“A hair dryer.”
He held out his hand.
“You can’t take a girl’s hair dryer.”
“You have one in your bathroom that’s compatible with the ship’s electrical system. In the meantime, let me have yours, just so there’s no confusion.”
“I promise not to use it.”
“Your hair dryer, please, Miss Sarah.”
She pulled the hair dryer from her suitcase and gave it to him.
“Mr. al-Bakari has left a gift for you in the closet. I’m sure he would be flattered if you wore it to dinner. It’s scheduled for nine o’clock this evening. I suggest you try to sleep until then. You’ve had a long day-and then there’s the time difference, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Would you like to be awakened at eight o’clock?”
“I can manage on my own. I brought a travel alarm clock.”
He smiled humorlessly. “I’ll need that, too.”
MUCH TO HER surprise she did sleep. She dreamt nothing and woke in darkness, unsure of where she was. Then a puff of warm sea wind caressed her breast, like the breath of a lover, and she realized she was aboard Alexandra and that she was utterly alone. She lay very still for a moment, wondering if they were looking at her. Assume they’re watching your every move and listening to your every word, Eli had told her. She pictured another scene taking place somewhere aboard the ship. Wazir bin Talal downloading every e-mail from her BlackBerry. Wazir bin Talal running a check on every number dialed from her mobile telephone. Wazir bin Talal tearing apart her hair dryer and her iPod and her travel alarm clock, looking for bugs and tracking devices. But there were no bugs or tracking devices, for Gabriel had known they would ransack her possessions the moment she entered their camp. In a situation like this, Sarah, simple is best. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Telephone codes. Physical recognition signals.
She raised her wristwatch to her face and saw it was five minutes to eight. She closed her eyes again and allowed the breeze to flow over her body. Five minutes later the bedside telephone purred softly. She reached out in the darkness and brought the receiver to her ear.
“I’m awake, Mr. bin Talal.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
The voice wasn’t bin Talal’s. It was Zizi’s.
“I’m sorry, Mr. al-Bakari. I thought you were someone else.”
“Obviously,” he said pleasantly. “Did you manage to get a little rest?”
“I think so.”
“And your flight?”
“It was fine, sir.”
“Can we make a deal?”
“That depends entirely on the deal, Mr. al-Bakari.”
“I would prefer it if you called me Zizi. It’s what my friends call me.”
“I’ll try.” Then she added playfully: “Sir.”
“I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Sarah.”
The connection went dead. She hung up the phone and went onto the sundeck. It was very dark now. A fingernail moon hung low on the horizon, and the sky was a blanket of wet shimmering stars. She looked toward the stern and saw a pair of winking emerald navigation lights hovering several miles in the distance. There were more lights off the prow. She remembered what Eli had said during her street training. Sometimes the easiest way to tail a man is to walk in front of him. She supposed the same applied to watching at sea.
She went back into her room, shed her clothing, and padded into the bathroom. Avert your eyes, Wazir, she thought. No pornography. She bathed in Zizi’s hedonistic Jacuzzi tub and listened to Keith Jarrett on Zizi’s state-of-the-art audio system. She wrapped herself in Zizi’s terry-cloth robe and dried her hair with Zizi’s hair dryer. She applied makeup to her face, just enough to erase the effects of the transatlantic journey, and as she arranged her hair loosely about her shoulders she thought briefly of Gabriel.