The Black Widow

“Get out of here.”

Saladin, with a tap on the screen, silenced the recording. Then he regarded Natalie for several unbearable seconds. There was no reproach or anger in his expression. It was the gaze of a professional.

“Who do you work for?” he asked at last, again addressing her in Arabic.

“I work for you.” She did not know from what reservoir of pointless courage she drew this response, but it seemed to amuse Saladin. “You are very brave, Maimonides,” he said again. “Too brave for your own good.”

She noticed for the first time that there was a television in the room. It was tuned to CNN. Three hundred invited guests in evening gowns and tuxedos were streaming from the White House East Room under Secret Service escort.

“A night to remember, don’t you think? All the attacks were successful except for one. The target was a French restaurant where many prominent Washingtonians are known to eat. For some reason, the operative chose not to carry out her assignment. Instead, she climbed into a car driven by a woman she believed to be an agent of the FBI.”

He paused to allow Natalie a response, but she remained silent.

“Her treachery posed no threat to the operation,” he continued. “In fact, it proved quite valuable because it allowed us to distract the Americans during the critical final days of the operation. The end game,” he added ominously. “You and Safia were a feint, a deception. I am a soldier of Allah, but a great admirer of Winston Churchill. And it was Churchill who said that in wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.”

He had addressed these remarks to the television screen. Now he turned once more toward Natalie.

“But there was one question we were never able to answer satisfactorily,” he continued. “Whom, exactly, were you working for? Abu Ahmed assumed you were an American, but it didn’t feel like an American operation to me. Quite honestly, I assumed you were British, because as we all know, the British are the very best when it comes to running live agents. But that also turned out not to be the case. You weren’t working for the Americans or the British. You were working for someone else. And tonight you finally told me his name.”

Again, he tapped the screen of his mobile phone, and again Natalie heard a sound like water running into a basin. But it wasn’t water, it was the drone of a car fleeing the chaos of Washington. This time, the only voice she heard was her own. She was speaking Hebrew, and her voice was heavy with sedative.

“Gabriel. . Please help me. . I don’t want to die. .”

Saladin silenced the phone and returned it to the breast pocket of his magnificent suit jacket. Case closed, thought Natalie. Still, there was no anger in his expression, only pity.

“You were a fool to come to the caliphate.”

“No,” said Natalie, “I was a fool to save your life.”

“Why did you?”

“Because you would have died if I hadn’t.”

“And now,” said Saladin, “it is you who will die. The question is, will you die alone, or will you press your detonator and take me with you? I’m wagering you don’t have the courage or the faith to push the button. Only we, the Muslims, have such faith. We are prepared to die for our religion, but not you Jews. You believe in life, but we believe in death. And in any fight, it is those who are prepared to die who will win.” He paused briefly, then said, “Go ahead, Maimonides, make a liar of me. Prove me wrong. Push your button.”

Natalie raised the detonator to her face and stared directly into Saladin’s dark eyes. The trigger button yielded to a slight increase in pressure.

“Don’t you remember your training in Palmyra? We deliberately use a firm trigger to avoid accidents. You have to push it harder.”

She did. There was a click, then silence. Saladin smiled.

“Obviously,” he said, “a malfunction.”

72 ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

AMINA EL-BANNA HAD BEEN A legal resident of the United States for more than five years, but her grasp of English was limited. As a result, Gabriel questioned her in his Arabic, which was limited, too. He did so at the tiny kitchen table with Mikhail hovering in the doorway, and in a voice that was not loud enough to wake the child sleeping upstairs. He did not fly a false flag and claim to be an American, for such a pretense was not possible. Amina el-Banna, an Egyptian from the Nile Delta, knew very well that he was an Israeli, and consequently she feared him. He did nothing to put her mind at ease. Fear was his calling card, and at a time like this, with an agent in the hands of the most violent terrorist group the world had ever known, fear was his only asset.