Page 57 of The New Girl

“You can set the record straight later,” said Gabriel.

“What good will it do?” The phone was ringing again. Khalid dispatched the call to voice mail. “Another so-called friend.”

“Who was it?”

“The president of Brazil. And before him it was the head of a Hollywood talent agency, wondering whether I still planned to invest in his company.” He paused. “Everyone except the people who took my daughter.”

“If I had to guess, you’ll be hearing from them any minute.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because undoubtedly they know I’ve arrived.”

“They’re watching the hotel?”

Gabriel nodded.

“When they call back, I’ll offer them a hundred million dollars. That should be enough to convince them to live up to their end of the original bargain.”

Gabriel smiled briefly. “If only it were that simple.”

“Surely,” said Khalid after a moment, “you have no wish to die for a man like me.”

“I don’t,” conceded Gabriel. “I’m here for your daughter.”

“Can you get her back?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“I understand,” replied Khalid. “You’re the director of the secret intelligence service of the State of Israel. And I’m the man who just gave away a throne, which means I’m no longer of any use to you.”

“I have two young children.”

“How lucky you are. I have only one.”

A leaden silence fell over the room. It was broken by the cloying melody of Khalid’s phone. He snatched it up, then declined the call.

“Who was it?” asked Gabriel.

“The White House.” Khalid rolled his eyes. “Again.”

“Don’t you think you should take his call?”

He waved his hand dismissively and fixed his gaze on the television. KBM meeting with the British prime minister at Downing Street. KBM before the fall.

“I should never have listened to him,” he said to no one in particular.

“Listened to whom?” asked Gabriel, but Khalid didn’t answer. The phone was ringing again. “Who is it now?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Gabriel accepted the phone and saw the given name of the Russian president.

“Answer it,” said Khalid. “I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

Gabriel allowed the phone to ring for several more seconds. Then, with profound satisfaction, he tappeddecline.

For the remainder of that long night, the clock moved with the slowness of shifting tectonic plates. Khalid’s mood, however, careened wildly between rage at those who had betrayed him and fear for his daughter’s life. Each time his phone rang, he would seize it as though it were a live grenade and stare hopefully at the screen, only to toss it carelessly onto the coffee table when it turned out to be just another former friend or associate calling to wallow in schadenfreude. “I know, I know,” he would say to Gabriel. “Phones break, Prince Hothead.”