She leaned back in her seat. She was still wearing the jeans and woolen sweater she put on that morning. Only ten hours removed from the chilly damp of London, her body was unprepared for the onslaught of tropical heat. The jeans felt as though they were glued to her thighs, and the sweater seemed to be sawing at the side of her neck. She glanced at bin Talal, who seemed to be having no difficulty adjusting to the abrupt change of climate. He had a wide face, two small dark eyes, and a goatee beard. Dressed as he was now, in his tailored gray suit and tie, he might have been mistaken for a financier. His hands, however, betrayed the true nature of his work. They looked like mallets.

The roar of the rotor blade made further conversation impossible, and for this she was eternally grateful. Her loathing of him was now limitless. Since just after dawn he had been a constant presence at her side, menacing in his politeness. At the airport he had insisted on coming with her to the duty-free shops and had intervened with a company credit card when she bought a flask of aloe lotion. During the flight he had shown an endless interest in all aspects of her life. Please, Miss Sarah, tell me about your childhood…Please, Miss Sarah, tell me about your interest in art…Please, Miss Sarah, tell me why you decided to leave Washington and come to London… To escape him she had feigned sleep. Two hours later, when she feigned waking, he probed at her some more. You say your father worked for Citicorp? You know, it’s quite possible he and Mr. al-Bakari have actually met. Mr. al-Bakari has had many dealings with Citicorp… With that she had slipped on her headphones to watch an in-flight film. Bin Talal had selected the same one.

When she looked out the window again, Alexandra seemed to fill the horizon. She could see Nadia and Rahimah catching the last of the day’s sunlight on the foredeck, their black hair twisting in the wind. And Abdul amp; Abdul huddled with Herr Wehrli on the afterdeck, plotting their next conquest. And floating above it all, dressed in white with one arm raised in greeting, was Zizi. Turn back, she thought. Drop me on solid ground. You stay here, Mr. bin Talal. I’ll see myself back to London, thank you. But she knew there was no turning back now. Gabriel had given her one last chance in Surrey, and she had agreed to see it through.

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.