“Do you recognize him?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“How about this one?”
Gabriel handed Keller the passport photo. “We Englishmen come in all shapes and sizes, but I doubt he’s one of us.”
Just then, Gabriel’s BlackBerry pulsed with an incoming message.
“Judging from the expression on your face,” said Keller, “it isn’t good news.”
“The kidnappers just gave Khalid until midnight tomorrow to abdicate.”
The BlackBerry shivered with another text. This time, Gabriel smiled.
“What is it?”
“A way out.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
“Where are we going?”
Gabriel rose abruptly. “The Dorchester Hotel.”
24
Mayfair, London
Gabriel reflexively gripped the leather armrest of Keller’s flashy Bentley Continental as they shot past Harrods in a blur. They plunged into the underpass beneath Hyde Park Corner and emerged a moment later in Piccadilly. Keller navigated the labyrinthine streets of Mayfair with the adroitness of a London cabbie and stopped with a lurch outside the Dorchester’s entrance. It was lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Wait here,” said Keller.
“Where else would I go?”
“Are you armed?”
“Only with a quick wit and abundant charm.”
Keller dug an old Walther PPK from the pocket of his overcoat and gave it to Gabriel.
“Thank you, Mr. Bond.”
“It’s easy to conceal and packs quite a punch.”
“A brick through a plate-glass window.” Gabriel slipped the gun into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. “He’s registered under the name al-Jubeir.”
“Who am I?”
“Mr. Allenby.”
“Like the bridge?”
“Yes, Christopher, like the bridge.”
“What happens if he refuses to come without a security detail?”
