The Messenger

phone without waiting for an answer.

SHE DRESSED as professionally as possible: white Capri pants, a yellow blouse that covered her arms, a pair of flat-soled sandals. She considered putting on a bit of makeup but decided she could make no improvements to what a week in the Caribbean sun had already accomplished. Ten minutes after receiving the summons, she left her suite and headed upstairs to Zizi’s office. He was seated at the conference table along with Daoud Hamza, Abdul amp; Abdul, and Herr Wehrli. They rose in unison as Sarah was shown into the room, then gathered up their papers and filed wordlessly out. Zizi gestured for Sarah to sit. At the opposite end of the room, Al Jazeera flickered silently on a large flat-panel television: Israeli troops destroying the home of a Hamas suicide bomber while his mother and father wept for the cameras. Zizi’s gaze lingered on the screen a moment before turning toward Sarah.

“I’ve invested tens of millions of dollars in the Palestinian territories, and I’ve given them millions more in charitable donations. And now the Israelis are tearing it to shreds while the world stands by and does nothing.”

Where was the world’s condemnation yesterday, Sarah thought, when twenty-two charred and broken bodies lay scattered along a Tel Aviv street? She looked down at her hands, at Zizi’s gold bangle and Zizi’s Harry Winston watch, and said nothing.

“But let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Zizi said.

“Please, let’s.” She looked up and smiled. “You’d like to make me an extravagant offer to come work for you.”

“I would?”

“Yes, you would.”

Zizi returned her smile. “We have an opening in our art department.” His smile faded. “An unexpected opening, but an opening nonetheless. I’d like you to fill it.”

“Your art department?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s how we refer to the various divisions of the operation. Hassan is chief of the communications department. Mansur’s department is travel. Herr Wehrli is banking. Mr. bin Talal is-”

“Security.”

“Exactly,” Zizi said.

“Who’s the chief of your art department?”

“At the moment, it’s me. But I’d like you to take over that job.”

“What about Andrew Malone?”

“Andrew Malone is no longer working for me.” Zizi fussed for a moment with his prayer beads. His eyes went again to the television screen and remained there while he spoke. “My arrangement with Andrew was supposed to be exclusive. I paid him a generous retainer. In return he was to give me advice with no possible conflict of interest on his part. As it turned out, Andrew repeatedly betrayed me. For the last several years he’s been taking money from me and from the people I’ve been buying from, a flagrant violation of our agreement. Among the dealers and collectors who made payments to Andrew in violation of his contract was Julian Isherwood.” He looked at her. “Were you aware of any cash payment by Julian Isherwood to Andrew Malone?”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “And if it happened, I’m sorry.”

“I believe you,” he said. “Andrew would have sworn Julian to secrecy. He was careful to cover his tracks in his double dealings. Unfortunately he could not hide the evidence of his betrayal inside his bank accounts. That’s how we found out about it.”

He made another glance at the television and frowned. “The job I have in mind for you is much larger than Andrew’s. Not only will you assist me in the acquisition of works, but you will also be responsible for the care and conservation of the collection. It’s my intention to begin lending some of my pieces to European and American museums as a means of fostering better cultural relations between my country and the West. As a former curator, you are more than suited to manage those transactions.” He scrutinized her for a moment. “Would you be interested in such a position?”

“I would, but-”

“-but you would like to discuss money and benefits before giving me an answer, which I understand completely. If you don’t mind my asking, how much is Julian paying you now?”

“Actually, I think I would mind.”

He sighed heavily and gave his prayer beads a twirl. “Is it your intention to make this as difficult as possible?”

“I try not to make a habit of negotiating against myself.”

“I’m prepared to pay you a salary of five hundred thousand dollars a year, plus housing, plus an unlimited expense account. The job would require a great deal of travel-and, of course, you would be spending a great deal of time with me and my extended family. That was the reason I invited you on this cruise. I wanted you to get to know us. I trust you’ve enjoyed yourself and our hospitality.”

“Very much,” she said.

He held up his hands. “Well?”

“I’ll need a guaranteed contract of three years.”

“Done.”

“Five hundred the first year, six hundred the second, and seven fifty the third.”

“Done.”

“And then there’s the signing bonus.”

“Name your figure.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“I was prepared to give you another five hundred. Do we have a deal?”

“I believe we do.” Her smile quickly faded. “I’m not looking forward to telling Julian about it.”

“It’s just business, Sarah. Julian will understand.”

“He’s going to feel very hurt.”

“Perhaps it would be easier if I spoke to him.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll do it myself. I owe it to him.”

“You’re obviously a woman of integrity.” He stood suddenly. “I’ll instruct the lawyers to draw up your contract. Herr Wehrli will issue you a check for your signing bonus, along with an AAB credit card for your expenses.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to the family, Sarah.”

She shook it, then moved toward the door.

“Sarah?”

She turned around.

“Please don’t make the same mistake Andrew did. As you can see I’m very generous to the people who work for me, but I get very angry when they betray me.”

JULIAN ISHERWOOD, upon hearing the news, was predictably appalled. He railed against Zizi, then against Sarah. “Don’t bother coming back to the gallery for your things!” he shouted. “You’re not welcome here-you or your bloody Saudi sheikh!” After slamming down the phone he made his way over to Green’s, where he found Oliver Dimbleby and Jeremy Crabbe huddled conspiratorially at the end of the bar.

“Why the long face, Julie?” Dimbleby asked a touch too gleefully.

“I’ve lost her.”

“Who?”

“Sarah,” said Isherwood. “She’s left me for Zizi al-Bakari.”

“Don’t tell me she’s actually taken Andrew Malone’s old job.”

Isherwood nodded solemnly.

“Tell her to stay out of Zizi’s cookie jar,” said Crabbe. “He’ll chop off her hand. Legal there, you know.”

“How did he get her?” Dimbleby asked.

“Money, of course. That’s how they get everything.”

“True, indeed,” said Dimbleby. “At least we still have the lovely Elena.” We do,