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walked away feeling they had made a friend, which happened to her often. Blaise was very good at what she did, and all her subjects, the men anyway, fell just a little bit in love with her. She came to life on camera as she did nowhere else. And she went back to the hotel, pleased with the interview, and knowing Charlie would be delighted. The prime minister had been an excellent subject.
    She had just enough time at the hotel to change her clothes again, put on something more comfortable, relax for a few hours, take a walk down New Bond Street in the crisp October air, order a quick meal when she got back to the hotel, and leave for the airport again, for the flight to Dubai. It was almost the same length as the flight the night before from New York to London, about forty-five minutes shorter, and she was planning to sleep so she’d be fresh when she arrived. She couldn’t afford to be slow or sluggish or dull-witted for the Saudi prince. He was known to be sly and adept at avoiding key questions. She knew she’d have to be at her best for him, and she went to sleep the moment she got on the plane. And as she requested, they woke her up right before they landed.
    There was VIP escort service for her again, a Rolls-Royce Phantom limousine with a liveried driver, and she was taken to the Burjal Arab Hotel. She only stayed at the best hotels when she traveled, particularly in foreign cities, which was in her contract. And they had to provide her limousines everywhere. She had been doing this for twenty-five years, and she had earned it. She took it for granted now, as part of the landscape for her.
    She had been to Dubai before, and she was impressed to see that they had put up even more modern structures since the last time she’d been there, and the hotel where she was staying looked palatial. The suite they gave her was one of the largest and most opulent she’d ever seen, and she had her own butler. There was a helipad for arriving guests. Her interview was scheduled for nine o’clock that night, and she took the opportunity to take a drive around the city with her driver in the Rolls, while he pointed out the sights to her, and it was very impressive, although it was a place she wouldn’t have chosen to come to on her own. But in the context she was seeing it, as a location for an interview, she found it fascinating. And when she got back to her hotel, she had new questions in mind to ask him. She knew that her subject normally lived in Riyadh, but due to the restrictions on women in his city, he had agreed to meet her in Dubai, when he had to go there on business. It was the most liberal of the Arab cities.
    She wore a long sleeved, high-necked, somber but chic black dress as she waited for him to come to her suite, in the living room, where the cameras had been set up. And she looked respectful and subdued, as was fitting. He was actually younger than she was, and she knew he had a somewhat racy reputation when he traveled, with a keen eye for young women, but she had a feeling that he would be more circumspect here, and with her.
    Blaise wasn’t disappointed when she met Mohamed bin Sabur. He came to her suite in an exquisitely cut English suit, made by his tailor in London, and impeccably shined John Lobb shoes from Paris. He was dark and had jet-black hair and a mustache, and he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He was thirty-five years old and looked younger, and if she had been less serious about her work, she would have been tempted to flirt with him. Instead they sparred for two hours in the interview. He was clever and amusing and had a great sense of humor. He had been schooled in England.
    For the first hour he dodged most of her questions, but she had anticipated that and had saved the important ones for later, hoping to wear him down and surprise him. And she even dared to ask him about his brother, the alleged terrorist, and he laughed out loud when she asked the question.
    “What an