The New Girl. Daniel Silva
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17
THE ISRAELI EMBASSY WAS LOCATED on the opposite bank of the Seine, on the rue Rabelais. Gabriel and Sarah remained there for nearly an hour—Gabriel in the station’s secure communications vault, Sarah in the ambassador’s antechamber. Leaving, they purchased sandwiches and coffee from a carryout around the corner, then made their way through the southern districts of Paris to the A6, the Autoroute du Soleil. The evening rush was long over, and the road before Gabriel was nearly empty of traffic. He pressed the accelerator of the Passat to the floor and felt a small rebellious thrill as the engine responded with a roar.
“You’ve proven your point about the damn car. Now please slow down.” Sarah unwrapped one of the sandwiches and ate ravenously. “Why does everything taste better in France?”
“It doesn’t, actually. That sandwich will taste exactly the same when we cross the Swiss border.”
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