Daniel Silva - The Kill Artist

“I thought we were supposed to be posing as lovers.”

“We are.”

“What if the hotel staff notices that you slept on the couch?”

“They might assume we’re quarreling. Or they might assume that I was working late and didn’t want to disturb you and that I fell asleep on the couch.”

“They might.”

“Yusef said you were intelligent, but he neglected to say that you also possess a conspiratorial mind.”

It had played out long enough. Jacqueline was proud of the fact that she was guiding the conversation and not he. It gave her the sense that at least she was in control of something.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all.”

She placed a cigarette between her lips and struck the lighter Shamron had given her. She could almost imagine the radio waves flying out, searching for a receiver.

“I didn’t bring clothing for this kind of weather. Leila said you would take me out shopping for something warmer.”

“I’d be happy to. I apologize for the way we had to keep you in the dark about where you were going. I assure you it was quite necessary.”

“I understand.” A pause. “I suppose.”

“Answer one question for me, Dominique. Why did you agree to come on this mission with me? Do you believe in what you are doing? Or are you doing it simply for love?”

The coincidence of his question was almost too vulgar to contemplate. She calmly placed the lighter back into her handbag and said, “I’m doing it because I believe in love. Do you believe in love?”

“I believe in the right of my people to have a homeland of our own choosing. I’ve never had the luxury of love.”

“I’m sorry-” She was about to call him Lucien, but for some reason she stopped herself.

“You don’t want to say my name, Dominique? Why won’t you call me Lucien?”

“Because I know it isn’t your real name.”

“How do you know that?”

“Yusef told me.”

“Do you know my real name?”

“No, Yusef wouldn’t tell me.”

“Yusef is a good man.”

“I’m very fond of him.”

“Is Dominique really your name?”

She was caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a simple question, really. I want to know if your name is really Dominique.”

“You’ve seen my passport.”

“Passports can easily be forged.”

“Maybe for people like you!” she snapped. “Listen, Lucien, or whatever the fuck your name is, I don’t like your question. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

He sat down and rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Please accept my apology. The politics of the Middle East tend to make one paranoid after a while. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I need to check my machine in London.”

“Of course.” He reached out and pressed the speaker button on the telephone. “Tell me the number, and I’ll dial it for you.”

She recited the number, and his fingers worked over the keypad. A few seconds later she heard the phone ringing-the two-beat moan of a British phone-followed by the sound of her own voice on the message tape. She pictured a technician, seated behind a computer console in Tel Aviv, reading the words Hotel Queen Elizabeth, Montreal, Room 1417. She reached out for the receiver, but he covered it with his hand and looked up at her. “I’d like to listen, if you don’t mind. Paranoia is creeping up on me again.”

She had three messages. The first was from a woman who identified herself as Dominique’s mother. The second was from Julian Isherwood-he had misplaced a file and was wondering if she could give him a ring at some point to help him locate it. The third was from a man who didn’t identify himself. She instantly recognized the sound of Gabriel’s voice. “I just wanted you to know that I was thinking of you. If you need anything I’m here for you. See you soon, I hope. Cheers.”

“You can hang up now.”

He punched the speaker button and severed the connection. “That didn’t sound much like Yusef.”

“It wasn’t Yusef. It was a man I knew before Yusef.”

“It sounds to me as though this man still cares for you.”

“No, he never really cared for me.”

“But it’s obvious to me you cared for him. Perhaps you still do.”

“I’m in love with Yusef.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot.” He stood abruptly. “Let’s go shopping.”

Montreal

Zvi Yadin met Gabriel and Shamron at the airport and drove them into Montreal. He had thick, curly hair, a rather shaggy full beard, and the body of a rugby player. Because he was large, people tended to think he was stupid, which he was not. Gabriel had spent time at the Academy with him. They had been paired for the physical combat course, despite the vast difference in their size. On the final day Yadin had broken two of Gabriel’s ribs. Gabriel had retaliated with an elbow to Yadin’s chin that dislocated his jaw. Later, when they were being patched up in the infirmary, Yadin had admitted that Shamron had put him up to it-that he had wanted to test Gabriel’s capacity for pain. Gabriel wished he had broken Shamron’s jaw instead.

“They say it’s going to be thirty below tonight,” Yadin said as he sped along the motorway toward downtown. “I brought you some parkas and gloves. And I brought this for you, Gabriel.”

He handed Gabriel a stainless steel combat case. Inside was a.22 Beretta target pistol. Gabriel stroked the barrel and the walnut grip. The gun felt cold. He closed the lid and placed the case beneath the seat.

Shamron said, “Thanks for the weather update, Zvi, but where the hell is Jacqueline?”

Yadin brought them quickly up to date. The flight from Paris had arrived twenty minutes late. Yadin’s team had picked them up after they cleared immigration and customs. The girl had rented a car from Hertz and driven downtown to the Hotel Queen Elizabeth. She’d handed Jacqueline to a man: forties, well dressed, decent looking. They went upstairs to a room. Yadin had a sayan on the hotel staff: a senior concierge. He said the fellow in question had checked into the hotel earlier that day under the name Lucien Daveau. Room 1417.

“Pictures?” Shamron asked hopefully.

“No way, Boss. Not possible under the circumstances.”

“Was it Tariq?”

“Could have been. Hard to say.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“After the handoff she left the hotel. She was picked up by another car outside on the boulevard René Lévesque. I didn’t try to follow her. I didn’t think we could spare the personnel.”

“How many people do you have?”

“Three experienced men and that new girl you sent me from the Academy.”

“How are they deployed?”

“Two members of the team are in the hotel lobby pretending to be shopping. The other two are outside in the car.”

Gabriel said, “Can our friend on the concierge desk get us inside the room?”

“Sure.”

“I want to put a glass on his telephone.”

“No problem. I brought a kit from Ottawa. We can get another room at the hotel to set up a listening post. It will tie down one member of the team, though.”

“Getting his phone is well worth one member of your team.”

“I’ll use the new girl.”

“No, I may need the girl for street work.”

Yadin glanced at Shamron. “Now for the problems, Boss.”

“What problems?”

“Lev.”

“What about Lev?”

“While I was waiting for you to arrive, I checked in with the station.”

“And?”

“Mordecai called on a routine housekeeping matter after we’d left. Obviously he told Lev the entire station was missing, because Lev fired off a cable from the operations center about a half hour later, wondering what the fuck was going on.”