The Kill Artist

Times that Yusef had left in her bag and unfolded it. A British Airways cocktail napkin fell out onto the table. Jacqueline picked it up and turned it over. On the back was a note, penned in Yusef's chaotic hand: I'll miss you. With love and fond memories, Yusef.
    She crumpled it and left it next to her coffee. Sounds like a farewell note. She picked up the newspaper and leafed through the front section. She paused to scan the news from the Middle East: U.S. PRESIDENT APPLAUDS INTERIM AGREEMENT REACHED BETWEEN ISRAEL AND THE PALESTINIANS… SIGNING CEREMONY NEXT WEEK AT UNITED NATIONS. She licked the tip of her finger and turned another page.
    Boarding announcements blared from the public address system. She had a terrible headache. She reached into her purse, removed a bottle of aspirin, washed down two tablets with the coffee. She looked for Gabriel. Nothing. Damn it, where the hell are you, Gabriel Allon? Tell me you haven't left me here alone with them… She placed the cup carefully in the saucer and returned the aspirin bottle to her purse.
    She was about to resume reading when a stunningly attractive woman with lustrous black hair and wide brown eyes appeared at the table. "Do you mind if I join you?" the woman said in French.
    "Actually, I'm meeting someone."
    "You're meeting Lucien Daveau. I'm Lucien's friend." She pulled out the chair and sat down. "Lucien asked me to collect you and take you to your flight."
    "I was told that Lucien himself would meet me here."
    "I understand, but I'm afraid there's been a slight change in plan." She smiled a radiant, seductive smile. "You have nothing to be afraid of. Lucien asked me to take good care of you."
    Jacqueline had no idea what to do. They had violated the terms of the agreement. She had every right to stand up and walk off and be done with it. But then what? Tariq would slip away and continue his campaign of terror. More innocent Jews would die. The peace process would be placed in jeopardy. And Gabriel would go on blaming himself for what had happened to Leah and his son in Vienna.
    "I don't like this, but I'll do it."
    "Good, because they've just called our flight."
    Jacqueline stood up, picked up her bag, and followed the woman out of the café. "Our flight?" she asked.
    "That's right. I'm going to be traveling with you for the first leg of your journey. Lucien will join you later."
    "Where are we going?"
    "You'll find out in a moment."
    "Since we're going to be traveling together, do you think you could tell me your name?"
    The girl smiled again. "If you feel you must call me something, you may call me Leila."
    Gabriel stood in a duty-free shop one hundred feet away, pretending to look at cologne, while he watched Jacqueline at the café. Shamron was aboard Benjamin Stone's private plane. All they needed was Tariq.
    Suddenly, he realized that he was excited by the prospect of finally seeing Tariq. The photographs in Shamron's file were useless-too old, too grainy. Three of them were only presumed to be pictures of Tariq. The truth was no one inside the Office really knew what he looked like. Gabriel was about to get the first good look at him in years. Was he tall or short? Was he handsome or ordinary-looking? Did he look like a ruthless killer? Of course not, Gabriel thought. He'll be someone who blends naturally into his surroundings.
    He'll be like me. Then he thought: Or am I like him?
    When the attractive, raven-haired girl sat down at Jacqueline's table, he thought for a moment that it was just one of those horrid accidents that sometimes sends operations into a tailspin-girl needs a seat, girl assumes Jacqueline's alone, girl helps herself to the empty chair. Then he realized it was part of Tariq's game. He had survived all these years because he was unpredictable. He made plans and changed plans constantly-told different stories to different members of his organization. Never let the left hand know what the right was doing.
    The two women stood up and started walking. Gabriel waited for a moment, then trailed them from a safe distance. He felt dejected. The game had barely begun and already Tariq had bested him. He wondered whether he was really ready to do battle with a man like Tariq. He had been out of the game too long. Perhaps his reactions had slowed, his instincts for survival waned. He thought of the night he'd planted the bugs in Yusef's flat, how he had nearly been caught because he had lost his concentration for a few seconds.
    He felt