The Kill Artist

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."
    THIRTY-EIGHT
    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