The Kill Artist

down."
    The prime minister smiled. "Take down Tariq? You'll have to find him first. You really think the Office is ready for something like that? We can't afford another situation like Amman-not now, not with the peace process in such a tenuous state."
    "The operation in Amman was poorly planned and disastrously executed, in part because of interference and unprecedented pressure from the man who was sitting in this office at the time. If you give me authority to go after Tariq, I assure you it will be a very different kind of operation, with very different results."
    "What makes you think you can even find Tariq?"
    "Because I am better positioned to find him now than ever before."
    "Because of this source of yours?"
    "Yes."
    "Tell me about this source."
    Shamron smiled briefly and picked at the thumbnail of his right hand. "It was a case I ran personally before I was told that my services were no longer required at King Saul Boulevard-a long-term penetration case, something that took years to unfold. Now, the source is involved in the planning and logistical side of Tariq's organization."
    "Did the source know about Paris in advance?"
    "Of course not! If the source had alerted me about Paris, I would have warned everyone necessary, even if it required pulling the source."
    "So do it," the prime minister said. "Take Tariq down. Make him pay for Eliyahu and all the others he's killed over the years. Take him down hard, and make certain he never gets up again."
    "Are you prepared for the repercussions of an assassination at this time?"
    "There won't be any repercussions if it's handled properly."
    "The Palestinian Authority and their friends in Washington and Western Europe won't look kindly on an assassination, even if the target is Tariq."
    "Then make sure you leave no fingerprints. Make certain your kidons don't get caught, like that pair of bumbling amateurs that were sent to Amman. Once I sign the order, the operation is in your hands. You get rid of him any way you see fit-just get rid of him. The people of Israel will never allow me to make peace while Tariq or anyone else is running around killing Jews."
    "I'll need the proper documentation to set things in motion."
    "You'll have it by the end of the day."
    "Thank you, Prime Minister."
    "So who do you have in mind for the job?"
    "I thought you had no intention of interfering."
    "I just want to know who you're assigning the case to. I don't believe that qualifies as interference."
    "I was thinking about Allon."
    "Gabriel Allon? I thought he left the Office after Vienna."
    Shamron shrugged; such things did not matter when it came to a man like Gabriel Allon. "It's been a long time since anyone at the Office has handled a case like this. And they've generally fucked them up. But there's one other reason why I want Allon. Tariq operates mainly in Europe. Allon is very experienced on the Continent. He knows how to get things done without making a racket."
    "Where is he now?"
    "Living somewhere in England last time I heard."
    The prime minister smirked. "It'll be easier for you to find Tariq than Gabriel Allon."
    "I'll find Allon, and Allon will find Tariq." Shamron pulled his lips into a fatalistic frown. "And then it will be done."
    FOUR
    Samos, Greece
    The ferry from Turkey arrived twelve hours late because of heavy seas in the Straits of Mycale. Tariq had never cared for boats-he hated the feeling of being surrounded by water with no route of escape. He stood at the bow, collar up against the night wind, watching the approach to Samos. In the moonlight he could see the peaks of the island's two distinctive mountains: Mount Ampelos in the foreground and Mount Kerkis in the distance.
    In the five days since the Paris assassination, he had worked his way southeast across Europe, changing identities and passports, subtly altering his appearance. Six times he changed automobiles. The last, a dark green Volvo station wagon, he left near the terminal in Kusadasi on the Turkish side of the strait. It had been collected by an agent from his organization.
    He had seduced three women during his odyssey: a waitress in Munich, a hairdresser in Bucharest, and a hotel hostess in Sofia. He told each of them a different story. To the German girl he was an Italian fabric salesman on his way to Paris. To the Romanian girl he was an Egyptian trader hoping to do some business in Ukraine. To the Bulgarian hostess he was a Frenchman with rich parents who traveled and read books about