The Kill Artist

borrowed a cell phone from one of the other security officers and checked in with Shamron at the mission. Shamron had heard nothing. Gabriel severed the connection, swore softly. It was beginning to feel hopeless. It seemed Tariq had beaten them again.
    The motorcade pulled into the parking garage at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. The prime minister bounded out of his limousine and shook a few hands before he was escorted to the grand ballroom. Gabriel followed a few paces behind him. As the prime minister entered the ballroom, a thousand people stood up and began to applaud. The noise was thunderous. It could easily cover the sound of a gunshot. The prime minister walked to the podium, basked in the warm reception. Gabriel slowly circled the ballroom, looking for Tariq.
    Tariq left the Q train at the Broadway-Lafayette Street station and boarded an uptown Number 5 train. He got off at East Eighty-sixth Street and strolled from Lexington Avenue across town to Fifth Avenue, taking in the grand old apartment houses and brownstones. Then he walked uptown two blocks to Eighty-eighth Street. He stopped in front of an apartment house overlooking the park. An Elite Catering truck was double-parked on Eighty-eighth Street; white-jacketed waiters were carrying trays and food and cases of liquor through the service entrance. He looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long now. He crossed Fifth Avenue, sat down on a bench in a patch of sunlight, and waited.
    Jacqueline closed her eyes, tried to think. Tariq was going to use the resources and technology of the Office to lure Gabriel into a trap. She pictured him in his new disguise; even she barely recognized him, and they had been together every minute for the past eighteen hours. It would be difficult, if not impossible, for Gabriel to spot him. Tariq was right: he would hold every advantage. Gabriel would never see him coming.
    The girl came into the room, a mug of tea in her hands, gun shoved down the front of her jeans. She paced slowly, looking at Jacqueline, drinking the tea. Then she sat on the edge of the bed. "Tell me something, Dominique. Did you make love to Tariq while you were in Montreal?"
    Jacqueline stared back at the girl, wondering what possible relevance this question could have now. The girl lifted the bottom of Jacqueline's blouse, exposing her abdomen, and poured the scalding tea over her skin.
    The gag muffled Jacqueline's scream. The girl tenderly blew air over the burned skin and covered it with Jacqueline's blouse. Even the sensation of the light cotton lying on her flesh caused pain. She closed her eyes and felt hot tears running over her cheeks.
    Leila said, "Let's try again. Did you ever make love to Tariq?"
    Jacqueline shook her head, eyes still closed.
    "Too bad for you," she said. "I hear he's a wonderful lover. The girl in Paris told me everything in explicit detail. In a way I suppose she's lucky Tariq killed her in the end. No man would have ever made love to her the way he did. Her love life would have been a series of disappointments."
    Jacqueline realized that she was never going to set foot outside this room alive. Leila was a psychopath who had no intention of allowing her to live. Indeed, she would probably take pleasure in Jacqueline's death. No, she thought, if she were going to die, she would die on her own terms. She would die trying to save Gabriel.
    But how?
    She had to create an opportunity to get away. To do that she had to convince Leila to let her out of the bed.
    Through her gag Jacqueline managed to mumble, "I have to go to the bathroom."
    "What did you say?"
    Jacqueline repeated her words, more forcefully.
    Leila said, "If you have to go, go."
    "Please," said Jacqueline.
    Leila set the empty mug on the floor and removed the gun from the waistband of her trousers. "Remember, we don't need you for anything. If you try to get away I'll shoot you in that beautiful face of yours. Do you understand me?"
    Jacqueline nodded.
    Leila unlocked the cuffs, starting with Jacqueline's hands and ending with her feet.
    "Stand up," said Leila. "Slowly. And walk, slowly, into the bathroom with your hands behind your head."
    Jacqueline did as she was told. She entered the bathroom, turned around, started to close the door. Leila put her hand on it and aimed the gun at Jacqueline's face. "What do you think you're doing?"
    "Please," said Jacqueline.
    Leila looked around. The bathroom was windowless, no way out except the door. "Knock on the door when