The Kill Artist

houseboat! How wonderful."
    "It's my brother's, but he's in Rotterdam for a few months working on a big construction project."
    "Are you offering to let me crash on your houseboat for a few days?"
    "I'm offering to let you stay as long as you want. I don't like coming home to an empty place."
    Dawn was breaking over the river, first lights burning in the houseboats lining the embankment. Inge walked a short distance along the quay, then stepped onto the deck of her boat. The curtains were drawn over the windows. She crossed the deck and entered the salon. She expected to find Leila in bed asleep, but instead she was standing at the stove making coffee. On the floor next to her was a suitcase. Inge closed the door, trying to hide her disappointment.
    "I called my brother in Paris last night while you were at work," Leila said. "My father is very ill. I have to go home right away to be with my mother. I'm sorry, Inge."
    "How long will you be gone?"
    "A week, two at the most."
    "Are you coming back?"
    "Of course I'm coming back!" She kissed Inge's cheek and handed her a cup of coffee. "My flight leaves in two hours. Sit down. I need to talk to you about something."
    They sat in the salon. Leila said, "A friend of mine is coming to Amsterdam tomorrow. His name is Paul. He's French. I was wondering if he could stay here for a few days until he finds his own place."
    "Leila, I don't-"
    "He's a good man, Inge. He won't try anything with you, if that's what you're worried about."
    "I know how to take care of myself."
    "So you'll let Paul stay here for a few days?"
    "How many days is a few days?"
    "A week, maybe."
    "And what do I get in return?"
    Leila reached into her pocket, pulled out a small bag of white powder, and held it in front of her between her thumb and forefinger.
    Inge reached out and snatched it from her. "Leila, you're an angel!"
    "I know."
    Inge went into her bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser. Inside was her kit: pack of syringes, candle, spoon, length of rubber to tie around her arm. She cooked the drug while Leila packed the last of her things. Then she loaded the drug into the syringe and carefully slipped the needle into a vein in her left arm.
    An instant later her body was overcome by an intensely pleasant sensation of numbness. And the last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the sight of Leila, her beautiful lover, slipping out the door and floating across the deck of the houseboat.
    FOURTEEN
    Bayswater, London
    Randall Karp, formerly of the Office of Technical Services, Langley, Virginia, lately of the dubiously named Clarendon International Security, Mayfair, London, arrived at Gabriel's flat in Sussex Gardens in the still moments just before dawn. He wore a fleece pullover against the morning cold, pale blue jeans, and suede sandals with the thick woolen socks of an outdoorsman. From the end of each spiderlike arm hung a canvas duffel bag, one containing his kit, the other the tools of his trade. He set down his bags in the living room with an air of quiet complacency and appraised his surroundings.
    "I like what you've done with the place, Gabe." He spoke with a flat Southern California accent and, since Gabriel had seen him last, had grown a ponytail to compensate for his rapidly encroaching baldness. "It even has the right smell. What is it? Curry? Cigarettes? A bit of spoiled milk? I think I'm going to like it here."
    "I'm so pleased."
    Karp moved to the window. "So, where's our boy?"
    "Third floor, directly above the entrance. White curtains."
    "Who is he?"
    "He's a Palestinian who wishes to harm my country."
    "I could have figured that out myself. Can you elaborate? Hamas? Hezbollah? Islamic Jihad?"
    But Gabriel said nothing, and Karp knew better than to press. Karp was a consummate audio tech, and techs were used to working with only half the picture. He had achieved legendary status within the Western intelligence community by successfully monitoring a meeting between a Russian and an agent in Prague by attaching a bug to the collar of the Russian's dog. Gabriel had met him in Cyprus during a joint American-Israeli surveillance of a Libyan agent. After the operation, at Shamron's suggestion, Gabriel hired a yacht and took Karp for a sail around the island. Karp's seamanship was as good as his surveillance work, and during their three-day cruise they built a professional and personal bond.
    "Why me, Gabe?" said Karp. "Your boys have the best toys